Recently, some of the children’s friends came to visit. In the car on the way home from school, we saw a Christmas advertisement for Coca Cola with a happy Santa and a large lorry. “Coca Cola is poisonous,†opined our five year old visitor, “we are not allowed to drink it at home.” “No, it is not poisonous,” said his eight year old brother. “Do you know,” he asked me, “where Coca Cola is mostly made?” Without pausing for a reply, which was as well, really, he continued, “In South America, in Brazil and they won’t let their workers unionise.” This conversation was somewhat beyond Daniel but he was trying hard to follow the general gist, unlike his sister and brother who had lost interest. He turned to his little friend, the five year old, and asked anxiously, “Is Santa really poisoning the Coca-Cola?”
Middle Child
In Perfect Harmony
The weather around here has been snowy and everything is looking beautiful.
This inspired me to start singing Christmas songs. I was half way through “O Holy Night” over the breakfast table (my family have to put up with a great deal) when Daniel said, “I know that one.” I stopped and smiled encouragingly, “You sing it then, sweetheart.” He began at once, “Davy, Davy Crockett, king of the wild frontier.”
Mass Appeal
In his sermon this morning, the priest told us a story about how he was sitting in the grounds of All Hallows when he was approached by a well dressed woman. She told him with great frankness about her relationship with a married man. And then explained that he was about to be sent abroad by his company. She said that she did not think that she could live without him and asked the priest to pray that he would not be sent abroad after all. Two questions occur. Firstly, why would she think that this was a good line to take with a priest? Secondly, why would the priest think that this was a good story to tell at the children’s mass?
Later there was a collection for the Sick and Indigent Roomkeepers Society. Daniel got a pile of change from his father but kept back 2 coins for himself to buy sweets after mass. I pointed out that the collection was for people who didn’t have enough food or clothes. “Alright,” he said reluctantly, “I’ll put one coin in the collection.” I suppose we have to consider this to be the equivalent of the widow’s mite.
Ireland’s National Sport
I think I have written before about how surprised I was to come back from 5 years abroad and discover that rugby had become Ireland’s national sport. It suffered from a number of difficulties in the past, namely, the GAA used to frown on “foreign games” and it’s dangerous – particularly for amateurs. On the plus side, it seems to be the only team sport where we do well in international competition. Now the GAA doesn’t care and my sons are coached by Daddies in rugby shirts. It’s still dangerous though.
Regular readers will recall that my children go to an Irish language school. For historical reasons, one might not expect that to be a bastion of rugby. Further, the Princess’s teacher is from Mayo. Insofar as there is national expertise in rugby, its seat is emphatically not in the West of Ireland. This has not deterred this teacher who is an avid rugby fan. During gym, my daughter’s class have been practicising the haka. She has taught her brothers. They look deeply alarming when they do this. We all sat and watched the New Zealand players doing their haka this evening before Ireland proceeded to lose to New Zealand. As I have previously mentioned, the Princess knows all the words to Ireland’s call and sang along with gusto. Where will it all end?
Brave New World
The boys’ teacher tells me they were doing animals at school. “We had F [whose father is German] tell us the names in German; then R [recently returned from Italy with parents who speak Irish to him at home – Irish and Italian good, English possibly shaky] told us the words in Italian and I said twinnies [mental note that despite her protestations she does not always recognise the boys’ individuality, also, is twinnies an Irish word?] what are these animals in French?”
Apparently Daniel was quicker off the mark than Michael which may explain why Michael, who usually is the most anti -French, reproached me for not teaching them more French.
It’s all very different from when I was in school and the most exotic girl in the class was half-Dublin.
Belated Birthday Wishes
Daniel was five on the 27th of September. So let me record what he’s like at 5 a mere month or so after his birthday.
He is very competitive and he howls when he loses and kind of game, including “who’ll be first up the stairs to bed ?”. He is a perfectionist and very annoyed when things don’t go just right. You haven’t lived until you have seen him explain, severely, to a younger team mate why an own goal is not as good as one scored into the opposition’s net. Since he is also the loudest child you may ever have met, if you were within a one mile radius of the pitch, you would have heard him.
Part of this perfectionism means that he is very thorough at homework and anxious to do Michael’s also to help him ensure that he has it right. But Daniel actually enjoys his homework and is working hard at learning to read which is finally beginning to yield results.
He is short tempered and inclined to bash his siblings when things don’t go his way. Though he is always very contrite, if he hurts them.
He is brilliant at accents though not always familiar with their origins. The other evening he was, for his own obscure reasons, chatting with his siblings in a strong Liverpool accent. “What accent is that?” I asked. “Spanish,” he replied.
He is a fast runner and holds himself very upright at all times including when running which makes him look extremely cute. He has good ball sense and really enjoys Gaelic games on Saturday morning. The Kilkenny hurling coach is particularly serious about the game and as players (4 and 5 year olds, remember) were being doled out one Saturday, he said to me, “Give me the guy with the glasses” and took Danny off to be a member of the elite squad while Michael tipped around with boys who could not yet pick up a bean bag with their hurleys. If he could, Daniel would spend all his time kicking a ball to a grown-up.
Daniel loves jokes although he has a very limited understanding as to their nature. He can be quite serious and thoughtful but when he laughs it is very infectious. He seems to be able to make and keep friends which is a useful skill.
Whenever I read him a story, he always wants me to put my arm around him. He is a great child for hugs and is always willing to dole them out to his mother. He often says, “I love you, Mummy” and is not discouraged by his sister saying disapprovingly “This is horribly lovey-dovey.” He is aware of the world around him and comments on my appearance, new clothes and new things in the house. He always wants to get to the bottom of things and he tries to reason out what’s happening or how new information he has acquired fits into his existing stock of information sometimes with comical results but woe betide you, if he suspects you of laughing at him. He is also sensitive to others and how they might be feeling which I think is unusual in a small child.
He eats nothing savoury other than yorkshire pudding and gravy; bread and butter; broccoli; pizza; and fishfingers and ketchup. All forms of meat are anaethema to him.
And we love him.
