We went to the Natural History Museum which is a small museum where the children have been a couple of times before. At the door, I said, “You can go where you want inside the museum, but don’t go outside. If you need me, I will go to the book corner when I have finished looking around.”
The Princess pushed her brothers forward, “Go on, let’s enjoy our small slice of freedom pie.”
The boys were recently assigned their first school project. Each child had to pick an Irish county to write about. Daniel, still fascinated by the Battle of the Boyne, picked Meath. He did some research on his chosen county. He wrote about the Hill of Tara and the stone of destiny at the top.
“You know,” I said, “I’ve never been up the Hill of Tara, we should go this weekend.” Whereupon the Princess moaned with acute, though deplorable, insight, “Don’t make us, it will be a long walk up a hill in the rain and when we get there the stone will be titchy.” I know that this is true but I am still going to make them do it; if only the weather would improve just a little bit. I have a new Portuguese colleague at work and she is in daily astonishment at the awful weather and refuses to believe that it could be worse in Cork but it is. I digress.
Michael meanwhile chose to do his project on Cork. “Why did you choose Cork?” I asked beaming with pride. “Because there was nothing else left and I knew you would know lots about it.” My pragmatic though not notably tactful child. One of the things he stuck to the chart was a picture of UCC the university in Cork with which my family has a long association. On the front he had written, “Lift the flap to find a fact.” Underneath was written “This is a college, it is called DCU.” [Spelling corrected for your benefit. Michael’s spelling continues to be idiosyncratic.] DCU is a local university in Dublin. As I squealed in horror, a part of me took off my hat to DCU’s outreach programme which is manifestly building excellent brand recognition among local school children.
That is all. The projects have now been submitted and are gracing the wall of 2nd class.
Blogging has been light of late. I have been very busy; work, the house, nationwide travel. I swapped my day for collecting the children from school to facilitate a work commitment. When I arrived, late, to collect the troops, herself was very cross. When I asked what was wrong she said, “It wasn’t your usual day to collect us and I was worried that you had forgotten us.” My poor misfortunate children.
Me: You see, we weren’t late this morning and Daddy wasn’t cross.
Her: But he would have been, had we tarried.
“Had we tarried” really? What is she reading?
Me: Well done everyone, we’re in good time today. We’re going to be early for school. [Glancing at the dashboard clock] Well, maybe not early but we definitely won’t be late.
Herself: It’s called “being on time” Mum.
The Princess and I had a very traumatic choir practice the other night. The choir director for the Christmas carol service came (an important man who was far less interested in us than our normal choir director). The choir launched into various hymns (unknown to the Princess and me) in 5 parts. Sitting between the altos and the sopranos, with another three parts going on in the surrounding pews, and with no idea how to read music, I felt that I had zero chance of picking up any of the tunes. I was correct.
“Descant!” said the director. “What,” I hissed to the nice lady beside me, “is a descant?” Oh Lord.
Later one of the younger teenagers sang “Walking in the Air” alone. “That was lovely,” I said to her mother. Her mother repeated it to her and I heard her reply witheringly to her mother’s mortification “Anne, doesn’t even know what a descant is.”
The carol service is on Christmas Eve. The Princess and I are nervous. I think only prayer can help us now.