Michael had diarrhoea last night. Every hour or so he poked me awake saying, “I want to go to the toilet.” “Can Daddy go with you?” “No.” I know it was worse for him but he got to stay home in bed but I had to come into work where, frankly, my employer did not get full value for its expenditure on my salary.
Youngest Child
Dressing up
Me (to the boys): This is your sister’s school and you two will be starting there in a while.
Daniel: Will we wear a uniform?
Me: Yes, you will.
Daniel: Like our sister’s uniform?
Me: Yes indeed.
Michael: Hurrah, I will wear a skirt!
When we got home, I changed into jeans, runners and a fleece, and trotted out to cut the grass. “You look cool”, said my daughter. I fear that prolonged exposure to Irish fashions has not improved anyone’s dress sense. And we were already coming from a low base. Sigh.
Finally, I have got all my hair cut off. A nice Lithuanian lady gave Daniel and me the same style. It cost us 28 euros in total. Pleasingly economical. I am quite happy but the complete absence of comment other than from my children and that, frankly negative, is a little disturbing. Kissing Michael goodnight he said, “I don’t want you to kiss me, you look like a boy, you’re not like my Mummy”. When I went to collect them from Montessori school, the teacher took one look at me and said, “Ah, that is why the boys came into school and told me that their Mummy is a boy, now.” Sigh.
Empathy
Daniel has recently developed a slight rash on his arms coinciding with a spell of renewed cold weather and Michael’s continuing difficulty with his colouring assignments.
Me (rubbing on cream): Are you worried about something sweetheart?
Daniel: Yes.
Michael has gone up the stairs to the bedroom where he is swigging down his bottle (no comments please, no one is more aware than I am that the boys will be 4 and starting school in September) and getting into his pyjamas. I decide, in Michael’s absence, to see whether Michael’s misery is affecting Daniel.
Me: Are you worried about Michael?
Daniel: Yes.
My poor child, anguished about his brother and his brother’s misery.
Me: Why are you worried about Michael?
Daniel (loudly): I’m worried he will take my bottle.
Learning
It appears that Michael is not colouring properly. He does not make an effort. His teacher is cross. She told us this and we nodded seriously. She was not deceived. “I know” she said, “that you think it is only colouring, but it is important for concentration, how will he manage in September when there are 27 other children clamouring for the teacher’s attention?” We are planning to start the boys at big school in the autumn where the pupil teacher ratio will go from 6:1 – Montessori to something far less favourable.
Nevertheless, I am finding it hard to care. If his St. Patrick’s Day shamrocks are less coloured in than Daniel’s, well then so be it. With this kind of attitude at home is it any wonder that his colouring reports continue to be poor.
Meanwhile, I discover to my surprise that the boys both recognise numbers 1 – 10 (Daniel somewhat more readily than Michael) and are starting to point to letters and pronounce them phonetically. Clearly, they are learning something at school despite the colouring difficulties Michael encounters. I feel a bit guilty that I have only noticed these talents by the by and have done practically nothing to foster them. Daniel is desperate to start reading and sits running his chubby fingers under the words in books while saying them very slowly (he knows them off by heart). I think that he is trying to unlock the mysteries of his sister’s new reading trick. He sees her spelling them out to herself and thinks that, somehow, if he says the word slowly and runs his finger under it, it will work for him too. Who knows, maybe he’s right.
Analysing the Downturn
This morning, the Princess and Michael were lying together chatting in their parents’ bed and, coming up the stairs, I heard the Princess say to Michael:
You see, Ireland is in crisis Michael. People are losing their jobs and they are standing in large queues to complain about it. There are no jobs because the banks took all the money. In fact, Mummy got the last job in Ireland.
That last bit is probably true.
No sweets for my sweet
Michael is the oddest child. He does not like sweet things at all. If the others have a biscuit, he has a cream cracker. We were in the bakery the other day and the others each had a bun. Michael picked up a packet of eggs and said, “Please Mummy, can I have a boiled egg instead of a bun?”