belgianwaffle

Princess

Dressing up


Posted in: Ireland, Middle Child, Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

Me (to the boys): This is your sister’s school and you two will be starting there in a while.
Daniel: Will we wear a uniform?
Me: Yes, you will.
Daniel: Like our sister’s uniform?
Me: Yes indeed.
Michael: Hurrah, I will wear a skirt!

When we got home, I changed into jeans, runners and a fleece, and trotted out to cut the grass. “You look cool”, said my daughter. I fear that prolonged exposure to Irish fashions has not improved anyone’s dress sense. And we were already coming from a low base. Sigh.

Finally, I have got all my hair cut off. A nice Lithuanian lady gave Daniel and me the same style. It cost us 28 euros in total. Pleasingly economical. I am quite happy but the complete absence of comment other than from my children and that, frankly negative, is a little disturbing. Kissing Michael goodnight he said, “I don’t want you to kiss me, you look like a boy, you’re not like my Mummy”. When I went to collect them from Montessori school, the teacher took one look at me and said, “Ah, that is why the boys came into school and told me that their Mummy is a boy, now.” Sigh.

Oh dear


Posted in: Princess

The Princess and I had a day off together last Friday. We went to the Metropolis exhibtion in Trinity which she found moderately entertaining and we went for tea and a bun which she probably enjoyed more. In the tea and bun shop, there was a beardy student reading “The Unbearable Lightness of Being”. I drew my own slightly snarky conclusions about this. As he was going out the door he said to me, “excuse me, I hope you don’t mind, but I couldn’t help overhearing you and your daughter’s conversation (few people can help it, we are loud, alas) and what I heard of her was delightful”. I felt chastened and also slightly alarmed about the implications for the pretention levels of our conversation (this was, I would say, relatively high as the Princess had decided to demonstrate her linguistic prowess and even I, the greatest show-off alive in captivity, felt that this was somewhat overdone and kept hissing at her to keep it down – “Mais maman je veux parler en Francais, why do I have to speak English to you, ba cheart duinn Gaeilge a labhairt”)

Chinese whispers


Posted in: Middle Child, Princess, Twins

Me: What do you want for breakfast?
Daniel: I want some lego.
Me: You can’t eat lego.
Daniel: I want lego you can eat.
Me: There isn’t lego you can eat.
Daniel (fretfully): Yes, there is.
Me (fretfully back): No, there isn’t.
Daniel (weepily): I want lego.
Me (crankily putting it on the table): There, are you happy now?
Daniel (crying): No. I want white round lego with butter.
Me (mystified) to Princess: Have you any idea what he wants?
Her: Yes, he would like a bagel.

Literary criticism


Posted in: Princess

Me: Look “a crowd, a host of golden daffodils”
Princess (patiently, as though talking to the feeble minded): Yes, lots of daffodils.
Me: “I wander’d lonely as a cloud”.
Her: No you didn’t.
Me: Eh? It’s a poem.
Her: But you can’t wander lonely as a cloud.
Me (truculently): Why not?
Her: Look up, there are loads of them. Clouds are never lonely.

I can’t help feeling that this astute observation is probably as true in the Lake District as in Ireland. I’m holding off on our discussion of poetic licence for another day.

Analysing the Downturn


Posted in: Ireland, Princess, Youngest Child

This morning, the Princess and Michael were lying together chatting in their parents’ bed and, coming up the stairs, I heard the Princess say to Michael:

You see, Ireland is in crisis Michael. People are losing their jobs and they are standing in large queues to complain about it. There are no jobs because the banks took all the money. In fact, Mummy got the last job in Ireland.

That last bit is probably true.

Industrial Action


Posted in: Ireland, Princess

The Princess will be six on April 12. She has been preparing thoroughly for this event. Using her new found reading and writing skills she has been drawing up guest lists and food lists and sundry other lists for the big day.

She is particularly concerned about presents. She does not want any more dolls. She has enough dolls and she wants exciting toys like her brothers get.

The other evening I arrived home from work to find her marching up and down with a home-made placard saying “NO MOR BARBEES”.

Those of you who were kind enough to offer advice will (mostly) be pleased to hear that her parents have decided no more ballet. It looks like, following the work to rule, management has caved on one item, at least.