Mr. Waffle

Raising the Temperature

20 January, 2023
Posted in: Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Twins

Like many couples, Mr. Waffle and I operate at different temperatures. He is always warm, I am always cold. I have addressed this by the low tech solution of bringing a hot water bottle to bed in winter. He objects on the grounds that I tap dance on it. I might move it around with my feet, I concede.

The other day he arrived home with what Daniel characterised as “divorce in a box”, namely, an electric blanket. As you will be aware, the electric blanket and the water filled bottle do not mix. I am now dependent on the electric blanket for warmth. Mr. Waffle goes to bed earlier than me and finds the bed too warm and turns off the blanket. By the time I get to bed it is tepid at best. This may be an insurmountable problem. Your suggestions are welcome, meanwhile my little fingers and toes are freezing.

Disturbing

19 January, 2023
Posted in: Mr. Waffle, Princess

When herself was in Berlin before Christmas she stayed with a primary school friend. Her friend commented in passing that on looking into our fridge, it’s always full of two bites of food in random bowls. I recognised this description and knew it to be true. Honestly, I blame Mr. Waffle. I have instituted a new plastic box regime and I am delighted with myself.

Related: I have started to keep “handy” cardboard boxes. We got a lot of boxes over Christmas. Is this going to end well? I think not. Herself considered my collection and said severely, “You know I will have to throw these out when you die.” Probably true.

News from 2023

9 January, 2023
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Travel, Twins, Youngest Child

Ok, so far, I have to concede, not very different from 2022.

January 2

Herself came back from her new year’s extravaganza with friends in Scotland. I rejoiced.

For the first time in a very long time, I booked no family theatre outing in the run up to Christmas. The palpable lack of enthusiasm doesn’t usually put me off but this year, somehow, it did. Mr. Waffle and I went to “The Sound of Music” in the concert hall. Music for middle brows, pretty enjoyable for this middle brow. The woman who was the Mother Superior was superb. How much did I enjoy “Climb every mountain”? Oh very much.

We finished the Christmas jigsaw. Apparently Michael gave it to me for Christmas last year and I never made it as he informed me reproachfully on Christmas day. Herself, adding to the gaiety of nations, said, “Oh yes, and remember the other day you said, where did this jigsaw still in its cellophane wrapping come from? Maybe I could give it away as a present.” Anyway, it was surprisingly difficult, I can tell you. However, “Mischief managed” as Mr. Waffle said.

January 3

Mr. Waffle went back to work. Did I go back to work? I did not. Hah.

January 4

The boys and I went for a walk around the National Museum. Not entirely satisfactory but not altogether unsatisfactory either. Daniel’s face does rather sum up his mood though.

I personally was very taken with this shoe relic storage system.

We then went out for a very satisfactory lunch en famille in town. Our neighbour from up the road came over to our table as we were finishing up. I had not seen her but she and her family were sitting just behind us. We passed our lunch time conversation under rapid review but all seemed broadly well – I reiterate that Ireland is too small.

Daniel went to the library to get out the Ladybird book of quantum mechanics. He has read it already but apparently it is so good he wants us all to read it. He might be a bit optimistic there.

January 5

Herself and myself went on a day trip to Belfast. She came downstairs looking extremely dressed up. I was in my jeans. “It looks like we are going to different events but it’s fine,” she said.

The cross-border enterprise is the only train in the country which still has a catering service so we went all out and ordered a cooked breakfast. It was good in fairness but served in a polystyrene box with two wooden forks (they were out of knives) so presentation not what it might be.

The only cultural element of our outing was to see a lovely John Lavery painting in a church. I really like it. Herself was a bit more dubious.

Other than that we just went to the shops and enjoyed the novelty of being, um, not exactly abroad but not at home either. I thought Belfast was pretty quiet. Good for us as shoppers but a bit grim for retail in the city generally. The market was sadly closed and lunch was fine but nothing to write home about. Food is just not great in Ireland unless you know where you are going. We did not know where we were going. Overall though a pretty successful outing.

January 6 Epiphany

I offered to drive herself to her friend’s house in Kildare for a Women’s Christmas dinner. Due to my general meanness I did not want to pay the motorway toll. I definitely regretted this and we ended up on a 3 county epic trek.

I arrived home a shadow of my former self. Just as well Mr. Waffle had cooked dinner and washed up afterwards.

January 7

Our local Eastern European shop was open notwithstanding it being Orthodox Christmas but a big group of Romanians in traditional dress carrying a pole with a tinsel picture attached were singing away which was rather nice.

Daniel went to visit a friend in Cavan. I mean why can’t my children have more friends in the city of 1.5 million people where we live. He took the bus in fairness.

Mr. Waffle and I spent the day taking down Christmas decorations which is a bit of a melancholy activity. The children took away the Christmas tree. They were thrilled to have the opportunity to help.

We wound up all the lights carefully but everybody knows that they will all be knotted up again by next Christmas.

We all went out for a departure dinner for herself which was very nice. I was pleased. Later herself went out for drinks with friends and like the absolutely saintly mother I am, I collected her and another child at midnight and drove them home.

January 8

Further melancholy, herself went off back to England. It is miserable seeing a child off at the airport. However, on the plus side, she loves it there and she has to look after her own transport needs when she goes out in the evenings. She would tell you that she is perfectly prepared to do this at home also but when I know she is out, I can’t stand the tension of worrying about when and how she might get home and might as well collect her for added peace of mind. On her flight she was sitting beside a man from Tipperary who turned out to be a nephew of the people who live across the road (see above re size of Ireland). Talking to my neighbour he said that his nephew is a pilot with British Airways so perhaps not entirely surprising that he should be flying back to work.

Mr. Waffle and I picked up a coffee table from friends who wanted to get rid of it. I am pleased. It does not go with the sofas at all so perhaps it may speed up their departure (how I loathe them, big mistake and they are very comfortable which makes other family members keen to keep them, alas, and they were expensive, God they were expensive, double alas).

January 9

The physio has inspected my knee and discharged me. It really is nearly better. Gratifying. And tonight is book club. Hurrah.

I trust your own January is going as well as can be expected.

Christmas Round Up

31 December, 2022
Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings, Travel, Twins, Youngest Child

Christmas Eve

We went to midnight mass on Christmas Eve (9 o’clock, midnight isn’t what it once was, inflation etc.) which was nice and the choir were in great voice. Herself and Daniel got trapped by the elderly priest who mans the side door.

Him: I haven’t seen you for a long time.

Her: I’m in England [as she explained she wanted him to understand that she was abroad and not like the other two pagans she was with].

Him: There are great Catholics in England. Look at Cardinal Newman, you can be like him.

Big ask.

Anyway, when we got home, the children disappeared up to bed and Santa got to work. At 11.30 herself arrived down looking for a snack in the kitchen which was Santa’s centre of operations. Who comes down hungry at 11.30 on Christmas Eve? Anyhow, Santa finished the present wrapping and brought herself out a snack to boot. What a saint.

I cracked open the After Eights at 11.55 and who could blame me?

Christmas Day

Santa was very tense this year but in fact, did a very good job, the children were broadly pleased.

Herself made brunch for us all. It was excellent.

We visited Mr. Waffle’s mother in the nursing home and then had a brief – though pleasant – walk.

Then we went home to make our very complex dinner. I had put the turkey in the oven before we went out. In fairness, the aga came into its own and overall dinner was v elaborate and v successful [my next door neighbour cooked for 18 and they had to drive to her daughter’s place to do some of the food as her oven was not big enough – the stress!]. However, our turkey was, alas, like ashes. To paraphrase Paul Hollywood, “very dry in the mouth.” But is that not what gravy and cranberry sauce are there for?

I spoke to my brother in France. Over the course of Christmas Eve the gas in his airbnb had got feebler and feebler. It ran out about 7 which was not a great time to ring the owner and explain the problem. Himself and his friend S were looking at charcuterie and cheese for their Christmas day lunch. However, they went for a walk around the town and found an open restaurant with a festive menu. My brother wanted to see what other options there were (this is so typical of him) but S insisted that they go there (my brother always characterises S as his pleasant but slightly dim friend from college but my sister says this is not so, it is just what my brother believes and S’s PhD from Cambridge and post-doc from MIT are strong arguments for S’s smarts but nothing has been as convincing as his bundling my brother into the restaurant there and then). Apparently dinner was delicious.

St. Stephen’s Day

The washing machine broke down again. We went to visit the cousins for lunch bringing with us a full load of damp laundry from the machine (happy Christmas!). The children were glad to see their cousins and lunch was delicious including very good turkey. If I ever have to cook Christmas dinner again and, honestly, my aim is not to, I will ask my sister-in-law for tips.

Daniel made Cajun turkey pizza for dinner which he said was a real success. The rest of us had our leftovers in other forms.

December 27 – 30

We went down to my sister in Cork for a few days. It’s amazing how good the road is now. Just over 3 hours each way which compares very favourably to the five hour trek which was a feature of my youth.

My sister and I did a tour of our relatives in North Cork and Limerick which was broadly successful – though God it is impossible to visit my Limerick relatives at any time of day without getting a full three course meal – v nice in fairness but it does make me think that they must regard my hospitality as well below par. We talked a lot about my father and my sister talked about the day he died. I think, it was a surprise to everyone but my sister felt particularly sorry for the junior doctor in charge.

The boys spent most of their time playing Magic with my sister’s partner. She says he enjoys it. I hope so for his sake.

Herself and myself went out for breakfast in Cork (difficult, many places closed, queues everywhere and the indignity of a queuing app nearly broke me). We had an unsatisfactory breakfast but a good trip to the Crawford gallery.

Then the boys joined us in town and we went up on the Ferris wheel. Mr. Waffle had met a friend for lunch but we met him in Waterstone’s after where as a Christmas treat he bought each child a book and then we went for tea and a bun. Where will it all end?

I thought my 93 year old aunt was in good nick. I got her a book of poems about cats (you’d be very surprised how many poets have penned cat verses) for Christmas and she was delighted. Honestly, I think it was the most popular Christmas present I gave anyone this year.

After our disastrous effort earlier in the week, I booked breakfast for myself, Mr. Waffle and herself (no one else wanted to come). Options were few. I booked Sophie’s at the Dean for 9 in the morning which was earlier than I would have liked but beggars can’t be choosers etc. The Dean is a new hotel beside the station part of the ubiquitous Press Up group which is basically a Dublin franchise. I see they are doing what they can to ingratiate themselves with the locals.

The views were really good but the food was only alright. The decor was odd, ski chalet meets marble palazzo. I remain on the hunt for a good Cork breakfast venue.

Herself expressed interest in a very nice but profoundly uncomfortable antique sofa and armchairs my mother bought at auction sometime in the 60s (the sofa is very like this but with fewer legs – it’s a two seater rather than a three seater). My sister was going to get rid of them and I was resigned (because although nice they are, see above, uncomfortable). I was delighted when herself said she wanted them (she said that if you weigh less – like her – they are less uncomfortable). But now I realise that I will move them to Dublin and by the time she comes to have her own flat, she won’t like them any more and I will have them forever. I am not sure that I am as pleased as I thought I was.

New Year’s Eve

Notwithstanding the thrills of Cork, it was nice to be home. The boys filled in their CAO forms today – a procedure which is more open to error than you might think. However, having seen how the English system operates, courtesy of herself, it could be a lot worse.

Herself went to Scotland to stay with a friend for new year’s. I spent the day doing jigsaws and eating stem ginger.

The new washing machine arrived at 8 in the morning and the men said we hadn’t paid for installation (no, but we would have, we would have, if we had known this was optional) and left us to our own devices. Mr. Waffle spent a happy time wrestling with it but it is now working, we are pleased. Michael audibly gasped when he saw it in all its glory when he came down for breakfast.

Lads, we are 2023 ready. May I join in the already deafening whatsapp chorus from the people on the road and wish you a very happy new year?

Happy Christmas

24 December, 2022
Posted in: Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

About 11.30 Mr Waffle and I were sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea – all our Christmas tasks were complete. A pardonable sense of smugness permeated the room. Mr. Waffle had prepared a Christmas treasure hunt for the children ( a triumph, I thought they might have got stuck on Eritrea, but no, next year will have to be harder as it only took them about 15 fun-filled minutes) and we thought we might have a walk. The day was delightfully free of tasks and obligations.

“I might make the stuffing later,” I said vaguely whereupon Mr. Waffle leapt from his seat like a scalded cat and yelped, “The turkey, we forgot to collect the turkey!”. You will be pleased to hear that he made it to the butcher’s before they closed and picked up our turkey (ordered some time ago) which is currently sitting out in the shed waiting for its chance to shine.

On this cheerful festive note, may I take the opportunity to wish you a very happy Christmas and a triumphant Christmas dinner.

Pre-Christmas Round Up

20 December, 2022
Posted in: Belgium, Dublin, Family, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

Herself is home. Rejoice. Michael has returned from his school trip to Brussels. I think it was a good, if not always enjoyable experience for him.

I have been re-inventing myself. I went for my annual haircut and the hairdresser gave me layers. I now have the exact same haircut I had when I started college in 1986. I went on a very enjoyable shopping trip with herself looking for something for me to wear to our Christmas party. We were unsuccessful but I did get a striped chunky jumper which together with the haircut is giving strong 17 year old me energy. All I need is a pair of Docs.

Herself and myself went to the Messiah in St Patrick’s Cathedral It was nice but, it is long. Also we drove in which was extremely stressful. Christmas traffic is definitely back.

My brother has moved to France for a a couple of months. He is still alive after the drive down to the Alps, so good. He says that I should come skiing. The physio who is treating my wretched knee says that is something to aim for. I was hoping for better, more like “Of course!”

I had afternoon tea in the Westbury Hotel with my Sunday book club which is an experience I would truly recommend. However, I would not recommend it on the day that you yourself are having Christmas drinks in your house from 4.30 to 6.30. I also would not recommend having those drinks on the day of the World Cup final which goes to extra time and penalties. However.

The party – our first post-Covid – was reasonably successful. We had hoped that the young French student (who does conversation with the children) and his friends who live nearby would come and give out drinks and take coats. Sadly, due to the inability of Morocco to defeat France in the World Cup semis, they were not available (if France had not been in the final they would have been, try to keep up). We managed between the five of us but it was a bit stressful. Michael was particularly bitter having essentially spent the afternoon running up and down the stairs with coats. Dan had made a playlist for the party on Spotify which worked really well and we all cleaned like mad in advance and prepped cocktail sausages, mince pies, mulled wine and lots of beer. We encouraged people to bring their children. This worked pretty well when everyone’s children were primary school age but now that most of them are teenagers it’s a bit less successful. I felt particularly sorry for the 13 year old daughter of friends who moped on the sofa throughout. More successful was a friend’s 10 year old who ruled the roost over the assembled smaller children who had been sent to the utility room with the x-box and a large tub of sweets. Positively the best compliment I got all afternoon was from the adorable six year old daughter of a colleague of Mr. Waffle’s who told me that it was the best grown-up party she had ever been to. The children really enjoyed talking to the guests and, in particular, a gentle and charming friend of Mr Waffle’s who they found very entertaining. I am glad we went to the trouble of having it when they could all be there which was not easy. We’ll see if we can improve on the timing for next year.

Last night Mr. Waffle and I went to a carol service in the local church. Somewhat to my surprise, Michael joined us; the other two firmly refused – as Dan said in horror “What now, on a Monday?” I thought it was lovely and the church choir were really good. Mr. Waffle couldn’t get over, however, the amateur strings who joined them and were, um, less than perfect though greeted with great enthusiasm by the punters.

I have bought all the Christmas presents I am going to buy. I still have to buy food for Christmas dinner (and, curve ball, get a new inner tube for the back wheel of my bicycle which punctured on my epic trip to the physio this morning) but I am broadly ready. And yourself?