Herself: I really admire farmers who don’t use chemicals.
Me (surprised): Do you?
Her: Yes, it must be so hard to grow things in a vacuum.
Me: Good one.
Her: Yes, and it helps tell the wheat from the chaff.
Me: Which am I?
Her: Well, I’m not a farmer so I’m not sure which is the good one, but the good one.
Princess
Marie Kondo Changes our Lives
So, Herself read “The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up“. If you are unfamiliar with Ms. Kondo’s book, the clue is in the title. Then, she read it again.
Then she spent about a fortnight tidying her room while keeping Marie Kondo on her bedside table for inspiration. I lugged enormous black bags of stuff to the charity shop at regular intervals. I also preserved a lot of books which she was heartlessly going to give away. This has not been without consequences for the rest of the house.
Mr. Waffle emailed me this picture which he entitled “The cull continues”.
This is the pile on the landing after distribution of extensive stocks to her brothers and cousins:
But her room is amazing. It’s really tidy and it has stayed that way. She’s really grown up a lot this summer. She looks more grown up and she has become very self-sufficient. She spent a week in Paris and a week in London. She was with her aunt in London and had an amazing time. The trip to Paris with her exchange and no relatives was more challenging but she did it and she is quite proud of herself, I think. That was the longest she had been away without family. In many ways she did more growing up after the end of first year in secondary school than after the end of primary school. Going into secondary school, she was still a child but now she is definitely a teenager. I think we get on pretty well and we do like to talk but I am also, in her view, endlessly tactless as, I point out to her, is the nature of parents of teenagers everywhere.
She sends me emails which I find delightful. Like this one.
To: Me
From: Herself
Subject: HelpA butterfly butterflew into my room
You don’t hear this much but, do you know what, I’m going to say it, I really like being the parent of a teenager. I hope these words won’t come back to haunt me.
Tough Crowd
Me (happily): Michael is going to have a boiled egg for lunch. This is all down to you miss, if you hadn’t encouraged him to have one he might never have started back on eggs. This will be your legacy!
Herself: Fantastic, other people have leadership, world peace and so on as their legacy and mine will be getting Michael to eat eggs.
Me: No, no, you are bringing domestic bliss to the world. Not to be underrated.
Her: Oh don’t go all Beth on me. The chirping of the cricket in the hearth that isn’t noticed until it is gone, is it?
Properly Regarded as an Economy
I asked the Princess to make me mint biscuits and she kindly consented. “We need peppermint essence,” she said. It was not available in our local shops. “We could make it,” I said. We looked it up on the internet. All we needed was mint (of which we had a superabundance) and vodka (of which we had none).
We rang Mr. Waffle who was at the library with the boys and asked him to get some vodka for us. He came back with a €20 bottle. In a moment of rashness, we used it all. We now have a litre of peppermint essence in preparation.
All I can say is, I’m looking forward to these biscuits. It you know me and you need peppermint essence, contact me, I can do you a great deal.
Irresistible Force Meets Immovable Object
Herself likes to argue and debate. So does my brother. She is a feminist. Despite the best efforts of three generations (his mother, his aunt, his sisters, his niece) my brother remains resistant to the idea that discrimination against women exists in any form in Ireland. He and I have been arguing about this for around 30 years and I have largely given up. Herself is made of sterner stuff. Also she and my brother really seem to enjoy the vigourous cut and thrust of debate whereas I just get cross.
In my new back seat role, I enjoyed this dispatch from the front line.
From: Herself
To: Me
Subject: If The Media Wrote About Theresa May’s Husband The Way They Write About Samantha CameronAm having an argument with Uncle Dan about whether institutionalised sexism exists.
Happy Anniversary
Mr. Waffle and I celebrated our 15th wedding anniversary on Thursday, July 28. As we got married before having children and when Mr. Waffle was in a different line of work, that was, then, a relatively quiet time of year. Now the children are on holidays; it is one of Mr. Waffle’s busiest times of the year and we go on our family holiday immediately after.
This year has been particularly difficult as for the last number of years, I have been able to take unpaid leave over the summer but it wasn’t possible this year. We kept our childminder on for the afternoons and signed the children up to a couple of courses and Mr. Waffle took up the slack. It was all a bit stressful. Unfortunately, herself was ill for almost all her course and the week before the boys were due to go on their course I got this plaintive email from my husband.
To: Me
From: Mr. Waffle
Subject: Re: All well at home?To my horror got a call from the sports camp I thought the boys were doing a course next week but apparently it’s this week. Will have to see if they’re willing to go for the last three days and if [childminder] can do afternoons. Also means we have no course for anybody next week…
In other words, it’s a busy time and we almost, but not quite, forget our anniversary every year. We tend to remember a day or two before when it is too late to do anything but scramble for a not entirely adequate present. For example, the internet tells me that crystal is the appropriate offering for a 15th wedding anniversary; I got Mr. Waffle a book and he got me flowers [very welcome flowers, I hasten to add].
Happily, this year, our firstborn surprised us and when we came home from work, the table looked like this:
She made us risotto for dinner with help from Daniel and Victoria sponge for desert and it was amazing.
Also, I still love my husband, which is great. He sends me funny emails. Samples below:
From: Mr. Waffle
To: Me
Subject: Signs and portentsMy laptop is being weird and currently refuses to open any files or programs.
Also five slugs in utility room / by back door.
I think I’ll call it a day.
From: Mr. Waffle
To: Me
Subject: What is the best Irish term for Brexit?Sasamach? Bréalú?
I understand someone else came up with these terms but I am always glad to be consulted on matters of national importance.
A couple of weeks ago, the cat brought another pigeon into the house. This time it was not dead. Mr. Waffle grabbed the pigeon from the cat; trapped the cat in the utility room and chased the pigeon around the kitchen (I asked Herself about it – “It was terrible, the pigeon fell in my soup”. Terrible on so many levels). Eventually he was able to usher the pigeon out of the kitchen into the hall while the cat continued to scream blue murder in the utility room. Mr. Waffle said that the pigeon was somewhat dazed but it picked itself up and waddled along the hall and out the front door, somewhat to the bemusement of passers by.
On Saturday evening he rescued the cat from up a tree where she was chased by three small yappy dogs who have moved in across the road. We are not loving them. Mr. Waffle, however, is fantastic.
The other evening I was trying to print off the childminder’s payslip and the printer wouldn’t work. Michael sidled up to me; “Sorry,” he said, “but I think I broke the printer.” “How do you think you broke the printer?” I asked. “I dropped 10 cents down the paper feeder,” he said. I shook it and I turned it up and down but to no avail. “I’m not cross,” I said, “but how did you drop 10 cents into the printer?” Apparently he had been practising coin flips and it had just escaped away from him. After the last unfortunate demise of a printer, my clever husband had taken out a guarantee. €12 well spent. We now have another new printer. I think love is in the details.
Think of us having another delightful anniversary dinner in France. After all, 15 years is definitely worth celebrating.