We had the school Feis last Saturday. The Princess won second place with her rendition of “An TÃogar” by Máire Nà Ghallchobhair. She was very pleased.
And she got cake.
Neither of her brothers won anything (“An Seilide” by Gabriel Rosenstock for Michael and “An bhfaca tú mo ShéamaisÃn?” Traditional for Daniel). They both cried. Not in the course of their performance but on hearing the results of the independent jury. Alas.
These new ads make Siri look pretty good:
This is what she’s like, if you have an Irish accent. Siri does not support Irish accents:
Herself: Mum, you were mean to me on purpose!
My Sister: No, that’s not fair, I think your Mummy’s a little too lazy to be malicious.
Today is the Princess’s ninth birthday. I have to say, I am surprised. It seems only yesterday etc.
Her aversion to ball games seems to have solidified. She likes to walk and she likes to climb but she has no interest in running after anything that bounces. She used to like swimming but we haven’t been so much recently.
Her love of reading remains constant. Mind you, although she still speaks French she refuses point blank to do any reading in French. Otherwise, she reads what is to hand. The other day she arrived downstairs and announced to me, “I was reading Daddy’s Economist and there is an article about passwords and I am concerned that mine aren’t secure, particularly when, for example, the Monster High site allows you unlimited attempts.” Yes, I know, day and night they are out there trying to hack into her Monster High account.
She had a Monster High themed birthday party before the Easter holidays.
She found it all a bit tense, as did I. Don’t mock the afflicted.
But in the end it passed off alright although there was a stormy moment when doors were banged and tears were shed. Next year, we’re taking her to the cinema with some friends.
But my goodness she is getting big. She spent a week at my parents’ house in Cork over the Easter holidays every second of which she tried to spend watching television. She came back imitating a range of sarky American teenagers (Selena Gomez, I’m looking at you) and she seemed very grown-up. Mostly she looked at us like this:
She knows lots and lots of things. And she is not shy in coming forward with information at home though I understand that at school she is more reticent. She likes school and seems to be very settled in her class and comfortable in her surroundings. She bosses her brothers about unceasingly and mostly they knuckle under since, in compensation, she comes up with good games.
She is developing tastes like mine (reading, cake shops) and others which are completely different (Bruno Mars). A lot of the time I find her easy to be with; but sometimes everything I say annoys her and vice versa. This is where having two parents comes into its own. Sometimes it seems like she’s a teenager already. Which she loves.
She is a great arguer, she is a champion arguer. Take the following, for example:
“I understand that you hold me to a higher standard than the boys as I am older. As this is the case, why do I not also get greater rewards for my good behaviour?” She is constantly vigilant that she receives her due in all matters.
She can be very kind, even to her brothers. She is often obliging and helpful. She loves animals and is the only one of the children who is still interested in the cat. She is now very brave when it comes to petting strange dogs (including a huge doberman on a chain in France, which we found disquieting).
Today she was a heroine. We went for a long walk in the Wicklow hills. She thanked us for taking her. She admired the scenery. She galvanised her brothers not just to action but to enthusiasm. We all had a lovely, lovely time.
Until the very end when Michael stepped up to his knees in a pool of bog water and cried lustily for the 20 minutes it took him to squelch to the car. He was somewhat restored by soaking his feet in a bucket of warm water at his grandparents’ house while playing on the DS.
If she were to see this, the Princess would say that it is typical that a post about her birthday would include information about the boys. So I should conclude by saying that she is lovely, we love her very much and we are so lucky to have her. Happy birthday Princess. And here are some old photos, because that’s what you do on birthdays.
Aged 9 months
Aged 18 months
Aged 2
Aged 3
Aged 4
Aged 5
Aged 6
Aged 7
Aged 8
Mr. Waffle was out yesterday evening and I decided I would achieve much in his absence and he would be suitably impressed on his return.
I made brioche. It took forever. I was up until all hours. It tasted like bread and looked like the hunchback of Notre Dame (assuming that he was singed on one side). I didn’t spend seven hours proving for this:
The Princess and I bought white t-shirts. And then I spent hours yesterday evening trying to transfer Monster High images on to them using transfer sheets purchased while we still lived in Belgium with the deeply unsatisfying results you see below (do you think transfers go off?):
On the plus side, we did make some progress both in party bag packing (did I mention that the Princess’s ninth birthday party is on Saturday?):
and in roller blading:
Then, as I sat down after a very long evening of domestic duties to print out a document from work, I realised that the printer was out of ink after the strain of printing Monster High transfers. Alas.
I came home from work one day to find that the Princess had written her will and got the boys to draw up wills also. She had given them a fictional €100 to dispense. I said to Daniel, “Will you read me your will?” He started out cheerily enough. “I leave [herself] €15. I leave Michael half of the money and the parents all the rest. Signed Daniel.” And then his voice broke as he read, “I wish that all of my relatives never forget me.” He’d drawn a tombstone with RIP on the back.
Honestly, she’s like Wednesday Addams.