Middle Child

Daniel at 10

22 October, 2015
Posted in: Middle Child, Twins

Oh the responsibilities Daniel bears on his young shoulders. He worries about all of us. He worries most about Michael though. Daniel is prudent, his brother is reckless. This is hard on Daniel. He is only 20 minutes older than Michael but he still acts like the responsible older brother.

He continues to be the sporty child and is out training two nights a week with matches every weekend. He is fit as a fiddle and is never happier than when tossing something (ideally a ball but a pencil or a balloon or just about anything will do) in the air. He would like to take up additional sports: tennis, soccer, rugby but the schedule is already pretty full with hurling and football and he may have to hold off on the additional sports until he can get there himself. He has been to Lansdowne Road, Croke Park and Dalymount to watch matches. He supports Arsenal. He is a true sporting enthusiast. It’s a mystery to us. It’s a pity that our only sporty child is the one who wears glasses. I have, however, invested a fortune in sports goggles and he gets good use out of them.

He’s a good cyclist and good in traffic which is a comfort. He is a bit faster than me and his brother and I can see him sailing ahead in traffic on the way into school and although my heart misgives me, he has never actually done anything to really scare me. He can be slow to set off as he considers all his options so I have taken to saying “Go, go, go!” to him at traffic lights which he is not loving.

He is able at school and likes facts which is a great help to anyone making his way through school. He also loves to read which is handy. His teacher is wonderful this year but he is very capable of getting on with a less than wonderful teacher, putting his head down and learning himself. He did not like his teacher last year but he managed and was reasonably happy. He loves school because he has lots of friends but also because he knows the rules of engagement and he is good at meeting expectations. Towards the end of the summer holidays he is always quite keen to get back to school.

He is very kind to other children particularly younger children. I see him in the playground helping them down when they have ventured too far on the ropes. He is nearly too old for playgrounds; he does not love them like he used to although we still go a bit. I will miss seeing the look of sheer delight he used to have when running to a playground.

He still loves fairgrounds, though:

He is very fond of some computer game involving the Trojan wars about which he now has considerable expertise. This also goes for fantasy games involving plastic figurines which he likes to play with his brother. He is also a big fan of Fifa 15 which he gets to play on Saturday mornings. When I emerge from bed, he is downstairs in front of the tv with the curtains drawn dressed in his match gear, playing his little heart out. He will have been at this since at least eight as he usually has to head off for his Saturday match by 9.30 at the latest. His kind aunt and uncle gave him an x-box live subscription for his birthday. This has not been an unmixed blessing as he is finding the live opposition a bit harder to manage than the computer. However, he is surprisingly sanguine about this. I say surprisingly as he is a child who hates to lose. Board games and card games can be torture. But the impact of the GAA has been positive and he is developing a certain battle hardiness when they lose games. His sister put it well though, she said that we are all like raw wood when we are born and over the years we build up layers of polish which allow us to ignore losing and care less but he hasn’t got very much varnish yet. Poor Daniel. It is hard to care so much. I think he would very much like it to be otherwise.

He loves his brother and mostly they get on very well. He and his sister are very much alike and consequently enjoy a much more fractious relationship. They both want to be king of the castle but Daniel has a sneaking regard for her and her opinion which is a distinct weakness in his defences.

He still understands French reasonably well but his spoken French is pretty limited although his accent is good (lucky him). His Irish is coming along though. In English, he is really good at speaking clearly and pronouncing his words properly. He can articulate his words in a way that is quite unusual for an Irish person. He didn’t get that from me; all my words end in a soft “sh” sound (money my parents paid for elocution lessons? Down the drain clearly). He did some prayers of the faithful at mass last Sunday and I was struck by how well he read in front of the congregation. He was nervous, I know because he told me, but he didn’t seem nervous up on the altar and he was really clear.

He is great at helping around the house. He is well able to do useful tasks and not too inclined to wriggle out of them. His room is pretty much always tidy. Worth repeating, no? His room is pretty much always tidy. It fills my heart with joy. On the minus side, he seems incapable of putting his runners anywhere other than where he takes them off and I am constantly falling over them in the hall, on the landing and all over downstairs. There is no malice, it’s just a higher item on my priority list than it is on his.

I am a constant source of embarrassment to him in public and with his friends, if I’m not singing, I am hugging him or otherwise doing mortifying things. I was pleasantly surprised when I came back from Cork recently to have him rush down the stairs to give me a hug notwithstanding the fact that he had a friend staying. When his friend suggested that they might go back upstairs to continue playing, Daniel said, “I’d like to stay and talk to my Mum for a while because she’s been away and I’ve missed her.” I was so touched. Sometimes, he seems so independent and self contained that I forget that he is only just 10.

While he is willing to eat most sweet treats, his savoury diet leaves a great deal to be desired. He essentially lives on bread, porridge and Yorkshire pudding (although this evening he ate a lamb chop and I nearly expired from happiness). I am slightly sick of Yorkshire puddings but I think Daniel will never tire of them. And, if he did, what a catastrophe that would be.

Notwithstanding the outrages he has to put up with from his family, he is a happy child and enjoys life. He has a big smile and we often see it. He finds his parents’ jokes hilarious. Like many things, I suppose we should enjoy this while it lasts. It is wonderful to see your children growing up but sometimes, you wish it would happen a little bit more slowly.

10

30 September, 2015
Posted in: Middle Child, Twins, Youngest Child

Daniel and Michael were ten at the weekend. We’ve come a long way.

Posts describing them fully at this great age will follow but first I have to tell you about the weekend which nearly sent me to an early grave. My sister came up which was lovely and filled the children’s hearts with joy and left them swimming in presents. So far so good.

At 10 on Saturday, I dropped herself to a friend’s house as she was too sophisticated to party with her brothers. Then I dropped around to another house and picked up one of the boys’ guests. Then we all went to the boys’ party (lots of quasar, which they enjoyed very much). As I said bitterly to my sister, “I have been so rushed this morning, I haven’t even had breakfast; I’ll have to have breakfast in the Starbuck’s in the shopping centre.” “I think that’s called a first world problem,” said she. Which was true but still didn’t mean that I could eat the unutterably vile pain au chocolat which was available in Starbuck’s.

Then the father of one of the guests rang and said he was going to be late as he had been clamped. So we waited around for a bit until he was declamped. It was nearly 2 by the time we were heading back. I had to drop one of the guests home but his mother rang to say she was going out and could I drop him to his father’s workshop. I could. He knows the way, I was told. He did not know the way. However, after some floundering he was safely delivered. Then I went to pick up herself. I was home by 2.30 to eat my much deferred lunch. Then I went into town with the birthday boys and their aunt so that she could indulge their passion for small bits of plastic that require assembly. Meanwhile Mr. Waffle dropped herself to tennis, then picked her up and dropped her into town with her aunt while collecting the boys and me. I later drove into town to collect herself and her aunt.

In the background, I was arranging a long deferred piano removal. A man was going to Limerick to rescue my grandmother’s piano from my aunt and uncle’s house. He was going to be there between 3 and 4. He was not there between 3 and 4. My elderly (though spry) aunt had assembled relations to help move the piano. They waited. With the inevitability which one associates with these things, they were not there when the man arrived at 5.15. Did you know that a piano weighs about 200kgs? All was well eventually. There were many phone calls.

The piano turned up in Dublin at 9.30. I thought the van driver (two degrees in forensic science, van driving is more profitable, draw your own conclusions) and Mr. Waffle would be able to move it, but no. Our lovely neighbour across the road came out to help, he stopped a further neighbour who was innocently walking down the road and we knocked on the door of a further misfortunate neighbour to help as well. The five of them just about got it in.

Sunday was the boys’ actual birthday but we were far too exhausted to do anything other than hand over further presents and pick out “Doe, a dear” on the piano. We had to go to mass, of course. Michael was very bitter, wasn’t it bad enough to have to go to mass on Christmas day, did I have to ruin all of his celebrations? It was an especially long mass too, celebrating the silver jubilee of the ordination of a local priest with extra singing. Though that could hardly be heard over Michael’s pointed and prolonged sighs.

For added excitement, Sunday was my parents’ 48th wedding anniversary.

Dublin Victorious in Sporting Endeavour

22 September, 2015
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Middle Child, Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

Sunday was the All-Ireland football final. Dublin beat Kerry. Knock on benefits included no homework for the boys yesterday. Cork and Dublin often win all-Ireland finals, Longford and Roscommon never do. I was talking to two colleagues from these counties today and saying how the Dublin team (or representatives thereof) were going to visit the Dublin primary schools and possibly “give” the children a half day. They were outraged. “But that always happens when your county wins the All-Ireland,” I said. Awkward silence.

Anyhow, we were at mass on Sunday and it was all about humility. We had, from the second reading: “Where do these wars and battles between yourselves start? Isn’t it precisely in the desires fighting inside your own selves?” From the Gospel:“‘What were you arguing about on the way?’ But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest. He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, ‘Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.’â€ And then our parish priest devoted his sermon to humility and not arguing over who was the greatest and so.

After the prayers of the faithful, the priest added his own prayer to the ones on the leaflet. “Let us pray,” said he “for those in the All-Ireland final and all of those watching from communities around the country.” Herself lent across to me and whispered, “Isn’t the All-Ireland just a big ‘who is the greatest’ competition?”

Endless Summer – Dublin Cinema

26 July, 2015
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Middle Child, Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

We came back to Dublin on Thursday, July 16. The cat was delighted to see us back.

That night, the boys and I went to the opening night of the IFI family festival where we saw “Inside Out”. As it was the opening night, they had various competitions and events for the children. As they went around the stalls, Michael was given a stage pass. Before the film started, the children with stage passes were called up to the front. Michael loves this kind of thing and bounded up. There were four other children onstage. They had to do a little piece where they answered “sausage” or “banana” to every question asked. The other children were nervous and almost inaudible. Michael was in his element and had the audience rolling in the aisles. He got awarded the winning prize of the “golden banana” and I have worked out what he can do when he grows up. A win all round.

In fact, it was afterwards I was most pleased. Michael might have been tempted to boast but he hardly referred to his triumph because he felt for Daniel who hadn’t won a prize. Daniel for his part was sad that he shouldn’t have been chosen to go on stage and didn’t win a prize but bravely congratulated Michael and was pleased for him.

We went back to the festival on Saturday with all of the children and a friend (tickets, incidentally fantastic value at â‚¬15 for a family and â‚¬5 for an individual). We saw a terrific German language film, Winnetou’s Son. It was very sparsely attended which was brilliant for our little group as the star of the film was there with his mother and in the Q and A, they got to ask him loads of questions. He was a lovely, immensely polite child and he posed cheerfully for pictures afterwards:

Added bonus, Michael was yet again exposed to the advantage of speaking foreign languages. The star was 11 and didn’t really speak English. Mr. Waffle and I speak German (he’s much better than me but I like to talk more so it kind of evens out) so we were able to chat to the star and his mother which Michael could see was useful loath though he might have been to admit it.

Then we went to the closing film. It was a Norwegian film with beautiful cinematography. When I hear the words “beautiful cinematography” I always think, “rotten film”. The film wasn’t bad, it’s about three children who get stranded in the Arctic through a series of deeply improbable events, but for this once, the cinematography really did make the film for me. It was one of the most stunningly beautiful films to look at. The children found it reasonably enjoyable; the main characters are an older sister and her annoying twin siblings and this resonated particularly with some of the family, less so with others. Michael, for example, doesn’t want to see another film, possibly ever, certainly not for some months.

Sharing the Housework: Perceptions

6 July, 2015
Posted in: Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

I have said before that I am blessed to have a husband with a well developed sense of duty and a clear understanding that housework should be shared by both parents.

I thought I would check over dinner what the children’s view of this was.

Me: What work does Daddy do around the house?
Daniel: The laundry!
Michael: The cooking!*
Herself: The cleaning up after dinner!**
Me: And what do I do?
Long Pause
Me: Well, for starters, the tidying up! I am always picking up things and putting them away.
Michael: But that’s more of a hobby, really.

I think my work may not yet be done here. On a related matter, I was very struck by this post and the comments; worth a look, if you are working mother.

*At weekends
**During the week with the children

Holidays

3 July, 2015
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

Herself finished school last Friday. The boys and I soldiered on for Monday and Tuesday of this week. On Wednesday morning we were all on holidays (oh hurrah!) except poor Mr. Waffle who had to go in to the office.

On Wednesday, the Princess and I cycled into town at lunch time to see the Anu Productions, 1916 offering. It still needs work and they described it as a work in progress, to be fair. We might go back next year and see how it looks; we weren’t completely entranced. It is set during and just before the Easter Rising and the action takes place in the back lanes around O’Connell St which, I imagine, are, in some ways, very little changed since the Rising. The meeting place is the Dublin Tourist office. There were a couple of tourists in our group and they seemed to react much better than the Irish members of the audience to the participatory element which is a part of all of this company’s work. Still, I wonder how much they knew about 1916 and whether they were a bit baffled.

In the afternoon we had friends of the children’s around. Due to extraordinarily fine weather we were able to barbecue. The excitement. This lured everyone outdoors and all of the children played in the garden.

The next day, Thursday, it was up and out to the park,

then on to library and, after a refreshing tea with Mr. Waffle, on for our annual trip to see the mummies in St. Michan’s. I love the way the graveyard is so quiet and peaceful right in the centre of the city.

Alas, there was a rough looking bunch of people drinking at the end of the graveyard. One of the disadvantages of urban, edgy, city centre living is that your children are only too familiar with this kind of group. Mr. Waffle took them home on the tram the other day and there was an arrest where they got on and a bloody altercation with ambulance summoned where they got off. I digress.

In the afternoon, it was back on the bikes to go to the dentist – all was well, we now have plaque disclosing tablets which are a source of enormous delight.

Mr. Waffle had spent the afternoon fetching the car back from the distant suburb where it was being repaired and we greeted its return with boundless enthusiasm. We are all sick of travelling everywhere by bike (unworthy but there it it).

A man is coming next week to sand and varnish the floors. So that he can sand under the bookcases, the children and I emptied the one bookcase this morning and transported its contents (A-H) to the utility room.

He is going to do the rest himself. I can only applaud his work ethic.

Then into town to get sandals and shorts. I then made the children go to the Little Museum of Dublin. I think it’s lovely and, also, Mr. Waffle got me a season ticket for my birthday. They found it moderately entertaining. The Princess has been a couple of times already and likes it. The boys were a bit grumpy going in but seemed to quite enjoy it in the end. I saw a one armed bandit and recognised every one of the images from when I was quite small and spent my evening in pubs in West Cork in the summer (not as bad as it sounds). Looking at the fruit pieces every detail was familiar to me. I realised that one I had been a bit unsure of at age 6/7 was, in fact, a watermelon, the knowledge fitting into my brain with a satisfying mental click. I had utterly forgotten my time on the machine (2p a go, I see, good value for the grown-ups) until the moment I stood in front of it today but all of the images came back to me with startling clarity. The inside of my head is a mystery to me.

Michael with Podge and Rodge whom he would adore if I would let him watch them: