belgianwaffle

A Lot of Responsibility

5 October, 2016
Posted in: Family, Hodge

Neither Mr. Waffle’s parents nor mine are particularly well at the moment and we have been tugged a bit in various directions. My sister-in-law was over visiting and she said reflectively, “You have a lot of responsibility: two sets of parents, three children, a cat and six chickens.*” I thought, yes, we do have a lot of responsibility and it may partly explain why posting has been a bit on the light side. Also, starting a new job (it’s still new to me, I started in February) is more tiring than you might think. And I am doing a work related course and there are assignments and I profoundly regret signing myself up for it in the first place. Sigh.

*In fact the chickens belong to our neighbours and we were only minding them while they (the neighbours) climbed Mount Kilimanjaro with their two teenagers. Yes, I am impressed as well. It did allow Mr. Waffle to send me this message when I asked if all was well at home:

Fine. Children still in pyjamas so am next door supervising hens.

Life’s rich tapestry and all that.

Marie Kondo Changes our Lives

4 October, 2016
Posted in: Princess

So, Herself read “The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up“. If you are unfamiliar with Ms. Kondo’s book, the clue is in the title. Then, she read it again.

Then she spent about a fortnight tidying her room while keeping Marie Kondo on her bedside table for inspiration. I lugged enormous black bags of stuff to the charity shop at regular intervals. I also preserved a lot of books which she was heartlessly going to give away. This has not been without consequences for the rest of the house.

Mr. Waffle emailed me this picture which he entitled “The cull continues”.

This is the pile on the landing after distribution of extensive stocks to her brothers and cousins:

But her room is amazing. It’s really tidy and it has stayed that way. She’s really grown up a lot this summer. She looks more grown up and she has become very self-sufficient. She spent a week in Paris and a week in London. She was with her aunt in London and had an amazing time. The trip to Paris with her exchange and no relatives was more challenging but she did it and she is quite proud of herself, I think. That was the longest she had been away without family. In many ways she did more growing up after the end of first year in secondary school than after the end of primary school. Going into secondary school, she was still a child but now she is definitely a teenager. I think we get on pretty well and we do like to talk but I am also, in her view, endlessly tactless as, I point out to her, is the nature of parents of teenagers everywhere.

She sends me emails which I find delightful. Like this one.

To: Me
From: Herself
Subject: Help

A butterfly butterflew into my room

You don’t hear this much but, do you know what, I’m going to say it, I really like being the parent of a teenager. I hope these words won’t come back to haunt me.

11

3 October, 2016
Posted in: Family, Middle Child, Twins, Youngest Child

The boys turned 11 on September 27.
My parents were 49 years married.
Google turned 18.

There was a lot going on. Stay tuned for a birthday update on my 11 year olds.

Tough Crowd

2 October, 2016
Posted in: Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

Me (happily): Michael is going to have a boiled egg for lunch. This is all down to you miss, if you hadn’t encouraged him to have one he might never have started back on eggs. This will be your legacy!
Herself: Fantastic, other people have leadership, world peace and so on as their legacy and mine will be getting Michael to eat eggs.
Me: No, no, you are bringing domestic bliss to the world. Not to be underrated.
Her: Oh don’t go all Beth on me. The chirping of the cricket in the hearth that isn’t noticed until it is gone, is it?

Culturally Ambitious: First World Problems Explained

10 September, 2016
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland

This time of year is a complete nightmare for the culturally aware. When we come back from holidays in August, there is Heritage Week, then in early September there is the Fringe Theatre Festival, then Culture Night, then the Dublin Theatre Festival, (History Festival is a new thing which, in my view unwisely, has pitched itself between mid-September and October) then Open House, Dublin. We always get something out of going to these kinds of events but I wish that they were not all so hot on each other’s heels and coinciding with a time of year when we are already up to our oxters with back to school and everything else.

Happily, Heritage Week has now passed. Due to my efforts (on holidays, in France: culture never sleeps) we were booked in to see an event in the National History Museum about a traveller across Africa and had even lined up some friends of the children to attend also. As it happened, I had to go to Cork that weekend and Mr. Waffle was home with the children. I sent him a series of messages reminding him about it. Through sheer force of will and from a distance of 250kms, I persuaded and cajoled four very reluctant people into going to that session. When we were on holidays, one day, herself said, “What do you want to do Mum; we might as well know as we usually end up doing that.” She may have meant it as an insult but I definitely took it as a compliment.

Anyway, when I asked for an update after the heritage week event, this is the message I got: “The museum thing was actually a success.” The “actually” was perhaps harsh. Apparently it was fascinating and I was sorry to miss it myself. So, on the back of that slender success, I am about to turn my attention to theatre festival booking. Wish me luck.

France – Part 2

8 September, 2016
Posted in: Family, Travel

Monday, 8 August

After a thrilling trip to Leclerc (this is not even slightly sarcastic, I do love a French supermarket) we took ourselves off to visit our first castle of the holidays. It was a place called TrÃ©varez and it was a really odd spot. The owner spent a fortune building it and it had all possible mod cons including en suite bathrooms which must have been uncommon enough in the 1890s. I thought it was pretty ugly and overblown from the outside but I presume the owner liked it so it was unfortunate that he died very shortly after it was completed. It fell into disrepair but has now moved into public ownership and is being restored. It’s much more attractive inside than out and enjoys lovely sweeping views.

There was an opportunity to insert yourself into a picture of an imagined TrÃ©varez in its heyday using an iPad which we all rather enjoyed:

Tuesday, 9 August

We took the children zip wiring again in the morning in the suburbs of Quimper. I crept off to a local antiques shop which was full of lovely, reasonably priced items. Regrettably, they were all quite large; although I did spend some time wondering whether I could fit a marble topped bedside table beside Michael in the boot, wiser counsels prevailed.

In the afternoon, I took the children to the art gallery because I felt that some culture was appropriate. They were resigned rather than mutinous. We did not, in fact, see the Mona Lisa, despite appearances to the contrary.

We had a wander around the town, to our great excitement, saw our water jug (shaped like a novelty duck and purchased in Normandy last year) in a bric a brac shop, had some pancakes and, after some difficulty, rescuing our car from a car park which took neither cards nor notes, headed home to recover from our exertions.

Wednesday, August 10

I have failed to mention to you that the song “Les Lacs du Connemara” had become our theme song for this holiday. I am not quite sure why. Possibly because herself had spent time in Paris with my friend who as a teenager had had an Irish exchange. This girl had been homesick and, in an effort to cheer her up, the family had played “Les Lacs du Connemara”. This was entirely unsuccessful as this famous French song is unknown in Ireland. Frankly, it appears that Michel Sardou was pretty ignorant about Ireland also and the lyrics are stage-Irish shameful. To start with, why would Maureen, a girl allegedly from Connemara get married in Limerick, secondly why would the wedding invitees come from Co. Galway to Co. Connemara when Connemara is in Co. Galway and there is no Co. Connemara. I could go on for quite a bit. Anyway, we all know it now. I can’t help feeling that the children could make a fortune performing for French people of a certain age.

So on Wednesday, Daniel and I went out for a spin on the bikes in the house and had a look at the municipal goats. The city of Quimper has a flood plain. The vegetation is kept at bay by ecologically sound municipal goats. No I am not making this up; is it any wonder I love the French?

In the afternoon, we went to an aquarium with a birds of prey show on the side. This was inspired by our hugely successful trip to Clare where we saw an amazing show with birds of prey. The aquarium was ok but the birds of prey was not a success. It was too hot and too crowded. As we were nearby, we went to the Pointe du Raz afterwards; famous for being pretty and westerly both of which it delivered on, to be fair. Only mild enthusiasm from the troops who had been there before and were underwhelmed by both its prettiness and its westerliness.

Thursday, 11 August

Building on our daring previous success, Mr. Waffle and I left the children at home again and went in to the MusÃ©e DÃ©partmentale unaccompanied. Over the holiday, Mr. Waffle had been reading this book which he found in the house -“Le Cheval D’Orgueil“; it’s “Peig” for Bretons. Originally published in Breton it is the autobiography of Pierre-Jakez HÃ©lias who had a traditional Breton upbringing. Mr. Waffle had been giving me edited highlights which, I suspect, is how it is best enjoyed. Anyhow, one of the items in the museum was HÃ©lias’s traditional Breton garb and it was surprisingly moving to see it, given how much I knew about him at that point.

I might note that our time torturing our children with information about basic Breton and its relation to Irish was not wasted as, only yesterday, herself ran into the principal in the school corridors and he asked her where she had been on holidays and when she said Brittany and he asked whether she knew any Breton and about its relationship to Irish she was, despite herself, ready.

That afternoon we went to what I confidently described to the children as a water park. It turned out to be a park filled with trampolines, pedalo opportunities and slides but not, in fact, a water park. This led to some mild disappointment as it was quite warm and water would have been welcome.

That night we again left our children in the hands of the rapacious babysitter and went for dinner in Quimper. Dinner was truly delicious. Our hostess was delighted when she discovered we were Irish having lived for many years in Barna. Her uncle was a Breton nationalist (interesting bunch the Breton nationalists) who moved to Ireland and married an Irish woman and she told us a bit about him. Interesting man. We returned home to find the children still alive but they indicated that the babysitter had engaged less with them than on the previous occasion. Clearly, she didn’t feel the same need to entertain them for the lower rate which, frankly, was fine.

Friday, 12 August

I went in to Quimper alone to look for a faience sculpture. I did not succeed. These Breton heads are pricy. I thought it might be a nice souvenir as I think we won’t be gracing Brittany with our presence again for a while as we have been there five times in the last six years and I am beginning to think that there isn’t a monument in FinistÃ¨re that we haven’t seen several times.

That afternoon we went for a mild walk in the woods.

That evening we had dinner out en famille and a last trip to the ever-popular fairground. I went into the fun house which I deeply regretted. I emerged feeling ill and grubby. The children loved it though.

Saturday, 13 August

We had a last trip to the beach and then afterwards we went to the Phare d’EckmÃ¼hl. This was one of those outings where I was glad to have overcome significant opposition. The inside of the lighthouse is beautiful as are the views from the top. Also, who goes to Brittany without visiting at least one lighthouse?

Sunday, 14 August

We did not go to the cathedral for mass. Sadly, mass was just as long as in the cathedral. Most of Sunday was spent cleaning the house within an inch of its life. Mr. Waffle and I went up to Locronan where we admired the tourist filled streets and I bought a 750grm jar of salted butter caramel spread. It could be a while before we get back to Brittany and I want to make sure my needs are met.

Monday, 15 August

With some difficulty we packed up all our belongings.

The Feast of the Assumption continues to be celebrated in France with enthusiasm which meant we had the greatest difficulty in getting lunch on the road to the ferry but, happily, Dinan met our needs. And then it was on to the ferry and safely home.