belgianwaffle

Twins

Monday, Monday


Posted in: Middle Child, Twins, Work

Daniel got a negative PCR test. The relief!

Last night I had an anxiety dream where I was zip lining in the Swiss Alps. Despite the fact that I was sure that I was going in the wrong direction, I was assured that I was not and headed off. Half way along there was insufficient momentum (exactly as I had predicted) and I hovered over the middle of the valley completely stuck.

This could be about work or about Covid or about my inner certainty that I am always right, if only people would listen to me. Memorable though.

Advent Begins – The Season of Waiting


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Twins

Mr. Waffle took Dan to the airport for a fresh Covid test in an abundance of caution (mine). Mr. Waffle got up at 5 in the morning yesterday to book it and then they had to wait two hours for him to take it. Alas. We await hearing.

In continued surprises from Sunday mass, the priest quoted from Emily Dickinson’s “Hope is the thing with feathers” in his sermon in a bid to cheer us all up as we contemplate the next Covid variant (how soon before we run out of letters of the Greek alphabet, depressingly soon by the looks of things?).

In England herself says she is feeling a bit better.

I went into town to do some Christmas shopping. No joy really but town was looking very nice with the Christmas lights up.

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Inspired by Emily, I went into Bewley’s for a cup of tea. More accurately, I joined the queue for tea outside in the freezing cold. When I got to the door, I could not find my mask so I left. As I bitterly put my stuff into my bicycle carrier, didn’t the wretched mask fall from between the pages of the paper? I hummed and hawed but went back and joined the end of the queue and waited and waited. A waitress came out to the frozen pundits on the street and said it would be half an hour for a table. I was committed at this stage. 15 minutes later, her colleague came out and said it would be 20 minutes for a table (ok, I suppose) and as they closed in 20 minutes, there was no longer any point in waiting. I was incandescent with rage. I went to the Queen of Tarts, an old favourite of mine, closed, looked a bit permanently closed, I do hope not. I cycled homewards in the freezing cold and stopped off at a local old reliable cafe. Closing and unable to accommodate me. That’s right, a city of nearly a million people and not a cup of tea to be had. I got home having spent nearly two hours trying to get a cup of tea. Snort.

In other Advent news, my sister gave me an Advent calendar in the form of a box of skin and beauty care. As it was the first day of Advent I pulled it out from under the bed. “Beauty lies within” it announced. “Surprisingly frank,” I thought for a moment. Honestly, could they not have chosen a better slogan? I had to ring her up to find out how I was to use the first item I received, I think it may be a bit sophisticated for me and my beauty regime.

Oh No Redux


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

So off she went for her PCR at 11.30 this morning and at 8.15 this evening she got her positive result. Alas alack though impressively speedy work by the British testing people, I must say. I spoke briefly to her this morning and she was pretty miserable – in a bad cold kind of way – but not at death’s door.

My sister is a big fan of moonpig which does personalised cards. She went online and got the Princess a card with a personalised message and my sister’s cartoon of a corona virus on the inside. Unfortunately the site kept crashing and my sister had a lot of difficulty with it. This is why the personalised greeting card has, “Get well soon, Caroline!” on the front. The Princess’s name is not Caroline. Funnily enough when I mentioned moonpig at home, both boys said, “Uh oh, data breach,” so perhaps not where you should go for your personalised greeting cards.

In other news, we had online parent-teacher meetings for the boys this evening. This was extremely stressful. I had to be in the office and called in from there and Mr. Waffle and each boy in turn were tuning in from home. The format was five minutes per appointment. It was like academic speed dating. I turned up in other people’s meetings, they turned up in ours, I couldn’t get in to some teachers, the home team couldn’t get in to others. I mean it was better than nothing but I wouldn’t call it a triumph for new technology. On the plus side the teachers love my children. They’re both doing fine, thanks v much. My favourite nugget from the evening was the following: Michael tends to finish his in class economics exercises ahead of the other students and when he’s finished, he pulls out his book from his bag and starts reading, an activity which is apparently tolerated by the economics teacher but he is keen that Michael would stop reading promptly when class recommences. I can imagine.

Out and About


Posted in: Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Reading etc., Twins, Youngest Child

Mr. Waffle is still sick.

It was a beautiful day. On the way home from mass, Daniel looked at me warily and said, “Please don’t suggest a cycle”. I am afraid that that is exactly what I did.

We met friends in the park who invited us to go to see Eurydice in the Met in the cinema (live streamed from NY to your local picture house). I blithely said yes for me and Mr. Waffle, the boys politely but firmly refused the generous offer. I thought it was the “Orpheus and Eurydice” with tunes but it turns out that it is an original composition. I fear the worst. As Mr. Waffle said about these much loved friends of ours, “It’s not just that they love opera but they love hard opera.” A three hour treat for December.

We had a lovely cycle. Even the boys didn’t hate it.

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I peeled off and went to the museum to see the Eileen Gray exhibition, sending the boys on home on the basis that they had suffered enough. The exhibition was mildly interesting. I’m more of a good mahogany furniture kind of person than a modernist so not really for me but I could see it was good, if you see what I mean. Apparently she left Ireland in horror after they did up her family home. I mean, you can see where she was coming from. What an absolutely horrific thing to happen to a perfectly nice square Georgian house.

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I was quite taken by the practicality of some of her more famous pieces. The chair that acknowledges that people sit to one side.

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The “practical for breakfast in bed” table:

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She had an extraordinary life and lived until 98 working away into the 70s. She lived long enough to see her furniture and ideas come back into fashion and in some ways, she’s the godmother of open plan living (though she seemed to have moved away from that in later life). Interesting.

Not Waving But Drowning


Posted in: Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Twins

Mr. Waffle continues to be ill. He decided that it would not be conducive to his recovery to stand in the middle of a windy field for a couple of hours so he delegated to me the job of taking Dan to his hurling match in west Dublin. “You’ve a beautiful day for it,” Mr. Waffle thrilled as we headed off.

We arrived and schlepped for miles from the car park to the designated pitch. No sooner did we arrive than the rain started. I discovered to my horror that although we were instructed to assemble at 1.15 the match was only starting at 2. I trudged gloomily around the pitch regretting that I had neglected to bring any kind of hood and discovering that my boots were not waterproof. Truly mine eyes have seen the abomination of desolation.

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There were 6 subs and, to my relief, Dan was in the starting 15. I spent a good while watching number 24 before I realised that my son was playing up front (normally he’s a back) in the number 6 shirt. Half time arrived mercifully quickly. Sadly, it turned out only to be a water break (quarter time, if you will). I continued my trudging. The heavens absolutely opened with that kind of rain that bounces off the ground and back up your trousers.

I telephoned my sister and she asked how wet I was. This is the photo I sent her. Very wet. Apparently it was a lovely day in Cork.

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Daniel was having a great match but he got knocked down and the coach ran over, patted him on the back and came to the sideline reassuring me that it was only a hard shoulder to the head. I was not reassured. Later he got a hurl to the head (they were all wearing helmets but still) and eventually, about 5 minutes before the end, he was subbed off somewhat to my relief as he is absolutely fearless on the field and I wanted him to finish alive.

I was very proud as we went back to the car and people kept coming up to congratulate him on a great match, sadly though, not great enough as, in the end, they lost by six points but, honestly, it felt closer than that.

We were both glad to get home.

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In other news, I bought logs from a garage and on my way out, accidentally blocked a middle aged woman in high vis and lycra who was marching determinedly in the rain, clearly getting her steps in. She gave me the evil eye, as well she might, and I realised it was the leader of the opposition. This is the kind of glamour that west Dublin offers. Let’s have your own celebrity encounters.

War and Peace


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

The issue of bathroom towels is a vexed one in this house.

Firstly by way of background, my husband’s family are obsessed with towels. If we are staying in self-catering accommodation the very first question is always, “Do we have to bring our own towels?”

We are not a family who uses a towel once and puts in the wash. Each towel gets several uses. Here is what happens. Mr. Waffle comes to the bathroom. He deems all of the towels in use inadequate and gets a fluffy new one from the hot press. He does not put a towel in the laundry basket. I come to the bathroom last and the place is swathed in damp towels. I have no objection to people getting fresh towels (particularly, I suppose when those people do all the laundry in the house) but I do object to people not throwing the used damp towels in the laundry basket.

Over the summer I went on strike and stopped putting used towels in the laundry basket. Things began to get unbearable until herself took over. As she said, “Please stop this war, it’s always the children who suffer the most.”

But more recently, all seems to be well. A bit baffling. I said as much to Daniel in the car on the way to training. “Oh,” said he, “Michael puts the towels in the laundry basket now, but I saw him doing it and made him put out a fresh one because I know that’s what you like.” I fear I may not have been entirely clear.

And that, people, is the kind of content you are likely to get for the remainder of the month. Hold on to your hats.