Me: What are you reading?
Herself: Ross O’Carroll-Kelly in the paper.
Me: Oh, a fan of the Rossmeister, are we?
Her: No, I read it for Honor.
Princess
A Moment of Smugness Poorly Disguised as Helpful Advice
When we left Belgium, the Princess was 5. At that time, in my office in Brussels, there was a very annoying intern. His mother came to visit. She was a primary school teacher. I told her that we were moving back to Ireland and she asked about the Princess’s reading ability. I confessed that she couldn’t read. The intern’s mother was shocked and pointed out that the intern had been able to read well before starting school. She commented that the Princess would be miles behind and would never catch up. I was concerned, of course I was. I spent hours with herself, trying to teach her how to read which was torture for both of us and a completely wasted effort.
Back in Dublin, she started in senior infants [the second year of Irish schooling] and had a lovely teacher who assured me that she would be fine and was utterly unfazed by the Princess’s inability to read. At the start of the year the Princess could neither speak Irish nor read, by the end of the year, she could do both. A triumph for the virtues of the Irish education system. The fact remains that she was nearly 6 when she learnt to read which is on the late side of the spectrum. But she loves to read. Recently I asked her, “What are you reading?” and she replied “I’m re-reading Little Women as a palate cleanser between Wuthering Heights and Pride and Prejudice.” Never catch up indeed, hah! I might add that she is reading aloud Georgette Heyer’s Arabella for my mother whose eyesight is not good. Hah again!
What was the advice, you ask? Don’t worry, when your child starts to read, it is, in my experience, no indication at all of future reading habits. So there.
Simple Pleasures
The Princess is doing a course after school on Wednesdays so her father and I decided that she could make her way home on her own. She has previously got the bus home alone but since we put her on the bus and collected her from the bus stop, I’m not sure that it really counts.
She set off this morning with her travel card in her hand and a great sense of anticipation. I picked up the boys at 2.30 and we headed home in the car. She came home at 4. She was absolutely delighted with herself. She had walked to the bus stop with two other children from her class who stopped off on the way to get hot cookies in subway [she has made a mental note to bring cash next week] and met one of the classroom assistants at the bus stop but then she was on her own. She said that she felt very sophisticated upstairs all by herself. But, alas, when it came to her stop, although she pushed the stop button the bus did not stop. It didn’t stop at the next stop either, she was beginning to panic and decided that if it didn’t stop at the following stop, she would say something to the driver even if she had to pay a fine. Discovery: 11 year olds are the only people who believe that sign by the bus driver saying ‘talking to the driver may lead to a fine’, I have told her not to hesitate in future. Anyway, she trekked back the couple of stops on foot and made it home without further incident and she is feeling very capable.
Lenore Skenazy would be proud.
21st Century Parenting
We went for a walk on the west pier in Dun Laoghaire this afternoon. I said to the children that we might see seals, which we did. My evil genius prompted me to ask, “Does anyone know what the French for seal is?” They didn’t. It’s le phoque. I thought that Daniel was actually going to choke with laughter when he heard.
This by way of background to conversation on the way home in the car.
Mr. Waffle: If we’re going to listen to your music, we’re going to have to listen to some of mine also.
Daniel: Oh French seal!
Herself: Bruce Springsteen? Is this part of your mid-life crisis again?
A Hairpin
When I was little, if I was a bit too smart, my father’s relatives would call me a hairpin. I’m not sure whether that is unique to Cork or unique to them. It came to my mind when I discovered that the Princess has made a complete list of all of her Halloween loot which she is carefully checking against the remaining items every morning. No unauthorised mini malteaser packs for me.
In other hairpiness, consider this.
Me: Would you like a grape?
Michael: No, you know I don’t like grapes.
Herself: It’s hard for Mum to remember because we spend far more time every day with school and the childminder combined than we do with her.
And this example of metahairpiness.
Her: NabloPoMo is so hard.
Me: Why do you say that?
Her: I have to keep thinking of witty things to say so that you can write about them.
I await the teenage years with interest.
A City Child
We have been visiting secondary schools with a view to finding somewhere the Princess might like to attend next year which would also have room to have her. More challenging than you might imagine.
She and I went to see an establishment set in the middle of several playing fields. “Ah,” I said inhaling, “the smell of school: grass and chalkdust.” She sniffed dubiously, “I don’t think so, school smells of tarmac and spit.”