I have a tendency to burst into song. Doesn’t everyone? I was walking along with Daniel the other day, it was sunny and I was humming away to myself. He slipped his little hand in mine and tugged gently. “What is it sweetheart?” I asked. He replied, “Stop singing, you’re embarrassing me.”
Twins
Literally
Those of you following Ireland’s progress will know that the banks have behaved badly. I can be lyrical on this point. I have been, in fact, to the extent that the children are dimly aware of the banks’ role in our current crisis and can’t quite understand why I insist that they leave their money there rather than letting them spend it – by far their preferred option.
We were in the car in the morning on the way to school and I was talking to Mr. Waffle about this repossession. The sheriff was defeated, at least temporarily, by the “random legal word generator”. In this case the words “constitution”, “common law”, “separation of powers” and “inviolable” were brandished to good effect. While, the arguments adduced made no legal sense whatsoever, the emotional argument that the banks had got away without any sanction did strike a chord. “Of course,” said I bitterly “the banks got away with murder.”
Michael piped up from the back seat, “WHAT, the banks murdered someone?”
God and Pharmacology Working Together to Make a Better World
I was ill last week. I am almost never properly ill (as opposed to whining and sniffling into work with some Lemsip in my bag). I did not enjoy it. I had taken some time off work to go to Cork with the children for mid-term and I was not pleased with the timing of my illness. Reluctantly I dragged myself to the doctor and paid €55 for a diagnosis and a course of antibiotics. I started straight away.
My father is a pharmacologist. He is against the reckless use of antibiotics. This was therefore my second ever course of antibiotics. They were quite miraculous. I was able to drive to Cork as planned. I picked the children up from school having told them that this would not be possible as I was too sick. They were pleased. Michael was unsurprised: “I told the teacher you were sick and we wouldn’t be able to go to Cork and I was sad. So, we all said a prayer for you to be better and now you are!”
A Day Out
As I mentioned we were in Cork at the weekend. I decided to take the children to Charles Fort.
Me: Tomorrow, we’re going to see a fort!
Daniel: I don’t want to go.
Me: It’ll be great, it’s a really big, impressive fort.
Daniel (dubiously): But forts are invisible.
Me: Not this one, it’s huge.
Princess: A fort Daniel, not a fart.
The next day we set off to walk two long kilometres to the fort. We did not get off to a good start. Daniel had a sore knee which I thought would go away, but didn’t. He just limped there and back uncomplainingly. My saintly middle child. Michael meanwhile dragged himself along saying “My legs are so tired”. He was the first to realise that once we got to the fort we would have to walk back again. He wasn’t pleased. I wasn’t so pleased myself, I had three unhappy children and I was carrying two guns – a pistol and a nerf gun – and a light sabre (to attack the fort).
However, once we reached Summercove, things began to look up. We were fortified by lunch at the Bulman (which I cannot recommend highly enough – herself had an enormous bowl of mussels, I had crab claws and the boys a portion of chips each – in our own way, we were all happy). Then the fort was great. And it didn’t rain on us. Always a plus in any Irish outing. And, as always, the road back didn’t seem quite so long.
Herself:
Saintly middle child:
Patrolling with Nerf Gun:
Scenery (obligatory):
Parenting Fail
Children’s dinner yesterday:
Princess – nothing;
Daniel – spoonful of canned sweetcorn with ketchup;
Michael – reheated Yorkshire pudding.
Children’s dinner today:
All – Domino’s pizza.
Showing Love and Affection
Daniel is a stereotypical boy [yes, I know, it’s only a social construct and probably my fault too] and he likes to show his affection and sympathy by doing things.
When I said I was nervous about attending a meeting in Irish he put a pocket Irish dictionary in my bag [meeting nonetheless horrendous]. When Mr. waffle was sitting downstairs one evening he came down and solemnly gave him his Star Wars annual saying, “This is for you, I know you like Star Wars.” A remark which was as endearing as it was inaccurate. He then earnestly pointed out the best stories and trotted back to bed.