belgianwaffle

Middle Child

Nuacht an Lae


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

I collected the boys from school today. As I shepherded my precious children along on their bikes, I was conscious that I was more than usually precarious on my own. Features for my added comfort included:

A basket which was very wobbly [I tried to get it fixed on Saturday but local bike shop had only one basket in stock and he didn’t recommend it – why, we ask ourselves] and liable to tip out its contents [in this case, one loose set of keys, one handbag, one long cylinder of wrapping paper and one bicycle lock] on the slightest provocation; and

Two heavy children’s schoolbags tied, reasonably securely, to the back carrier.

As I was turning right into heavy traffic my bike stopped moving. As the traffic was more or less at a standstill this wasn’t as awkward as it might have been and, happily, I didn’t fall over. I lifted up my, heavy, steed and moved to the side of the road. A strap from one of the school bags had got caught in the chain. As the bike is one which has a back pedal brake, extracting it was quite difficult and lengthy and made me and the strap absolutely filthy.

Once extracted, we then went home like the wind. I had undertaken to Herself that I would collect her from school at 3.35 in the car but warned that we might be a little late. This was before I realised that the boys’ extra-curricular courses started today [tin whistle and art, respectively, so far so good, tin whistle supplied, mercifully] and that they wouldn’t be out of school until 3.30 rather than 2.30 as usual. And then they took ages to emerge and I did not speed our passage home with my bicycle related difficulties.

I had no way of communicating with my first born other than by email [though as she informed me, a trifle coldly, I thought, I could have phoned the school] and although I sent her a mail saying that I would be late she only got it after 4 at which point she had been waiting for a while. I finally turned up at 4.15 the picture of guilt. How well I remember my mother doing the same thing to me.  Alas.

Then this evening is filled with a different flavour of guilt (procrastinator’s guilt – are you familiar with this?) as I am avoiding packing for a trip to Cork with the family at the weekend for my sister’s birthday and for a work trip on Thursday and Friday. The plan is that my loving family will collect me at the station on Friday evening and we will drive to Cork. The logistics of packing for both events simultaneously is too much, so I have put it off until tomorrow which I know to be a mistake. Don’t mock the afflicted. Also, I have requirements for the children’s clothing for their aunt’s [significant] birthday party. I think everyone will need more information than, “Pack something nice to wear” or I will be sadly disappointed. And, of course, I have nothing to wear myself.

Still it could be worse, poor Mr. Waffle is at the AGM of the Residents’ Committee. He went off this evening looking very glum.

This is the kind of exciting news that posting every day brings.  For completeness, have a picture of my sons disappearing into the fog on their bicycles this morning.

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Blarney


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

We were in Cork at the weekend.

Herself cycled into town with her aunt using a Cork bike. She was very taken by the segregated cycle lanes. She is still alive.

Following my encounter with the people from Colorado, I was determined to take in Blarney Castle next time we went to Cork. While it wasn’t worth driving up from Killarney twice to see, I think, on balance, it was worth the 15 minute drive from my parents’ house.

It was lashing but we wore our rain gear like proper tourists. The castle is like loads of other square fortified castles in Ireland without a roof.

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I have to say that they do a fantastic job with the rather limited material available to them. I have visited the castle before but not in years. I retained a vivid memory of the actual stone kissing being rather hair raising. My memory was not at fault. Daniel and Herself refused point blank to kiss it. Michael was the bravest but so speedy that I failed to immortalise the moment on camera. However, Daniel was to hand to record my latest kissing of the stone.

See that gap at the top of the castle in the battlements? That’s where the stone is. Hair raising indeed, I can tell you.

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There was some old graffiti. The standard of graffiti seems to have gone downhill over the years, frankly.

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After our castle adventure, we went for a nice cup of tea. The cafe was in the stable yard. In the main room there was a delightful roaring fire but no space. We found ourselves shunted to another room where the stables had been turned into rather drafty booths for tables and chairs with, for added authenticity, manger and trough still in situ. Not entirely successful in my view.

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There was lots more to see including a cleverly designed poison garden (the gardens in general, however, were not at their best what with it being October) and a small playground. All in all, it wasn’t too bad. We might even go back for another visit.

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Updated to add: look at these delightful pictures of Blarney castle that I saw in the Crawford Gallery.

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Daniel at 10


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.

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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.

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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.

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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:
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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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


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.

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

Dublin Victorious in Sporting Endeavour


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.’” 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


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.

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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 €15 for a family and €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:

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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.

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