belgianwaffle

Youngest Child

The Goose is Getting Fat


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

Yesterday afternoon, the Princess wrote her Christmas cards. No, you’re not getting one; they are for her 27 classmates.

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She and I made cranberry and orange sauce:

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And we studded a couple of oranges with cloves:

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And we made a paper chain of angels:

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Did all this come at a cost? Well, yes, her brothers spent the afternoon playing on the computer so that we were free to do our worthy activities. Daniel did put a couple of cloves into an orange in a half-hearted way but quickly returned to FRIV (the very best free online games apparently). Look, at least the weather outside was frightful.

Good News, Bad News


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

I came home from work yesterday and the Princess leapt up to meet me. “I won the class art competition! I got first place! I got a brilliant prize!” Her recital of her greatness was interrupted by prolonged wails from her brothers neither of whom won their class prize. Rejoicing in your siblings’ good fortune is a learned skill, I think.

Guilt as Standard


Posted in: Twins, Youngest Child

When we took the kids to Milano’s recently, the children got little activity books while they were waiting for their food. They were asked to identify their favourite places and Michael wrote “the swimming pool”. What useless mother has not yet arranged swimming lessons for her children? Who only manages to take them to the pool once every two months, if that? Oh dear.

Cultural Differences


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

It is the end of GAA training until after Christmas. The young men from the under 8s are invited to a Christmas party. Last Saturday was the deadline for paying for the party. I brought my money dutifully. Another mother whom I know from our time soldiering together on the side of the pitch arrived rather late and handed over her money and appeared to be scurrying away again. “Are you off already?” I asked in surprise. “Yes,” she said, “[the GAA under 8 boy] and his sister are both sick in bed.” And off she went, looking quite harassed. When I related this to Mr. Waffle we both marvelled at the trouble that she had gone to and as one said, “Of course, she’s English.” Later in the week the inevitable email arrived: 57 boys have been signed up for the party but only 36 have paid, can the others bring their money on the day?

Gotcha!


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

Horrid Henry has a game that he plays with his friends that is modelled on Monopoly. It’s called Gotcha and features dragons’ lairs instead of streets and rubies instead of money but the principles are similar. In an ill-fated moment of inspiration, Mr. Waffle suggested to the boys that he and they might make Gotcha themselves and, with the aid of pictures printed out from the internet, an old packet of Rice Krispies and a Pritt stick, they did.

They, therefore, successfully created a game even duller than Monopoly which one or other of the boys always wants to play but never both together. Mr. Waffle and I have put in many unhappy hours on the Gotcha board. Yesterday afternoon we stayed at home, the weather was inclement. Daniel tired of the rugby on the television and begged to play Gotcha instead so he and I did so. If I never play Gotcha again, it won’t be too soon.

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