belgianwaffle

Do you mind if I say something to you?


Posted in: Family, Ireland

These words rarely bring good news. I am tired of acquaintances and, indeed, strangers, telling me to wear a helmet on my bike. It is hard to rehearse the pros and cons of this argument with a passer-by. If people would stop telling me that my handbag will be stolen because I have it in my basket, that would also be welcome. During a lifetime of cycling, including in rough parts of the city, no one has ever tried to pinch my bag and nor have I heard of anyone ever having a bag stolen in these circumstances. Do me the credit of thinking that I have considered the risks and it’s a chance I am prepared to take. Or as I say to my nearest and dearest, “Have you idiot-proofed that suggestion?”

The other day, as I was shepherding the children out of our local cafe, a woman approached me, “Do you mind, if I say something to you?” I tensed up. “You have a lovely way with your children.” This is quite the nicest thing a stranger has ever said to me. Swings and roundabouts, I suppose.

Do share the most annoying thing that people say to you.

Stuff


Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland, Reading etc.

My siblings pressed upon me a random collection of children’s books which they gathered up at our parents’ house in Cork. They included the very popular Krazy annual.

This is a source of fascination to our childminder as it dates from the year before she was born.

There was also an illustrated “Bible for Children” which my mother used to read every night. My brother repeatedly begged to hear about the plagues, so there was quite a focus on locusts and rivers of blood in our bedtime stories which is, I feel, unusual. It was funny to look through the old and very familiar 70s pictures. Herself picked up the book and read it through. At the end, she announced that the Bible should be over 18s. She doesn’t approve of the story of Bathsheba. Indeed, who would?

Catastrophe


Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland, Siblings

I have two parents and between them, they have broken 3 hips since last March. My poor mother broke her second early on Friday morning. Now that I am a veteran of the procedure, I am no longer appalled that she and my brother spent 12 hours in A&E before she got onto a ward [Is it worth pointing out that she and my father have what our Minister for Finance calls “gold plated” health insurance?]. Since both of the last hips were broken on bank holiday weekends, that meant it was days before the operation. This time, my mother had her operation on Saturday after being admitted just after midnight on Friday night which was pretty good going. My brother and sister who are both in Cork have been visiting and minding but I was down at the weekend and although it was good for me to see her, the benefit to the patient was pretty negligible as she was still sleeping after the operation for all of my time there.

I am becoming very familiar with the hospitals in Cork. I particularly enjoy the disembodied English voice at the main entrance to the University Hospita which tells visitors to sanitise their hands. It also says, vainly, to the smokers in their dressing gowns who are sucking on their cigarettes in the wind tunnel nearby that “This is a smoke free campus.” Then acknowledging reality it goes on to add sternly, “Your smoke is disturbing patients in the cardiac and cancer wings overhead.” Frankly, I would be surprised, if this were the case, given the chill wind whistling though the underpass where the smokers huddle.

I fear my mother’s recovery from this will be long and slow. Alas. Cheerful broken hip stories in the comments please.

Aging Gracefully


Posted in: Family

My esteemed father-in-law, retired captain of industry, was 70 today. He celebrated by running around Howth head. I am not joking. He won his race category but, as he pointed out, since there were only two people in the category, this was not as great a victory as it might seem.

Herself made buns to celebrate:

Oh Dear


Posted in: Princess

Herself: The teacher asked how many degrees there were in a circle today.
Me: Oh right, you’ve been doing the circle for a while now.
Herself: Yes, and [boy] said, ‘What size is the circle?’
Me: Did the teacher cry?
Herself: She was crying inside.

Basking in Reflected Glory


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

One Sunday, the Princess did a second reading, Mr. Waffle did a bit at the start of mass and all the children did prayers of the faithful. I didn’t do anything, though, as Mr. Waffle pointed out, “We’re not the ones who need practice with our public speaking.”

As Mr. Waffle was doing his bit, a neighbour in the seat behind poked me in the ribs and said, “He’d be perfect for RTE.” I assume, a compliment. The American priest said mass; we’re getting used to him. At the end, he singled out herself for particular praise, “I would like to compliment the young lady who read the second reading; it’s a difficult text and she read it beautifully.” Everybody dutifully clapped and herself was mortified, though pleased. This kind of announcement in the church is, of course, the kind of thing I normally despise but, like many another thing, it’s never so bad when you’re involved yourself.

I think I have reached the high water mark in church engagement. From here, it’s all downhill. Indeed, Michael has recently begun pumping the air when the priest says “Mass is ended” which is unwelcome.