We had meringues after dinner. “Everyone can have a meringue,” I said. “Do I have to?” asked Michael. “I love the way Michael regards a sugary treat with the same level of enthusiasm that other children reserve for boiled cabbage,” said his sister.
Herself has got her hair cut.
The dentist had another look at Daniel’s possibly dead front tooth and is almost certain it’s dead but wants to see us again in a month. Sigh
Herself objects to the school uniform. It is not beautiful, I suppose. It is grey (for boys), blue and navy (for girls) and serviceable and comes with a navy anorak (both sexes). The school uniform policy is strict and parents and children alike are always being reminded of it. Herself is testing the boundaries of the policy in imaginative ways such as by, for example, wearing her own jumper over the uniform and then removing it during that part of the day observed by teachers (almost all of it, I understand). She has an exciting belt which the school authorities objected to. She has been known to wear make up and dangly earrings.
Mr. Waffle feels that the other day, she made her most daring move yet. He drove the children into school as it was raining. He saw them entering the school building. He noted that herself was saying a cheery good morning to the principal while wearing her fake pink fur coat purchased in a second hand shop in Talbot Street. The principal appeared to accept her non-regulation coat without question and she sauntered on. I wonder will she break the Christian Brothers?
I was in Cork at the weekend with herself. Nothing really happened but here we are in November and I have committed to posting every day. It’s only the 11th and I’m exhausted already.
I took herself to the cemetery to see my mother’s grave and almost missed it because the enormous overgrown hydrangea bush nearby, which is a handy marker, had been chopped down by somebody in an excess of enthusiasm. We went at dusk and it was quite beautiful. I couldn’t help feeling that had she known, my mother would have been delighted to be interred in such an interesting cemetery.
My father and my aunt were pretty remarkably perky. I made herself consult with my father for his live take on the rise of fascism for her history essay but as he was only 15 in 1940, it was a bit underwhelming – he just summarised what we knew already – but he did comment that his views were formed in part by the papers his aunts and uncles took: the Daily Mail and, oh God, the Express. I can only rejoice, I suppose, that he himself is a Daily Telegraph reader.
We went out on Friday night for my sister’s birthday which was a bit disastrous as both she and my brother were quite ill and herself was exhausted. We ate our way around Cork over the weekend. After our ill-fated dinner on Friday night, herself and myself had a satisfactory breakfast in the Crawford, then picked up lunch ingredients in the Market and in the evening she had chips and Tanora from Jackie Lennox’s; the following morning we had breakfast in the Nano Nagle cafe (aside, is it too early for the return of Hanora as a girl’s name?). All in all a culinary tour de force.
How was your own weekend? Much food?
A couple of weeks ago, I was cycling back to my, very traditional, workplace after lunch wearing my, very traditional, work suit when I had to stop to walk past the Extinction Rebellion installation. As I looked in, who did I see, with her face painted with leaves, only one of the Princess’s friends from primary school. I called out to her and she trotted across to me with a big smile. We had a friendly chat across the barricades and she explained that despite her very best efforts, she had not been arrested. The Guards said that she was too young to be arrested. “Where is [herself]?” she asked. “At school,” I said offering up silent thanks and asked, “Why aren’t you at school?” She paused and then offered, “My parents are hippies?” Fair enough, I suppose.
Herself and her friends were walking along the road when they saw a car hit a parked car and take off the side of it. The driver of the offending car, got out, had a look and hopped back into her car leaving no note or any indication that she had caused the damage.
The Princess and her friends leapt into action, ringing doorbells along the street but to no avail. Her friend N had taken the licence plate of the offending hit and runner and they were anxious to pass on the details. But no one answered the doors and they were about to give up when they spotted an older woman in a dressing gown emerging from a house on the road. Herself leapt up on her bicycle and caught the lady with the others sprinting along behind (possibly a slightly alarming sight for the frail elderly woman but let us hope not).
It turned out that the older woman was the owner of the damaged car and she had just come out of hospital. She was very grateful to the young detectives and gave them all a hug. They passed on the information they had and gave their contact details. That evening N got a call from the guards asking about the incident and it looks like they are going to pursue it.
Aren’t teenagers sometimes lovely all the same?
The other morning I was cycling in to work and I saw a schoolgirl cycling in front of me. I was delighted as you so rarely see schoolgirls cycling. The Princess’s friend E from primary school is one of the only girls, aside from herself, I know who cycles to school. I peered more closely at the child ahead of me and when I arrived at the lights, I confirmed that it was indeed E on the bike. She’s in her last year of secondary school now and while waiting for the lights to change we covered a variety of topics including how her parents and sisters were; what subjects she was studying for the Leaving Certificate and what she was hoping to study in college. I felt it was poor form of me to put off one of the few girls who cycle by introducing the additional danger of being interrogated by her friend’s mother to the already considerable dangers for cyclists on Dublin streets but what can I do, I am a middle aged mother of three and I live to torture teenagers with hard questions about their lives.