belgianwaffle

The Angst of the Wishy-Washy Liberal Parent


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

Part I

Daniel: Look Mummy, a Jew, a Jew!
Me: WHAT??
Daniel: A JEW, Mummy.
Me: Sorry??
Daniel: Over there, behind that girl, it’s a Jew.
Me: I beg your pardon?
Daniel (pointing): Look, you can see it now! On that man’s arm.
Me: Oh, do you mean a tattoo?

Part II

Recounting this incident to my husband over lunch, herself asked why it would be wrong to say “a Jew”.

Me: Well, sweetheart, there was a time when people were really mean to Jews and so it’s important to be sensitive to people’s feelings..(feeling a bit overpowered by the prospect of having to explain anti-semitism, I turn to Mr. Waffle) Help me out here.
Mr. Waffle: You see a person is more than just one characteristic, you can’t just identify someone as one thing – how would it be, if you were only described as blue eyes.
Princess (confused): People would be mean to me because I had blue eyes?
Me: Well, I suppose, they could be. They could decide that blue eyes are bad. Maybe, if blue eyes were very unusual. Sometimes people are scared of people who are different or do things differently. For example, a long time ago, English people were mean to Irish people and they put up signs saying Irish people couldn’t stay in their houses.
Princess: English people don’t like me because of my blue eyes?
Me: No, no, that’s not true any more – remember we had lots of English friends when we lived in Brussels.
Her: English people like blue eyes now?
Me: No, no, forget the blue eyes.
Her: But Daddy said…
Me: Never mind what Daddy said. Look, it’s rude to comment on people’s appearance.
Her: Do Jews look different?
Me: No, of course not.
Her: Well, then why…
Me: Look, just don’t categorise people by their appearance or their beliefs – everyone is different and should be judged on his or her own merits, now would you like more soup?
Mr. Waffle: That went well, didn’t it?

When did that happen?


Posted in: Princess

During my enforced bedroom tidy up, I found a sheet of paper in the Princess’s room on which she had written her name backwards. I suddenly remembered that she used to almost always write her name backwards. But she stopped at some point. Recently, I feel, but I can’t say when. It appears that despite my attempt to obsessively catalogue their every move, the children keep growing up and it happens so naturally, I don’t even notice.

Recovering


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

I’ve been saving this up until I could get back online.

One Saturday afternoon, the Princess went out with a friend and his mother for a birthday treat, Mr. Waffle went to the supermarket, I cut the grass and the boys played upstairs with a little girl who lives on our road. Later that evening, after the children had eaten dinner I went upstairs to dress to go out. It was only then that I discovered that my sons and their little visitor had taken off the shelves, out of baskets, out of cupboards and out of wardrobes everything their little four year old mitts could reach. In all the bedrooms. The Princess’s room was knee deep in tat. I couldn’t even open her door. I roared at the two boys. They lay on the ground and bawled contrition. I continued to roar at them. I was so furious that I STILL don’t feel bad about that. At this point the babysitter arrived and asked, in awed tones, whether we had taken photos. As we had to leave, our priority was to clear a path to the beds so that the children could get into them at some point later in the evening. I was most displeased. I think that this may well be the boys’ earliest memory.

As though this were not bad enough, the following day we had the Princess’s birthday party. This normally hair raising event passed off relatively peacefully due to the following factors: the party was only two hours long; my sister came to help and made the birthday cake; we hired professional help; one of the invitees was 11 and more like an extra helper than a guest; the weather though not sunny was dry and the children were able to run in the garden; and, all the parents collected their offspring on time.

Much entertainment in the office with stories of colleagues stuck all over Europe under a cloud of volcanic ash; ferries fully booked; general hilarity on the part of those not stuck in Cherbourg where colleagues comprehensively fail to see the humour. All back to normal now. Until the next Icelandic volcano.

Bunk Beds


Posted in: Middle Child, Twins, Youngest Child

We got bunk beds for the boys. This followed a concerted campaign by Michael who insisted that they were essential for his happiness. To be fair, I also felt that it was time that my four year old sons got out of their cots. Michael steered the delivery men into his room. He was quite cross when they wouldn’t move the other furniture so that the bunk beds could be fitted into the selected alcove. I went upstairs having seen the men out, to find Michael lying weeping on his bed. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” I asked. “What will happen to my bed? Please don’t give away my bed that I’ve had since I was a tiny baby.” Oh dear.

While they were far too big for their cots, they look very small in the bunk beds.

My bourgeois hell (TM)


Posted in: Family, Mr. Waffle

1. I still haven’t had a chance to use the immensely large gift voucher my parents gave me for my birthday 6 weeks ago.

2. You may have noticed that posting has been light here recently (or not, don’t shatter my illusions). Our computer is broken, the men have taken it away to fix it but still it is not back. And my husband wants the laptop to work in the evenings. The injustice. I have wrenched it from him tonight but I think he wants it back.