belgianwaffle

Mr. Waffle

More Birthday – Normal Service Resumes Tomorrow


Posted in: Family, Ireland, Mr. Waffle

Mr. Waffle and I went for a birthday walk in the mountains today. It was an absolutely beautiful day as you can see from this photo taken in town at 9 this morning.

Unfortunately, my pictures from the mountains do not do the day justice. But never mind, I will make you suffer anyhow.

Before:

During:

[Sore knee from skiing – Andorra ’96 – coming back to haunt me somewhat during the ascent along with pulled calf from tennis match on Friday night. This is what happens to the elderly.]

And the view from the café afterwards:

.

My 5 year old niece has just called me because she remembered it was my birthday – that’s the kind of dedication we like to see in young children. My father and aunt sent cards. I got lovely presents from family members. Lots of people emailed. This is the first birthday, though, when I haven’t spoken to my mother because she is just not well enough to talk to me. She is, however, the person who taught me to continue enjoying birthdays as a grown-up so I am sure that she would be delighted that I am still celebrating with enthusiasm.

Here is my cake.

Basking in Reflected Glory


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

One Sunday, the Princess did a second reading, Mr. Waffle did a bit at the start of mass and all the children did prayers of the faithful. I didn’t do anything, though, as Mr. Waffle pointed out, “We’re not the ones who need practice with our public speaking.”

As Mr. Waffle was doing his bit, a neighbour in the seat behind poked me in the ribs and said, “He’d be perfect for RTE.” I assume, a compliment. The American priest said mass; we’re getting used to him. At the end, he singled out herself for particular praise, “I would like to compliment the young lady who read the second reading; it’s a difficult text and she read it beautifully.” Everybody dutifully clapped and herself was mortified, though pleased. This kind of announcement in the church is, of course, the kind of thing I normally despise but, like many another thing, it’s never so bad when you’re involved yourself.

I think I have reached the high water mark in church engagement. From here, it’s all downhill. Indeed, Michael has recently begun pumping the air when the priest says “Mass is ended” which is unwelcome.

Touching


Posted in: Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Twins

Mr. Waffle came home from football with a nasty cut on his arm from a fall on the astroturf. Daniel asked anxiously whether the physio had been called on to the pitch.

My Goose is Cooked


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

We are ready.

Mr. Waffle has picked up the turkey [tomorrow I will cook turkey for the first time – I am hoping the people who say it is a big chicken are right].

The Princess is singing a solo at the carol service tonight [a verse of Away in a Manger] and she is filled with trepidation but at least she is clean and so are her clothes – so a triumph, for me, anyhow. She may also be on television later, or she may be on the cutting room floor [she spoke to camera about what Christmas meant to her but so did winsome 4 year olds so she is pessimistic about making the cut]. We will gather around the television filled with anxious anticipation. Michael is resigned to going to the carol service which he will not enjoy as every time we sing around the house he puts his hands to his ears to “stop them bleeding”. He is also clean. Daniel is singing in the choir. He will be clean as soon as the Grinch is over.

I hope that you have a lovely, lovely Christmas and that at least one of your presents is what you always wanted.

DIY


Posted in: Mr. Waffle

I spent €142 on lampshades in IKEA. Nobody noticed the number of bulbs without shades but me; it was gnawing away at me. As soon as I got home, I put them all up, without assistance. Throughout the week there was a mild burning smell. I got home one day to find a blown bulb with a piece of melted plastic adhering to its surface. My husband was reproachful. He re-fitted all the bulbs. It turns out that these lampshades are trickier to fix than you might think. Do not mock the afflicted.

In other news, we made a last ditch attempt to mend the broken door handle with sugru having tried, and failed, several times with superglue. The problem is that it’s a door handle and you forget that it is supposed to be bonding and pull it off at a crucial moment. After each of us in turn had pulled off the sugrued door handle, Mr. Waffle covered it in a yoghurt pot and some threatening notes:

It was probably too little, too late. It didn’t stick anyhow and I have bought new door handles from China at €25 a pair. They are waiting under the stairs until after Christmas when we all feel stronger.

Did I mention that the bad weather has knocked slates off the roof as well? What are the chances of getting a roofer out between now and New Year? Pretty poor, I think we can agree. Never mind, we are so handy, I’m sure we can sort something out ourselves [insert snort of derisive laughter here].

There is NO Pension Crisis or Further Christmas Cheer


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

Last Sunday we had people around for mulled wine and mince pies from 4 to 6. The invitations specified that children were welcome. Our friends have a lot of children. We totted up that there were 70 odd people here many of whom were 15 or under (nobody between 15 and 35 though, that demographic was clearly at an entirely different party). I quite enjoyed herding mortified teenagers into the utility room and forcing them to speak to each other. We’d put out some beanbags to make it less utilitarian and this was before the pigeon had died a bloody death on the floor so it wasn’t as bad as it sounds. Herself had pinned this to the door:

Note correct use of the apostrophe, though clearly following a period of reflection.

I deployed herself and her friends to wend through the crowds offering mince pies and cocktail sausages. A friend of Mr. Waffle’s reports the following conversation:

Friend: Is that panettone*?
Herself: No,it’s stollen*.
Friend: Is it nice?
Herself: Well, it has marzipan; some people don’t like it or are allergic to it.
Friend: I’ll try some.
Herself: On your own head be it.

*It’s far from panettone and stollen that we were reared.

Santa visited the school. Not the real Santa, you understand; just a man from up the road with a luxuriant beard. Nevertheless, at mass this morning when it came to the sign of peace, Michael jumped a mile when the man in the seat behind poked him in the ribs and said “Ho, Ho, Ho”. Yes, indeed, substitute Santa was at mass this morning. Herself had been muttering bitterly that Santa was a sexist cad as he gave the girls knitting and the boys small table footballs but since she had managed to persuade someone to swap with her (unlikely but true) my hopes that she wouldn’t raise the issue with substitute Santa in the church porch were realised.

Last, but my no means least, there is a man I found on the internet who explains wordpress to me. He did a bit of work on my blog [this here is a technical masterpiece, I’ll have you know]. I asked for a bill for his latest labours and this is the reply that I got:

All done. Very easy.
Instead of paying me, could you throw 10 euro to your favourite charity.

It’s been a bit grim for charities this Christmas as there has been a lot of media coverage about money from fund-raising going to top up already large salaries for senior staff. While this is certainly not true for all charities it has hit them all; the man [volunteer] from the Vincent de Paul who spoke at mass last Sunday found himself obliged to say that none of the money raised in the collection would go to top-ups. I felt for him.

All this notwithstanding, I am feeling a definite Christmassy glow. Today it snowed (well, sleeted); yesterday I went to a party and got a blister on my finger while constructing an IKEA gingerbread house with melted sugar; tomorrow is my last day at work before Christmas. Lucky Mr Waffle and the children finished up on Friday so they will be bonding tomorrow and possibly picking up the turkey while I labour.

It’s all good (apart from the blister).