belgianwaffle

Twins

New phone


Posted in: Middle Child, Twins, Youngest Child

I have got a new phone. Rejoice with me as the new battery lasts more than five minutes and I will no longer have to go everywhere with the charger in my handbag.

I gave the boys my old one to share. It is an iphone 4S with a broken screen and a very short battery life. Despite its obvious drawbacks and the fact that they have to share it, they were touchingly pleased. They have been downloading apps to beat the band. The current favourite seems to feature platypuses. I suppose we will have to reach an agreement about how much screen time is allowed before their little backs seize up as they hunch over the tiny screen.

Modern Mores


Posted in: Middle Child, Twins, Youngest Child

Michael is a scout and his uncle got him a penknife for his birthday. Or a pocket knife as he calls it because, apparently, we are all Americans now.

His uncle, observing the success of Michael’s penknife got one for Daniel for Christmas. He too was very pleased notwithstanding having given himself a nasty nick when he first used it.

The other morning, just as he was about to trip into school, Daniel mentioned that he had brought in his penknife to show to his classmates. I felt best not. “Don’t you trust me?” he asked mournfully as I put it into my bag. “It’s not you, it’s all the other children,” I reassured him.

Am I being an overprotective hovering parent or am I cutting down on knife crime in schools? Who knows? At least nobody will lose an eye, I suppose.

The Glamorous Home Life of the Working Parent


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

I arrived home from work the other night to be greeted by an urgent demand from Michael. Somehow, a DVD and a book had fallen behind the radiator and could not be got out. Before sitting down, before removing my coat, I began work on this important quest. I discovered that the bottom of the radiator was flush with the skirting board and there was no way to get them out from the bottom. Daniel, enterprisingly, got me a stick which had previously been used for flag waving. I poked unavailingly at the DVD and the book. Michael got tense. It was a library book. But of course. I got hotter and sweatier toiling in my coat over the boiling radiator.

The front door banged, Mr. Waffle had come in from work. “Come and help me,” I called. “Never mind your coat,” I added. I explained the problem but he had to establish the parameters of the issue himself (I find that this is always the case for both me and Mr. Waffle, there is no learning from experience in DIY type problems in our house, we both want to try and fail in the same way ourselves). Daniel produced another stick. Slowly, carefully Mr. Waffle and I poked the book with a stick from each end and dragged it to the top of the radiator. Just as we almost got there, it slipped free and fell down to the bottom again. Slowly, painstakingly we tried again, both pushing inwards and upwards with our sticks over the toasty radiator while wearing our coats and being egged on by the boys. About half way up, Mr. Waffle’s stick lost its grip on the book but maintained its vigourous upward trajectory and hit me smartly on the eyeball. Very painful, I can tell you.

At that point, we took a break, took off our coats and had a cup of tea. You will be pleased to hear that later in the evening both items were rescued. My eyeball is fine too. Thanks for asking.

Surprisingly Successful


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Middle Child, Twins, Youngest Child

We went in to see the Science Gallery exhibition a while ago and it was closed unexpectedly. Alas. I had paid for 90 minutes parking and it was lashing rain. I cast around for some alternative suitable cultural institution nearby with a cafe and a bathroom. We stood gloomily in the rain and I suggested that we could go through Trinity to the National Gallery.

It wasn’t that near and, I couldn’t help thinking, as we trudged through the rain, they weren’t going to like it much either when we got there. Much of the gallery is closed for extensive building work but the Turner exhibition was out for January and many of the gallery’s most famous paintings are crammed into a couple of exhibition rooms. I brought the children in for what I promised was a very quick look before getting a cup of tea. But the boys, in particular, were so interested, looking at the paintings and reading the captions and asking about them, that we stayed for ages.

It’s been years since I’ve brought them to an art gallery and perhaps I have left it too long. Or perhaps all the years when they were dragged unwillingly at a young age have prepared them to be engaged viewers at ten. Or perhaps, it was still lashing outside and we had nowhere else to go. Still I was very heartened and I see a whole new world opening up.

In Praise of Milano’s


Posted in: Middle Child, Twins, Youngest Child

I am a little tired of Milano’s; there is only so much pizza one person wants to eat. It is the only restaurant that the boys regard with enthusiasm and so when we go out, we tend to go there. But it’s reliable and it’s reasonably priced and you could travel further and fare worse.

I liked this story of my sister’s about a colleague who arranged a surprise trip to Disneyland for her three children aged 9,7 and 5. She had everything packed in secret. To persuade the children to leave the house, she told them that they were going to Milano’s. When they were all in the car, she told them that she had to go to the airport on the way to collect someone. When she arrived at the airport, she said, “Surprise, we’re going to Disneyland! Your bags are in the boot! We’re getting the airplane!” At this point the nine year old asked whether this meant that they would no longer be going to Milano’s. Upon being told that the trip to Milano’s was being deferred in favour of Disneyland, they all started to cry. Now, that’s dedication.

Job’s Comforter


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

On Saturday night I coughed and I coughed. As I went upstairs, the boys came rushing from their bedrooms to hug me and say, “Mama, are you alright?” Herself emerged to say, “I hope that this isn’t contagious.” Sometime later I went upstairs again. She emerged from her room and said, “Look, stay upstairs or stay downstairs but this ominous approaching coughing is really disturbing.”

On Sunday morning, I had to leave the church to cough in the porch. One of the neighbours came out and asked me was I alright and would she go to the shop and get me cough medicine. The mortification. Herself told me that all that could be heard in the quiet contemplation after communion was me hacking away in the porch.

So, you know, I’m improving.