Daniel: I fooled you!
Me: How did you do that?
Daniel: You told me not to wear yesterday’s socks again today.
Me: And you didn’t, you can’t fool me, that’s not the pair you were wearing yesterday.
Him: But look what is under today’s pair!
Middle Child
Rite of Passage
Following a concerted campaign, the Princess has had her ears pierced. I remember getting my own ears pierced at 12 and my father commenting disapprovingly on bodily mutilation and comparing it to the neck rings African women sometimes have which I think was a little harsh.
Herself is, in any event, very pleased.
The ear piercing has led to two unexpected follow-up requests:
1. From her – when can I have my tongue pierced?
2. From Daniel – when can I have my ears pierced?
Very difficult, from a feminist perspective to justify a negative response to question 2; I was reduced to saying “well, we’ll see how you feel about it when you’re 10” and hoping for the best.
End of Term
School ended on June 30. I am taking parental leave this summer, so I stopped work also. It has been fantastic to just hang about the house. The last couple of months have been horribly busy. The last week of school/work nearly sent us to an early grave. Every time we thought everything was done, we needed to buy another present for some worthy person associated with the school or work or something else. I had a frantic time at work trying to finish everything. Mr. Waffle kept the show on the road.
During the last week we cycled into school with each of the children in turn. This was an entirely artificial exercise as the parent who was not cycling drove in with the other two and coats and bags and then stuffed the cycling child’s bike in the car to take it home again. However, it was gratifying that they were all able to do it with greater or lesser degrees of enthusiasm. I have put it to them that we might try this greenway thing during the summer and there was mild enthusiasm from two of them. Michael, however, said, “Um, no thanks.” He is very stubborn so I am re-thinking our cycling expedition. I will keep you posted; your summer entertainment is now provided for.
The children all got their school reports. Nothing unexpected really – all good stuff bringing joy to their mother’s middle years [Mr. Waffle is above these things]. The boys’ teacher who has just finished her second year with this class had 6 lines in the report to give a written personal comment on each of the boys and she described both with complete accuracy. I wish the boys could have her next year; she was an absolutely brilliant teacher. I am hoping against hope that the Princess might get her.
As I take parental leave in the summer, I don’t get paid. Also, I don’t need a childminder because I am not at work and can’t afford one. So every year, we hire someone in September and have to let him/her go in June. In recent years, particularly, we have had great people. I am so sorry to see this year’s man go. He was terrific. We gave him an excellent reference and he has got a job in a creche. Lucky creche. I suppose he could hardly starve over the summer waiting for me to re-employ him in September but he seemed a bit of a free spirit and I thought he might go off hitch-hiking in Asia or something and be ready for me again in September but it was not to be. Oh woe. The children are not pleased.
It’s All Weekends
And finally, for my last trick, I have to describe the weekend of the street party. As Mr. Waffle said, for this to be a success there would have to be four fine Sundays in a row. We did not have four fine Sundays in a row. This mattered surprisingly little. And you know, the sense of obligation to get out and do something in the [limited supply of] sunshine is very tiring.
The children played soccer in the street for hours [Daniel, who had played a GAA match that morning and got a medal for his participation in the mini-league along with a bag and a wristband and cap, spent, by my calculation, seven hours that Sunday running after a ball]. The grown-ups resigned themselves to the weather and ate from the really excellent selection of food on offer. There was bunting. It was good. It would be great all the same if, just one year, it didn’t rain on the street party.
Mocking the Exile
We were passing the Aviva stadium the other day and Mr. Waffle decided to relive with Daniel the time they had almost gone there [the crowd was too small – they didn’t end up in the main stadium]. They saw Lansdowne [a Dublin team] play Dolphin [a Cork one]. Lansdowne won.
Mr. Waffle: Remember the time we almost went to the Aviva stadium?
Daniel: Yes, Lansdowne beat Dolphin.
Michael: It was hard for Dolphin, they didn’t have much chance out of the water.
Daniel: But they live in schools, you’d think they’d be smart.
Mr. Waffle: They can’t be that smart, they keep getting caught in those tuna nets.
Oh we are all very funny.
Lost and Found
I had to collect Daniel and a neighbour’s child from GAA training last night. The neighbour dropped them off and I was to collect them. I never do this normally as I am at work/indolent/put in whatever you fancy here. Mr. Waffle was away for a couple of days and he had left me detailed information about everything including GAA drop off and pick up times (school sporting events, putting out the bins etc.). He has no faith in me. I went to our club to collect the two boys at 7.
There was no sign of the 2005 boys’ squad anywhere. I checked all the fields. In mounting alarm, I checked the changing rooms and the bar. Nothing. Could I be in the wrong place? I tried ringing Mr. Waffle, his phone was off as he was in a plane. I tried the neighbours; their phones were off as they were having a romantic anniversary dinner. I approached a man training another team. “Maybe they are at another club,” he said. He started to ring around people: “Do you have the 2005 boys’ summer schedule? Oh you’re in Mallow/You’re on your bike” and so on. I was grateful but I was also imagining the two lads having decided to walk home or something daft. It was half an hour after the end of training at this stage and there was no sign of them. Then I saw one of the other parents. “Where are the 2005 boys?” I asked him. “They’ve been training down the road since April; your fella was there, I saw him.” I drove down the road like the clappers and there were the two boys with a kind coach waiting patiently.
When Mr. Waffle got in I asked how in the list of things, he could have forgotten to mention to me that the boys weren’t training in their own club. “Oh yeah, sorry,” said my very organised husband. I’m still recovering.