Over the summer, two rowers from west Cork won silver medals at the Olympics. The nation went crazy. I did not as I was on my summer holidays in Brittany and was not swept up in the madness.
I was on the phone to my sister who told me all about it.
Me (as the tale concluded): V. exciting. Do we know them at all as they are from Cork and we are honour bound to have a connection to all Cork people?
Her: Well, no, but their aunt is in my pilates class.
Some kind of point proved here, I feel.
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.
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: HelpA 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.
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.
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?
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.
