belgianwaffle

Youngest Child

The Great Filing Catastrophe of 2016 and Other News


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

Mr. Waffle and I are tidy. I am the queen of filing and he is the king. People gasp in amazement when they see my tidy office. All of our domestic administration is carefully filed away and (somewhat) regularly sorted through to throw out papers that we no longer need to keep (although, to my knowledge, Mr. Waffle’s bank statements from when we lived in Belgium are still filed in the attic, a fact of which I deeply disapprove – you may recall that we last lived in Belgium in 2008). All this to say that, you know, we are not the kind of people who can’t find guarantees or passports or papers when we need to. You know how this is going to end, I assume. Stay with me anyhow, why don’t you?

Herself is going to Rome horribly early tomorrow morning for a mid-term school trip. She has been counting the days since September when she first heard about it. The programme is daunting. They are going for five days and will visit Rome (Vatican museums, the Forum, Pantheon, Spanish Steps, Trevi Fountain and anything else they feel up to – one of the teachers seriously suggested to me that they might go bowling one evening, insert your own sardonic comment here), Pompeii, Naples, Sorrento and the Amalfi coast.

She spent the weekend packing. After dinner this evening I went to get her passport out of the drawer and it was there. Of course it was there. I went to get her European health card from the shoebox where we keep these things. Daniel’s was there. Michael’s was there. I emptied out all of the non-EU currency, the Belgian bus tickets, the Paris metro tickets and the foreign stamps which also live in the shoebox but there was no sign of the Princess’s health insurance card. We searched in all the likely places: the desk drawers, the health insurance folder, the folder for herself, all the other folders just in case. It was unfindable. She had had to bring it into school twice so that they could verify that she had it. In light of this I felt that the authorities were likely to check in the cold, pre-dawn Dublin airport whether she had brought it with her. We kept searching. It turned up sticking out of the Lonely Planet guide to Paris on the book shelf. I am not the better of it.

It was also Valentine’s day and my husband got me lovely flowers and a card. I got him some stroopwafels and only because yesterday morning, herself said to me, “I hope you know that Daddy is getting you something for Valentine’s Day.” He took the boys to a reading in the National Library while I scuttled around hoping to find something he might like. I am not sure that he was absolutely thrilled with the packet of biscuits, now. Sometimes I feel that Mr. Waffle gets a poor deal. Guess who is getting up at 4 in the morning to drive our precious first-born to the airport? Not me, I fear.

Have a photo of the boys checking out the National Library reading room:
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Earlier today we climbed Bray Head. This was inspired by Michael who needed to do it for some scouting badge. He was pleased to be going. The others, possibly less so. However, we met the cousins and they were all happy to see each other and ran up cheerfully despite the biting wind. A further aim of the trip was to ensure that herself and Mr. Waffle were tired enough to go to sleep early. Any benefits in this regard were entirely offset by the health insurance card trauma.

Still, nice views from the top:
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Culture


Posted in: Dublin, Family, Ireland, Mr. Waffle, Twins, Youngest Child

A couple of weeks ago, Mr. Waffle and I took the children to see “Trauma” in the science gallery. It was, well, traumatic. Not unexpected you might argue. After the strain of the exhibition, I felt we ought to do something further of a cultural nature. It would be hard to overstate Michael’s bitterness on hearing this news.

Since we were in Trinity anyway and, one of the major advantages of a degree from Trinity is that it gets you in free to the Book of Kells, I suggested that we might go there and get some use out of Mr. Waffle’s degree. We passed the playing pitches on the way and I found myself, somewhat to my surprise, standing beside a man yelling “Come on Trinity” at a rugby game. How little we know our spouses. Happily Michael’s weary insistence that we might as well get it over with propelled us onwards.

The library is lovely, actually. I note that we went there this time last year so it seems to occur to me as a good outing in January. As ever, I sold it to the boys as being the model for the Jedi library which may be true. They were cynical and bitter, “You say that every time.”

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We didn’t stay long and it is genuinely interesting. Afterwards, as we emerged into the drizzle, having contemplated one of Ireland’s great treasures Michael said grudgingly, “I suppose it wasn’t too bad.” I think I will take that as a win.

Customer Service


Posted in: Ireland, Twins, Youngest Child

On our way back up from Cork to Dublin after Christmas, we stopped off for lunch in a well-known stopping place. The staff were busy but they were also exceptionally rude and unhelpful.

I went to an independent bookshop to spend my money. This is a popular one with the press but I have always found the staff rude and unhelpful. Nevertheless, I went in because I don’t want all our bookshops to be the same and I want them to keep going. The assistant was speaking loudly to someone which was surprisingly unpleasant as the shop was otherwise quiet. After a few moments she said to me, “You have to leave now, we’re closing.” Not an “I’m afraid” an “I’m sorry” or a tone of voice that conveyed anything other than “leave, you are in my space”.

How pleasant it was then to go to Kilkenny Design for a cup of tea with the children and find that not everyone is vile in January. Michael ran into a waiter and an entire tray of crockery went up in the air causing a crash and, inevitably, pottery shards spread over a wide radius in what is a crowded enough cafe space. The staff could not have been more pleasant and understanding and their main concern genuinely seemed to be that Michael was unhurt (he was only psychologically scarred by the scorn of his sister who was embarrassed as only a nearly teenager can be).

I’m not quite sure what the conclusion of this post is other than that I am clearly getting crankier as I age and, you know, it costs nothing to be polite.

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.