belgianwaffle

Weekend


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

Our weekends are logistically challenging at the moment. Daniel has a match on Saturday mornings, usually in a distant location and Michael has a course in town from 1.15 to 2.45. Herself has a course, on the other side of town from 12.15 to 2.15.

A couple of weekends ago was not untypical. Daniel had a match in Howth which is brutally awkward to get to. Mr. Waffle took Dan and the neighbour’s child out to the GAA club. The pitch is on a high outcrop overlooking the sea which, as Mr. Waffle pointed out must be beautiful on a warm summer’s day but on a sleety, freezing day in February, it was nothing to write home about. Our neighbour’s child is very slender and quite fragile looking (though handy at gaelic games despite appearances to the contrary). He was wearing shorts and a t-shirt when he turned up at our house. “Would he like a tracksuit?” we wondered. No he would not as he had underarmour and he pulled it down to mid-thigh as he spoke. Frankly, we didn’t feel it would cut the mustard. When they got to Howth, the neighbour’s child went in goal. Sadly, our team was being flattened* and he was very busy in goal. So busy in fact that even though he now conceded that he would quite like to put on the tracksuit bottoms, there wasn’t a moment’s quiet form him to do so. Eventually, he got a knock to the head and had to come off which may have been a mercy. Mr. Waffle took the visibly shivering child into the club house and got him into the tracksuit and plied him with hot chocolate and crisps and he seems to have been no worse for the experience.

Meanwhile back in the city, I was looking out glumly at the rain. The Princess was getting the bus into town and wasn’t quite sure where her venue was. I volunteered to go with her leaving Michael home alone. She and I got the bus in together and then I went to get the bus home but due to extensive works on the new city centre tram line was utterly unable to find the bus stop for the return leg for a surprising length of time. I was consequently both late and very damp when I got home to pick up Michael. We rushed into our rain gear and cycled into his course. Then I cycled off to her course and showed her where the bus stop had moved to, put her on the bus, cycled back to Michael’s course, cycled home with him, peeled off my damp clothes and stayed at home for the rest of the day a shadow of my former self.

If I had known in my 20s what was coming, I would have enjoyed those long, relaxed weekend brunches even more.

*Daniel got man of the match as he is a child who does not give up even under the most daunting of circumstances. I was pleased for him, it was all that could be salvaged from a rather grim experience overall.

Culture


Posted in: Reading etc.

I booked myself and Mr. Waffle into “Jacques Brel is Alive and Well and Living in Paris” at the Gate. This is the only place I can go where I bring down the average age so it is always a thrill. I can’t help thinking it might go to the wall in 20 years once the majority of the current patrons die. Anyhow, usually, it is reliable but not on this occasion. I did not enjoy the show. In fairness, it may have been me – I was expecting something like “Mamma Mia” only with Jacques Brel songs. I did not get that, it was pretty straightforward singing of the songs with actions but no dialogue or particular logic it seemed to me. There were four singers – two men and two women- and, really, the men were only alright. Alas that I should have chosen so poorly for one of our rare cultural outings.

I have been to see a great deal of cinema, by my standards. I saw “La La Land” which I did not enjoy much. Lego Batman didn’t do it for me either but I did enjoy “Hidden Figures” (I went with herself who enjoyed it also but couldn’t help pointing out to me how the white man had to save the black woman). Could be worse. I should try another play, I suppose. I think I need to feel stronger.

Parent Teacher Meetings


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

We have been doing the rounds of parent-teacher meetings. This is the boys’ last year in primary school and I am quite sad to end our link to the primary school. Their teacher this year is amazing. They love her. And she seems to really like them as well. She had lovely things to say when we met her and all is definitely well.

Secondary school parent teacher meetings are a different kettle of fish. There are about ten different teachers to see and much queuing up outside classrooms. Due to ASTI’s (teacher union’s) ongoing industrial dispute, I had to take a half day off from work to queue as well – parent-teacher meetings can no longer be scheduled for the evening as part of the work to rule. In fairness to my first born, she is well-loved by teachers and, overwhelmingly, they had good things to say though, due to the queue of other parents outside the door, it was all pretty brief. The focus of all teachers was on how she was likely to do in the Junior Certificate (a State examination at the end of next year which is only relevant as a qualification if you plan to leave school at 16 and, frankly, if you do leave school at that stage, how you did in your Junior Certificate is likely to be the least of your worries). This drives me bananas. Even the really good teachers felt obliged to explain how what they were doing was important for the examination and less inspired ones revealed without a blush that they had the kids memorising essays. I know that this isn’t a new problem, but still Pádraig Pearse must be turning in his grave.

In the Midst of Life we are in Death


Posted in: Family, Ireland

In early December, my first cousin, T, was killed in a traffic accident. He was the eldest of all the cousins and six years older than me. I hadn’t seen him in years and we were never close but I got a real shock when I heard the news.

I went to the funeral in the small country town he was from with my brother and sister. T had no children and was unmarried. My uncle is unwell and, his mother, my 80 year old aunt, and brothers and sisters were T’s chief mourners. My cousin, his brother, was the undertaker – when I saw him, for the first time in several years, he reminded me that he was always my favourite cousin, which remains true – he is a really kind, gentle man. It was all really sad. T’s funeral was in the church where my own mother was baptised and married. In 1967 when she and my father got married, my cousin was a winsome page boy in the same church.

It had been many years since I had met all of my cousins, I was abroad, we fell out of contact. One of them was unrecognisable; the last time I had seen him, he had a shock of red hair, now he was bald. The rest of us were all the same, only older. My own parents weren’t there as they are not well and I was struck by how much I missed them. All of us reverted to childhood a bit as our generation were all together with parents again although the “grown ups” are now all elderly. It was very strange and almost like time travelling. One really lovely thing was meeting my cousins’ children, most of whom I hadn’t met before. I followed up at Christmas and brought my own children to meet their second cousins and that was great. I have hopes of seeing them in Dublin at some point – a bed to offer in Dublin is surely a draw for cousins from outside the big smoke. I have almost committed to go to an extended family reunion at the end of April in Kerry (although, I think, Mr. Waffle is balking slightly at the prospect).

We went to the graveyard. T was buried in the same grave as my beloved grandmother. She absolutely adored T; he was the first grandchild and the apple of her eye. All of the cousins were reminiscing about her funeral when glasses of whiskey were lined up on the wall of the graveyard for mourners to drink. In 1984, the drink driving laws weren’t what they are today. My other uncle was buried there in 2008 the day we were moving home from Belgium and I didn’t go to the funeral. I strongly feel my aunt, his wife, has not forgiven me. My sister says I am imagining it but I’m not so sure. My other cousin (another niece) flew back from New York for the funeral and it was mentioned. Again. How nice it is to fall into old family discussions, ahem.

My cousins recalled how absolutely terrible I had been at cards as a child. My mother taught us all to play cards but my brother and sister were more talented than me (I would point out that I an an absolute genius at cards compared to my loving husband; it’s not that I’m bad it’s just that that Limerick school was very sharp indeed). When somebody made a bid which they had the cards to get easily, my mother would say, “You’d make that from the top of Knockfierna”. My cousins pointed out Knockfierna to me from the graveyard.

We went for dinner afterwards and I had a long and interesting chat with my cousin the dairy farmer – it’s a whole different world and really fascinating. All of us pooled our knowledge of the family. My grandfather who, by all accounts was quite the driven, hard, self-made man, died when I was 6 months old. “Did you know he had a glass eye?” asked my cousin. “No,” I said, “but did you know that his family spoke Irish?”

It was sad but it was wonderful to meet all these people from my childhood who I had really lost contact with and see their lives and their families and start to build up those old connections. To cap off a quite surreal experience, I spent an hour waiting in a rural station for a train back to Dublin. There was a man who was clearly mentally unwell and shuttled between the two women in the waiting room shouting abuse at us as we pretended to be absorbed in our phones. We were glad when a couple of other people showed up for the Dublin train. And that, somewhat bleakly, was that.

The Garden of Ireland


Posted in: Family, Travel

It wasn’t possible to have a week in Kerry with the extended family last year so many months ago, we thought that we might try for a more modest overnight break near Dublin. The logistics of organising a date for this nearly sent Mr. Waffle to an early grave. We tried several dates but it was very difficult to get everyone together for just one night. Ironically, a week in Kerry was easier as people could dip in and out on different dates. However, we finally picked a night and it was last Friday. After some humming and hawing, I took a half day on Friday to facilitate our speedy arrival at our destination. This did not work well as by the time we had collected the boys from school, snacked and packed it was somehow 4.30 before we got on the road and the traffic was absolutely catastrophic. It took us about two hours to get to our, not very distant, Wicklow destination.

Also, in our leisurely packing for one night only we successfully forgot the following items:
– Coats for herself and Michael
– Change of top for me
– Toothpaste
– Calpol
– My walking boots

None of these was disastrous but the list is just to give you an idea of the slick operation you are dealing with here.

Things picked up when we actually arrived – sadly we failed to co-ordinate sufficiently with my sister-in-law in London and her husband and they weren’t able to come, but everyone else was in situ. London in-laws are having a baby in June and we inspected the premises to ensure that were they to come with their baby (insert much excitement here) another time, it would work for them.

We were very pleased with the place (no favours were given etc.). Mr. Waffle and I stayed there years ago and found it lovely and very good value. We were not disappointed on re-visiting with the wider family group including children. We stayed in Ballyknocken. The owner is a celebrity TV chef and I told the children this and they were utterly indifferent proving that another generation of Irish people is growing up who are keeping to the traditional values of ignoring any and all celebrity firepower. Our hostess, in fairness, was lovely. She greeted and chatted. She was terrific with the children who were put at a separate table from the adults and did their own ordering and had their own sophisticated conversation. The children themselves are reaching an age where they are quite self-sufficient and really need minimum effort. Very pleasing, I have to tell you.

Before dinner they played tip the can in the dark and slightly damp grounds with the aid of a head torch (reader, I married into a family where not one but two men came with head torches) and had a terrific time. Meanwhile the adults chatted in the drawing room in front of the fire and enjoyed, according to their tastes, tea, wine and sherry.

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Dinner was excellent though there was a lot of it which, I suppose, is a good complaint. The children all slept well and, in the morning, experienced the joy of a good buffet breakfast. My brother-in-law and his wife went for an early morning run up a nearby mountain (head torches are the least of it really) and we all met at the breakfast table. Breakfast was amazingly good. Better than dinner I thought and, again, the staff were lovely.

Michael was rather gloomy as he had a bit of a cold and spent some time in the morning moping about our bedroom looking at the drizzle.

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I took him for a walk around the grounds and he cheered up when we found a trampoline behind the rather mossy tennis court where his brother and cousin were kicking a football over and back across the net.

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Sadly, my niece and, designated driver, her mother, had to speed back to Dublin as she (niece) is performing in a play and needed to be back for rehearsals. The rest of us went to Avondale, home of Charles Stewart Parnell. It was a bit damp and, as herself pointed out mournfully, the house and attached tea rooms were closed, but we had a mild walk and the children played in the playground. They were a bit doleful but perked up when we said we would take them to a pub for a healthy lunch consisting almost entirely of chips.

On the way back to the car, a woman with 5 children was experiencing difficulties. She had, I would say, a 1 year old, 3 two year olds and a six year old and all four of the younger ones wanted to be picked up and the poor six year old was lugging all the kit required for an expedition with four small children in a large Tesco bag for life. The woman was getting a bit tetchy, as well she might. I decided to offer to help although, in my own experience, this can be unwelcome, sometimes you just want people to ignore you and leave you to struggle in peace. However, she gratefully accepted my assistance and I took over the (actually quite heavy) bag from the six year old. “I assume that you are on some kind of outing and they are not all yours,” I said laughing. “Oh no, they are,” she said and seeing my raised eyebrows added, “Triplets; I should have known better than to take them all out on my own.” The mind absolutely boggles but I can tell you one thing, that six year old is a saint.

On to lunch in the pub which was very satisfactory and home by 4 in the afternoon. Frankly, a triumph. I think we might even try again when the weather improves.

Terrible Jokes Department – Part II


Posted in: Princess

Herself: Suppose there was a census and it was all fake. Like “fake news”!
Me: Mmm.
Her: And everyone agreed that it was fake.
Me: OK and?
Her: It would be – wait for it – a consensus.