belgianwaffle

Middle Child

All Change


Posted in: Middle Child, Twins, Youngest Child

On Friday morning we got up half an hour earlier and walked to school [we almost always drive, alas]. It was a lovely morning. Michael had floated the idea in the first place having been to a talk with the school for sustainable energy week. However, on hitting the pavement he was less keen drooping visibly and complaining of a sore leg. As good luck would have it, at the first traffic light we met a group of other parents and children and Michael was miraculously restored to health and they all went running off together sharing the scooters out amongst themselves.

One of the fathers who often organises vouchers for the teachers for Christmas, said to me, “We’re going to get a voucher for Máistir A [the boys’ teacher], fiver a head.” “Great,” said I mentally applauding his advance planning but not, you know, handing over the tenner on the spot. When we got to school it transpired that the Máistir had got a new job in Kerry [where he is from] and was starting on Monday. Although the school had been told a month previously, the children weren’t told until the day before to avoid distraction.

Apparently on Thursday a note came home in the school bags. But there was no homework on Thursday as the Sam Maguire and some of Dublin’s winning all-Ireland team had come to the school, so we hadn’t opened the bags. The children had been told but when asked whether there was any news from school they answered as follows:

Herself: No
Daniel: No
Michael: Yes, I was put on the balla dána by Múinteoir S [a cruel and unusual punishment that you may have to google].

Not a word about the máistir’s departure which I take it means that they are untraumatised. I’m a bit shocked myself but that’s life I suppose. The boys are getting a teacher who is very popular – he was out for the start of the year having surgery on his leg and he is just coming back now. 3rd class are the envy of the school. It’s an ill wind, I suppose.

People Who Have Minded My Children


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

When herself was born, we were living abroad. This meant that there were usually no family members about to mind our children, so we entrusted them to a range of strangers, broadly successfully. However, I have been trying to make a list of all the people who have minded my children but I just can’t remember, which is something of a failure, I concede.

Herself was only minded by family (mostly her parents) until she went to the creche at about six months at which point the lovely Rachida minded her but then she progressed to Maëlle and then went upstairs to the big children and didn’t have anyone in particular that I can remember.

We also entrusted her for a weekend to Genia our Polish cleaner just before the boys were born. We escaped to Paris. When we came back herself could sing Frère Jacques in Polish.

When the boys were born we hired Charity to mind them. We entered into an immensely and, in retrospect, unnecessary rigmarole where they went to the crèche a couple of days a week and were minded by Charity on other days. I have, sadly, no real memory of who minded the boys in the crèche. Herself, as a big 2 and a half year old, had already started school at this point (Madame Marie, Madame Tatiane, Madame Valerie and Madame Christine in that order). Charity, from the Philippines, was organised and sensible and kept our flat immaculate – although there was an awkward conversation about long distance phone calls at one point – but the children weren’t particularly fond of her, I feel. We had two other Filipina babysitters for odd evenings or emergencies and they were both much more popular. Maybe it’s easier to be popular, if you’re not doing the day in/day out work.

It was around this time that we got an evening babysitter who came every Saturday. This was Katja who was a lovely, gentle French girl from Collioure, studying art but comic book art. Welcome to Belgium. When she left, we nearly cried and she gave us a couple of bottles of wine from her brother’s vineyard.

When we came back to Ireland, I decided that we would try to get French babysitters to mind the children to keep up their French. This has been somewhat mocked but I think it has worked quite well, though I would concede that turnover has been an issue.

The boys started in a crèche chosen by their grandparents and they really liked it. In fact they still speak nostalgically about it occasionally especially the morning that the electricity went down and they had croissants for breakfast. They were minded there by a terrifying Romanian woman called Monica whom they adored.

For picking up from school/creche duty, we started with three students who shared the job between them. Not maybe a great model and not terrifically successful. I can’t quite remember their names off-hand which is never good. Then we had Florence for about a year. I quite liked her though she always seemed a bit tired – she had another job in the mornings. I think it was on her watch that Michael was snatched from under an approaching tram. An event so exciting that all three children recounted it to me in technicolour detail. She handed over to Melanie. Melanie was terrific. She was a brilliant cook and always doing things with the children. And she was in Ireland for the foreseeable future. But then her boyfriend lost his job and they decided to go back to France. Alas. Then there was Odile who was practical but they did not love her. And then she left for France early for reasons I cannot now recall and we had Magali for 6 weeks whom they all cordially loathed. Around this time we had Julia doing our evening babysitting and she was very beloved and she loved them. But yes, she went back to France – actually to Berlin to be with her boyfriend but it was all the one to us.

From September 2011 to June 2012 we had Lauriane and she was terrific. When reminded of her existence recently, Daniel cried [not welcome, as such, obviously, but just shows how much they liked her]. Flexible, obliging, reliable, punctual, quite strict, very dutiful and much loved by the children. And, as a bonus, she made them speak French. Friday 29 June 2012 was her last day. Sad sigh. On the plus side, barring disaster, our evening babysitter, C, will not be returning to France as she has made her home here.

For the first time, from September 2012 to June 2013, we had a man, Thomas. He was amazingly good at folding clothes. Also, they all really liked him and he was obliging and conscientious. Another one that we are sad to see go. The children are becoming annoyed about turnover. I did hope that Thomas might come back to us in September but alas, it turned out that he had to eat and he found another job.

So we started with Ana in September. So far so good. She has another job in the morning and she sometimes looks exhausted when we get home. She is half Spanish and rather warmer or different I suppose to our usual cohort. The Princess is exhausted by Ana’s interest in her doings (“She’s always asking me, how was my day in school, what am I reading?”) having grown used to a different cultural regime.

I’ve just realised, that I’ve done all this before. I’m pleased to see that I am reasonably consistent. Although I did completely forget Aliette who was rather good.

End of an Era


Posted in: Middle Child, Princess, Twins

When the Princess was a small girl, she used to hit people. Her grandmother, the psychologist, said it was much better to incentivise than to punish as, she observed wisely, “You run out of punishments.” So for many years, at the end of the Princess’s day, if she hadn’t hit someone she got a smiley face. Relatively early on this turned into a complete win for her as she didn’t hit people very often and every time she got five smiley faces she got a small present. Efforts to extend the smiley face criteria beyond physical violence to other forms of misbehaviour were largely unsuccessful due to the less definite descriptions of the fault and the consequent room for debate. In time, the regime was extended to her brothers.

Her involvement was phased out and replaced with pocket money of €5. In recent years, the boys are in her former situation, where physical violence is minimal and smiley face presents are many. Since the smiley face presents are almost always a magazine, we have recently negotiated with the boys that their smiley faces will be replaced by a subscription to the Beano. And just like that, a regime which has been going since 2007, at least, is over. On balance, the relief in not having to find smiley face presents makes it all worthwhile.

I hope that, in the absence of incentives, it doesn’t all return to primeval chaos here.

Eight


Posted in: Middle Child, Twins, Youngest Child

Daniel and Michael were 8 on September 27 and my parents celebrated their 46th wedding anniversary, so a significant date all round. Let me summarise where we are. Better late than never.

Daniel at 8

Daniel has been losing teeth by the new time. We woke one morning to the sound of him weeping bitter tears as the tooth fairy had forgotten to come. Mr. Waffle went to check and it was all a terrible mistake, he had just missed the money left safely under his pillow. Another time, he thought he saw Mr. Waffle put money under his pillow but this was clearly an error as Mr. Waffle said that the money was already there. How the tooth fairy managed to slip it in earlier, we shall never know.

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Daniel still loves playing all kinds of sports and is out at GAA training on Friday night and matches on Saturday morning. An exhausting regime for those of us who stand by the side of the pitch (his father generally) but, one assumes, even more so, for him. If left to his own devices, he would never wear anything other than nylon sports tops and shorts. He cycles in the park with great speed and determination.

He is a picky eater but fortunately is fond of dairy products, so he won’t starve.

He is meticulous and thorough in his school work though inclined to get distracted when doing his homework. He can be very focussed though. He taught himself to read at an earlier age than his brother or sister by sheer force of will. He also seems to have taught himself to swim over the summer. I was pretty surprised when I saw him go under water and strike out since he has never had a lesson (parental ineptitude, it’s a long and slightly dull story).

He enjoys school and seems to have lots of friends in his class. Though I am finding the world of young boys and their friends much less clear than the world of girls where I have good empirical experience.

He is usually the first to run out to greet me when I come home from work (unless he has been granted the right to use some electronic device, in which case, I might as well not exist). He loves, loves, loves playing soccer on the x-box which is only allowed at weekends. The consequence of this is that he arrives into his parents’ bedroom regularly at 7 on a Saturday morning to ask whether he can play the x-box. For his birthday, he got Skylanders (if you don’t know, you’re better off) for the x-box and he loves his Skylanders also.

He enjoys reading. He particularly loves facts and jokes. He was best boy of the day in school the other day for his encyclopaedic knowledge of ancient Egypt. I am sometimes surprised by the ways he finds it comfortable to sit and read.

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He hates to hear me sing, except for a song which I sometimes hum to him at bedtime (my mother-in-law tells me it is from the merry widow, she is better than soundhound).

He is tidy. He clears his plate after dinner, he puts things away in his room. It is a delight to me to have a tidy child. In my own family, I was the only tidy person and I sometimes felt like a changeling, so it’s great that there are two of us.

He loves to play with his brother and sister and, sometimes his sister is kind and makes up games for them to play together. Sometimes she is not and he wanders around the house disconsolately looking for someone to play with.

Overall, he seems to be quite a content child despite occasional rages and announcements that “this is the worst day ever” in relation to issues which might not make you think that the day merited that description (you have to put on your shoes now, for example).

He is a most affectionate child and loves his mother but will no longer let her kiss him in public for which her heart aches a little bit but that’s life, I suppose.

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Michael at 8

Michael has taken to saying “indeed” instead of yes which makes him sound like a Victorian gentleman. He is officially the thinnest and lightest boy in Ireland. He nearly made me cry the other day by saying casually, “I don’t like cheese sandwiches any more”. To my impassioned, “What will you eat then?” he replied laconically, “Dunno.”

He hasn’t enjoyed the return to school much which may explain the following dialogue:
Me: Sleeping is my gift.
Him: Feigning blurry eyesight to miss school is mine.
Me: What?
Him: Don’t worry, you have a short memory, you’ll forget this.

The Princess has been spreading propaganda about the blog among her siblings and Michael is terrified of what I might write as it could be embarrassing. Since my continued existence is slightly embarrassing to my children at times, this could all go horribly wrong.

He is very clever and quick at all kinds of games: cards, chess, computer games; x-box games. Maybe he will become a professional poker player when he grows up. However, he sees no point in applying himself to things which are not of interest to him, which may explain his handwriting.

He is extremely charming and outgoing and has a very winning manner. He is very rarely cross and usually inclined to yield in arguments. Occasionally, however, he gets cross and stares at us all from under creased eyebrows, howling his annoyance. Also, occasionally, he can be stubborn and at these times, any effort at persuasion is pointless. He is very independent and is not too concerned about the views of others. His uncle, who is unreconstructed, will often say things like “That’s for girls!” and he will either ignore the comment or say he doesn’t care, and I really don’t think that he does.

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Michael’s catchphrase is “I’m bored” and I cannot tell you how tired we all are of hearing it (delivered with a slight lengthening of the o sound). Often I yield and offer up the computer to the altar of Michael’s boredom. Sometimes, I make him soldier on, because I am cruel that way.

Fortunately, he likes to read and that fills in the time between opportunities to play on the computer and my phone. They all like the Beano but Michael loves it. He is also a huge fan of Asterix and Tintin and Snoopy. He is often to be found leafing through the pages of Gaston La Gaffe. You can tell that he was born in Belgium; the comic strip holds infinite appeal for him.

Though generally not sporty, he does like to climb mountains.

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And trees:

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He finds it very hard to get to sleep at night and equally hard to get up in the morning (these may be related). At bedtime, he often smiles at me and says, “You can stay here with me.” And there is something so appealing about the way he says it that the prospect of sitting at the end of the bed watching him read seems momentarily attractive. He regularly trots downstairs after bedtime and announces dolefully, “I can’t sleep” and then curls up in my lap looking hopeful. His kind father will often carry him back up to bed and I think he quite likes that.

Even though he is only 20 minutes younger than his brother, he has very much carved out for himself the position of youngest child which he rather enjoys.

He hates to let anything be thrown out or given away, including but not limited to, baby books, toys he no longer plays with, old socks with holes (they might be useful), school lunch bags (I could draw on them) and clothes he has grown out of. Like my mother, he does not belong to the throw away generation. He is still sad that we moved house. He is now, however, resigned to his new accommodation.

Altogether he is a charming and slightly unusual combination of occasional determination and a general willingness to yield; interest and sympathy in the problems of others with no concern about what others might think of him; no interest in almost all foods (including sweets) other than cereal and Yorkshire pudding (of which I am heartily sick).


Together at Eight

Although I try to talk about them separately and not compare too much; it is inevitable that two eight year olds in the same family and the same class in school are going to have a lot in common. They are great friends but they also annoy each other regularly. They have lots of common interests and can talk together about Skylanders in phenomenal detail.

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First World Problems


Posted in: Dublin, Family, Ireland, Middle Child, Princess, Twins, Work, Youngest Child

As the professionals say, posting has been light. I have found the past month or so demanding as I went back to work and the children went back to school.

During my first week back at work, I found myself slipping out of a meeting with important people to rescue Michael from school where he declared himself (convincingly) to be sick. Mr. Waffle, who normally does the sick child trip, was in a meeting with no phone coverage. I went to school where a surprised and delighted (and crucially, in my view, quite well) Michael greeted me with ecstasy which was rather charming. We went home. In the utility room was the corpse of a mouse which the cat had brought in for inspection. I disposed of it. Mr. Waffle came home and I hared off across town on my bike to my next meeting.

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We have a new childminder, who seems lovely, but we all have to get used to each other. And the children are still flattened from being back at school.

And then, this time of year brings heritage week (a man dressed up as Robert Boyle in the Casino Marino – excellent thanks although herself now wants a vacuum pump for Christmas); the Fringe Theatre Festival (Ashling Bea and James Walmsley – only mildly funny- and The Stoneybatter Strangler – really quite dreadful performed outdoors by a large cast with little talent and a chill wind blowing, mildly atmospheric in places); the Theatre Festival (A Feast of Bones – for children, a bit creepy but herself loved it and Sheridan’s The Critic where I struggled to stay awake for the first half but found the second half alright and the ending superb); Culture Night (where we saw a limited number of things: Tailor’s Hall, St. Audeon’s but had pizza); Open House (by now flagging, we only inspected two premises, one of them very small); and we went to the opening night of the documentary film festival where we saw “The Great Hip Hop Hoax” which was good but the interview with the Director afterwards was even better and added additional layers of context to what is already an extremely odd story; there was a fly-by (sounds more exciting than it was – lots of planes – new and old- flew up the river Liffey at quite dispersed intervals, town was jam packed and the children couldn’t be bothered to get out of the car to look); we went to the Dublin growers’ festival and got the apples from our three apple trees pressed into apple juice and possibly cider (the jury is still out on this last one); and the Princess and I went to Cork for the weekend (twice).

And I broke a molar and had to go for an unscheduled trip to the dentist.

And the boys turned 8.

And, as of today, Mr. Waffle is lame with a horribly swollen and blistered ankle. He is allergic to wasp stings and got stung yesterday. He also got stung the week before last. His parents have a wasp’s nest in the largest tree in their garden. One our children like to climb up and get stuck in.

Is it any wonder posting has been light?