belgianwaffle

Middle Child

It’s a Social Whirl

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Posted in: Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings, Twins, Youngest Child

It was my birthday in March. Herself was home (day after her poor great Uncle’s funeral) which was great. We were to go for breakfast together but alas, a logistical issue with an application arose for her and we spent much of the morning trying (unsuccessfully) to resolve this before heading off for breakfast at 11 and then on to the airport after a short walk. While, obviously, it was delightful to have her here, it’s hard to say that taking your daughter to the airport so that she can return to the land of her exile is a complete highlight but, as she pointed out, she was due back at Easter so I would probably survive.

My family delivered on my birthday with a number of subscriptions including cheese (sister) and flowers (middle child). Very thrilling. Even youngest child remembered and sent a card (dates wouldn’t be his strong point). This only scratches the surface of the excellent presents received from all parties. How I love my birthday.

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To recover from dispatching the exile, I went in to Bewley’s for a restorative cup of tea and the waitress recognised me from previous adventures and basically asked why I wasn’t at work. “It’s my birthday, I’m off!” I said. She gave me free tea. God, I was thrilled.

Mr. Waffle also has a birthday in March so the Dublin contingent went out to dinner to celebrate. I don’t know that he really enjoys his birthday as much as he should. I think he feels he’s too old for this but I will never be too old.

It was sobering though to go to a friend’s 60th birthday drinks. That is old. Because Ireland is small a former colleague was there who turned out to be the birthday boy’s sister in-law’s daughter’s husband. Try to keep up.

I have been out for dinner a number of times with my tennis buddies moving on from the more challenging on court engagement to an arena where I truly shine. Speaking of tennis, on Palm Sunday I went to an early mass in a church where there are a number of regular crazy people in the congregation and the environment can be a little exciting but it had an early and speedy mass which I needed to get to a tennis match at 10.

To my surprise in the pew along from me there were some very clean cut enthusiastic Americans (mid-Westerners, so wholesome) responding clearly and crisply throughout (not a feature of the Irish congregation which is given to the holy mumble) and I felt that they might have gone astray in this city so I talked to them afterwards and it turned out their son was studying in Dublin and they had come to visit him. “It’s actually my first time…” began the son. “At mass since you came to Dublin?” I inquired based on knowledge of other people of his age. He was shocked. “No, in this church, I usually go to the pro-Cathedral.”

I scooted on to tennis and told my opponent about the encounter. “You go to mass??” said she. “Yes,” I said, a bit defensively. Apparently, I am not a beacon for the faith. “I’m amazed,” said she, “it’s just that I thought you were a Protestant.” Honestly, with my name I could never be; it looks like sectarianism may be on the way out. Or maybe she just thought I looked like I would be good at crafts (I am not good at crafts).

On that self-same day, I then had breakfast out with my husband, went to my bookclub for the afternoon and returned to welcome my sister to our home like the gracious hostess, I am. A bit too much perhaps.

Is this why I’m losing my mind? I went to Carlingford with Mr. Waffle a couple of weeks ago and I said to him, “Can we go to that place I like?” “What place, a walk, a sight, a cafe?” he asked. “You know, you know,” I said. “I do not,” said he. I rummaged deep in the recesses of my brain and said, “You know… Mornington Grove”. There was a long pause and then he said, “Do you mean Strandfield?” Truly, that was impressive work.

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Turbulent Times

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Posted in: Dublin, Family, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

Mr. Waffle and I climbed the Sugar Loaf on Good Friday. It was extremely windy and we were nearly blown away. I have never before experienced such strong wind on that mountain which, despite the excellent views and impressive appearance, is generally an extremely straightforward climb. I once met a pre-school class on the top and one of the little girls had brought her bag on wheels (just to give you the picture).

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Still, despite the wind, it was a very satisfactory day out, all the more so as when we left Dublin it was absolutely lashing and we nearly didn’t go at all. In the end we brought our rain gear and didn’t even need it.

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I bought some linen napkins in Enniskerry afterwards. Middle aged thrills.

You might have thought that as my youngest child had returned to these shores (briefly, for Easter) from his Erasmus placement abroad, I would be spending all my time with him but you would have reckoned without his extremely full social calendar. He came back on Wednesday morning (April 1) and immediately plunged into a social whirl.

I was delighted with myself on Wednesday morning when I sent a message to the family group chat saying “Aaargh, youngest child’s flight is diverted to Heathrow, first born can you help?” Herself rang straight away with many questions and I revealed it was an April fool. Mr. Waffle was using the flight tracker and utterly baffled. Middle child sent a message saying, “You infidels have no need to blow up my phone before 8 in the morning” so not everyone was fooled. It was my greatest April fool ever and no one was even cross with me (which can be a risk).

Herself was due to come home on Saturday evening and I was dutifully waiting at the airport when looking at the flight tracker I saw her plane doing pretty elaborate loops. It was extremely windy and, alas, they took her back to London without landing. I was so relieved that she was alive that I resigned myself to her not being here for Easter. It was all pretty hairy she told us afterwards: “I’ve never been on a flight before where everyone screamed at the same time.”

She spent the night in the Radisson in Heathrow airport (congratulations to Hamish and Nishal on their wedding which was going really well judging by the background noises). And, thrills and delight got in to Dublin the next morning. Middle child and I had an extremely elaborate breakfast waiting for her (youngest child still in bed, note social life comments earlier) – see those new napkins getting their first outing.

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Weird aside, there were about 30 young men from an American school from Ohio at mass in their blazers and the priest said that they were here to play rugby. I have many questions.

We went to the in-laws for lunch (oh happy day) and spent the day with the extended family. It was really nice to see everyone and even though the children played monopoly together which, in my experience, is generally not a recipe for a good time, I think everyone did, in fact, have a good time.

On Monday we saw Mr. Waffle’s sister and her family for lunch; went for a walk; and then dropped herself to the airport. This was not without its alarms as BA had cancelled the return leg of her flight for their own obscure reasons but all was well in the end.

Today, Mr. Waffle and I cycled to Howth and although it was pretty pleasant it is quite far away and I am exhausted from my efforts.

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Our beloved youngest child is joining us for dinner tonight before he flies back to his Erasmus exile at the crack of dawn. It’s my last day off work and I guess the Easter excitement is nearly over.

How was your own Easter?

Plumbing the Depths


Posted in: Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Travel, Twins, Youngest Child

The washing machine broke a week ago last Tuesday. Bosch said it would take a week to send out a repairman. How could we last a week? We rang the plumber who said he could come the next day. He came. He said it would need a Bosch technician to repair it. He looked at our kitchen taps. A deeply unsatisfactory situation arose when the last plumber (now no longer on our books) came to look at the water pressure, broke the hot tap and replaced it with one that, ok, worked, but did not match the cold tap. A delightfully eclectic look. The new plumber said he could re-affix the old tap. Could he? Reader he could not. He said he would take it away with him and see if he could replace some element. He then replaced the non matching tap. For this, not entirely perfect, service he charged us €135.

I rang Bosch. They confirmed what was on the website, a technician could only be with us the following Tuesday. We washed by hand. Mr. Waffle, the youngest child and I went off for the bank holiday weekend (you will recall our new bank holiday on February 1 in honour of St. Bridget, a post-Covid reward for the people of Ireland) to set him up in university abroad where he will be spending a term under the Erasmus scheme. We left poor old middle child to fend without a dishwasher.

I must say, when we came back the house was spick and span but middle child had chosen to have six people around to dinner while we were away. That’s a lot of washing up to do by hand. The task was not rendered any easier by the replaced tap coming off (before it didn’t look great but at least it worked). Enterprising middle child had a pliers by the sink which was being used to turn on and off the hot tap. Again, I question our €135 expenditure on this.

The Bosch repair man came on Tuesday morning. He replaced a broken part and charged us €103 (labour and call out) plus €9 (parts). It works, I rejoice. This weekend Mr. Waffle and I are going to the plumbing shop to buy an entirely new kitchen tap set up. I can’t wait. You come here for the fascinating domestic logistics, I’m sure.

Gloom, Gloomier, Gloomiest


Posted in: Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

Last night herself called about 9pm from her job in the City in London where she was waiting for some data to come in – a regular 10.30 finish genuinely seems normal, she is resigned but she is not loving it; middle child was lying on the sofa suffering from a really bad dose of food poisoning (origins a mystery); and youngest child rang from his Erasmus destination to say that he is still stuck in the middle of nowhere and the speedy bus service he was promised remains illusory as the buses are all on strike. And it’s still raining.

Driving me Crazy


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

Progress towards full driving licences for all three children is slow. They’ve all passed their theory test including herself who finally did it last summer. To be honest, I was never very worried about the theory test even if there were a lot of hard questions about tractors (the licence also equips one to drive a tractor something I don’t expect to be a major feature of their lives but who can tell?) – I think they might all have got 100% – it’s the practical test I was more concerned about and I am right there. Herself is in England and so beyond help essentially – she’ll have to sort herself out, I think. I regret this but there it is.

The other two are at home and on our insurance policy at enormous expense (two twenty year olds on provisional licences, of course the expense is enormous). One of them has taken the test and failed. The other hasn’t taken the test yet. Part of the problem is that they don’t have much practice as our lifestyle does not involve much driving. Because of where we live it is almost always easier to cycle or take public transport. If we are going for longer distances we tend to take the motorway where learner drivers are not allowed. And, of course, they have to be accompanied by a qualified driver so we have to go with them when they drive which is a bit tedious and occasionally alarming. I suppose we will get there in the end.

We had a friend who lives in the Netherlands to stay recently (home for a month’s mind for a man she knew from college, very depressing, only in his mid-50s with young children). Her children are of an age with our children so we were asking about progress on driving and her eldest has passed the test. We were suitably impressed particularly when we heard about the Dutch system. Apparently the people who give you your lessons also pass you on the test. The lessons cost a fortune so the incentive to pass people is low. Her son passed on his third or fourth attempt and it is not at all unusual to have a lot of attempts. On one occasion, her son turned up to take his test but could not do so as the test centre had been burnt down by someone who had been failed 14 times. People, there’s a whole world out there.

Wardrobe Choices


Posted in: Middle Child, Travel, Twins

Middle child spent last week in Krakow on a college society trip. Banach was from there. You haven’t heard of Banach spaces? Nope, me neither. Anyway it was all a pretext for entertainment. They flew Ryanair (of course) and so luggage size was an important consideration.

Middle child: Will I be ok with just the jeans I’m wearing?

Me: Yeah, if you’re careful. It should be fine.

It was when I got a picture of this child lying down in a park in Krakow making a snow angel that I did wonder whether I am entirely right in my motherly assessment that my children are all geniuses.

In a related adventure, I hauled out my ancient ski jacket (purchased in Modena where I was on my Erasmus adventure in 1990) from what I thought might be its final resting place and said, “You might want to wear this in Krakow, it’s very warm.” The great news is that it is now very trendy (Sergio Tacchini waiting his time in the long grass) and all the young people think I am cool. The jacket has now been put in regular rotation and went into college this morning. I am extremely pleased with myself. A slight dent in my exhilaration occurred when I said, “The only problem is that there’s no hood.” Child felt the collar and said, “Is there not one in here?” There was one in there but I never knew and it remained pristine in its hiding place for 31 years until discovered by middle child. Perhaps my children are geniuses after all.