The Princess and I had a day off together last Friday. We went to the Metropolis exhibtion in Trinity which she found moderately entertaining and we went for tea and a bun which she probably enjoyed more. In the tea and bun shop, there was a beardy student reading “The Unbearable Lightness of Being”. I drew my own slightly snarky conclusions about this. As he was going out the door he said to me, “excuse me, I hope you don’t mind, but I couldn’t help overhearing you and your daughter’s conversation (few people can help it, we are loud, alas) and what I heard of her was delightful”. I felt chastened and also slightly alarmed about the implications for the pretention levels of our conversation (this was, I would say, relatively high as the Princess had decided to demonstrate her linguistic prowess and even I, the greatest show-off alive in captivity, felt that this was somewhat overdone and kept hissing at her to keep it down – “Mais maman je veux parler en Francais, why do I have to speak English to you, ba cheart duinn Gaeilge a labhairt”)
From the birth announcements
XX-YY – K and D welcome their beautiful daughter SÃabhra-Róise Antònia Elizabeth …. Born safely and gently in water into the loving arms of her mother under the professional eye of homebirth midwife …and to the early morning delight of her brothers …
It’s the proselytising that gets me. The subtext of “not born in a hospital with an epidural, oh no, not for us, and certainly not by cesarean section..we found that with a TENS machine it was all wonderful etc. etc.” Oh the politics of giving birth. I also draw your attention to the innovative use of accents (two Irish, one Spanish) which ensures that this child’s name will never be spelt correctly except, fair dues to the Irish Times, on her birth announcement.
AA and BB – C and J are delighted to announce the birth of our beautiful baby girl, Lady Ruby Mae …. A … little sister for India and Domino.
Do you think Domino is a boy, a girl or something you might wear to a masked ball?
Yeah, I know, it’s easy to mock and if these children’s parents ever find this site, I am doomed. My own brother has described the Princess’s name as just the wrong side of pretentious.
Empathy
Daniel has recently developed a slight rash on his arms coinciding with a spell of renewed cold weather and Michael’s continuing difficulty with his colouring assignments.
Me (rubbing on cream): Are you worried about something sweetheart?
Daniel: Yes.
Michael has gone up the stairs to the bedroom where he is swigging down his bottle (no comments please, no one is more aware than I am that the boys will be 4 and starting school in September) and getting into his pyjamas. I decide, in Michael’s absence, to see whether Michael’s misery is affecting Daniel.
Me: Are you worried about Michael?
Daniel: Yes.
My poor child, anguished about his brother and his brother’s misery.
Me: Why are you worried about Michael?
Daniel (loudly): I’m worried he will take my bottle.
Things that happen to you when you are over 40
I have spent the last number of evenings alphabetising our book collection. This is disturbingly entertaining. I may be going insane. In a dull meeting today, I found my mind wandering longingly to the four shelves that then remained to be tackled.
I have a burst blood vessel in my eyeball. It is not an attractive look.
Ireland won the rugby Grand Slam. Alarmingly, I remember when we won the Triple Crown in 1982. Last Sunday afternoon we saw the bus bearing the victorious players and pieces of plate go by while we were stopped at traffic lights. If the children become international rugby stars, we will remind them of this moment – my brother is working hard on their skills, only this evening he had them all practising doing a scrum together.
I am cycling to work and finding that the world of cycling in Dublin is very macho. It’s all men in lycra with high visibility vests and sporting helmets. I miss Brussels where there was a gender mix in the cycling population and all the competitive macho cycling took place deep in Flanders.
I discover that my writing style has started to resemble that of a a TV critic, desperately trying to knit together disparate elements under an unlikely unifying theme.
Chinese whispers
Me: What do you want for breakfast?
Daniel: I want some lego.
Me: You can’t eat lego.
Daniel: I want lego you can eat.
Me: There isn’t lego you can eat.
Daniel (fretfully): Yes, there is.
Me (fretfully back): No, there isn’t.
Daniel (weepily): I want lego.
Me (crankily putting it on the table): There, are you happy now?
Daniel (crying): No. I want white round lego with butter.
Me (mystified) to Princess: Have you any idea what he wants?
Her: Yes, he would like a bagel.
Learning
It appears that Michael is not colouring properly. He does not make an effort. His teacher is cross. She told us this and we nodded seriously. She was not deceived. “I know” she said, “that you think it is only colouring, but it is important for concentration, how will he manage in September when there are 27 other children clamouring for the teacher’s attention?” We are planning to start the boys at big school in the autumn where the pupil teacher ratio will go from 6:1 – Montessori to something far less favourable.
Nevertheless, I am finding it hard to care. If his St. Patrick’s Day shamrocks are less coloured in than Daniel’s, well then so be it. With this kind of attitude at home is it any wonder that his colouring reports continue to be poor.
Meanwhile, I discover to my surprise that the boys both recognise numbers 1 – 10 (Daniel somewhat more readily than Michael) and are starting to point to letters and pronounce them phonetically. Clearly, they are learning something at school despite the colouring difficulties Michael encounters. I feel a bit guilty that I have only noticed these talents by the by and have done practically nothing to foster them. Daniel is desperate to start reading and sits running his chubby fingers under the words in books while saying them very slowly (he knows them off by heart). I think that he is trying to unlock the mysteries of his sister’s new reading trick. He sees her spelling them out to herself and thinks that, somehow, if he says the word slowly and runs his finger under it, it will work for him too. Who knows, maybe he’s right.