belgianwaffle

From India


Posted in: Siblings

My sister called on the mobile to say that her furniture delivery was late. As she was phoning from her American mobile to Belgium while in Delhi, this seemed like a lot of technology to use to complain about punctuality. But she was pretty cross “They keep saying ‘oh yes, madam, we will be there very soon, please wait’ but they’re not here.” “Gosh, they sound a lot more polite than the Belgians who would just tell you ‘allez madame, on arrive’”.

I spoke to her the next day

Me: Did your furniture arrive?
Her: Yes, finally.
Me: Did you complain?
Her: No, I couldn’t.
Me: Why not?
Her: It would have made me feel like an evil imperialist – where I live is lorry free so they had to cycle 15 miles to deliver my bed by rickshaw.
Me: They delivered your bed on bicycles??
Her: Yup.

My sister has decided to give her own account of events here, should you be interested in more information on her Indian odyssey.

Names


Posted in: Princess

Her: No, Mummy, I’m a baby tiger, roar, you must call me Princess Baby Tiger.
Me: OK, Princess Baby Tiger, are you going to eat any dinner?
Her: I’m Cinderella.
Me: OK Cinderella…
Her: No, Princess Cinderella Baby Tiger.
Me: Now Madam..
Her: Madam Princess Cinderella Baby Tiger.
Him: I see where Bob Geldof gets his children’s names from.

Hot off the presses


Posted in: Ireland

I got this message the other day from a friend of mine who has just gone on maternity leave:

“Don’t respond to this email as my locum now has access to this and I was only in briefly to catch up on your blog and to do the accounts.”

In recognition of her dedication I called her this morning, I got her husband.
Me: Hello,how are things?
Him: Eh? Who?
Me: Me, Anne.
Him: Oh hi.
Me: How are you?
Him: Fine, great, tired.
Me: Has the baby arrived, then?
Him: Yes, he arrived at 2.00 am this morning.
Me: Gosh, congratulations, what are you going to call him?
Him: I don’t know.
Me: Is his big sister pleased?
Him: She doesn’t know that he’s been born yet.
Me: Um should I get off the phone while you tell the immediate relatives first?

End of an era


Posted in: Mr. Waffle

I was at the physio on Monday for my last session before I go back to work. I can’t say that my stomach is exactly restored to its former glory (ahem). As I finished up I said glumly “I suppose I should do sit ups and stuff at home”. “Absolutely not!” said the physio “although you should do the exercises you learnt here”. “Why no sit ups?” I asked. Apparently they are bad for your pelvic floor and when you’ve had three babies (including two at once) you don’t want to do anything that’s bad for your pelvic floor (incontinence, people). I can’t help feeling that it was very prescient of me never to have done a sit up in my life.
As I left, the physio said “I suppose we won’t see you again”. I
live around the corner so I looked at her a bit blankly. “Under
the same circumstances, I mean.” “I suppose not” I said
“especially not, if I remain married to the same husband.”

In front of a fountain


Posted in: Princess

Her:� Look Mummy, a marmalade.
Me:� A marmalade stain?� Where?
Her
(impatiently): No.
Me: You
know that marmalade is a kind of jam made from oranges?
Her:
(Pause) But in the fountain Mummy, a marmalade.
Me:
(Peering into the fountain) Do you mean a mermaid sweetheart?
Her: YES.

The Hague -Our Favourite City of Vomit


Posted in: Middle Child, Princess, Travel, Twins

Last time we went to the Hague, the Princess was sick, she vomitted on all of our friends’ sheets. All night. This time there were no sick children. There was one sick mother, but it wasn’t me. And she was recovering from the vomitting bug. And, so far, none of my children appears to have caught it. So all in all, city of vomit is an unfair appellation but give a city a bad name and all that.

We had a lovely time in the Hague over the weekend and the problem with having a lovely time is that it gives you no bloggable material. Everything was lovely (except for the Dutch Mama’s illness and she struggled womanfully to conceal it, so it didn’t overly affect us). Mr. Dutch Mama spent part of the weekend building a bike shed in the front garden and all of the time being tall therefore effectively reinforcing all my stereotypes about Dutch people which was deeply gratifying. The Princess was charmed by the toys available for her delectation and, in a high point for her, got to have a bath with her little hiberno-dutch hosts. The Dutch Mama, illness nothwithstanding, spent all of the weekend with one or other of our babies in her arms thereby freeing us up to read, eat, stop our daughter from savaging our hosts etc.

I was struck by what very good little children our hosts were and though their Mama said that it was really down to them and nothing to do with her parenting, I can’t help wondering whether this is actually the case. And they eat everything. The Princess consumed an apple and a morsel of chicken over the weekend. Oh, and plenty of biscuits. Why is my child a fussy eater? I blame her father, I enjoy that.

And we left with a supply of cute little boy clothes; please admire Daniel in Dutch jumper: