Today we went to Lier for the day.  We were able to do this because I had gone to mass last night.  Today is Palm Sunday: longest mass of the year.  I went to a very long mass involving processions, palms, longest gospel of the year and a sermon (this last is usually skipped in Ireland, they know how much the congregation can bear).  Arrived home, late and exhausted, clutching my palm (some kind of laurel in this part of the world, we use pine at home, wonder does anyone actually use palm?). I was not, however, as exhausted as Mr. Waffle who had been heroically minding, feeding and entertaining the Princess at her crankiest time of day.

This talk of vigil mass reminds me of a story a friend of mine from Northern Ireland told me.  When he was a child in the 70s and the troubles were at their height he was whisked off to America for a holiday by kindly Americans with deep pockets.  Apparently six of them were chosen from his school by raffle.  I asked whether he had had to consort with Protestants “only on the plane” said he.  Obviously some of the good-natured Americans’ intentions were not realised.  Anyhow, being a catholic ten year old from the North, he was very catholic and, in those days, there was no Saturday night vigil mass in Ireland but there was in America.  He refused to believe that Saturday night mass counted and insisted on going on Sunday as well.  One Sunday, his American family was going on a trip and didn’t go to mass.  He was scandalised and refused to go until they had gone to mass.  Very challenging for our transatlantic cousins I’d say.

Anyhow, Lier.  If you are an English speaker, Belgium is full of entertaining town names.  Lier boasts the suburbs of Lisp and Lint and nearby are the towns of Boom, home to a clay pigeon shooting establishment, and Duffel, where they first made the coat.  If you want to live in the Brussels suburbs, you can choose to reside in, inter alia, Dworp or Erps-Kwerps (next week funny names from Wallonia – this is a politically correct website).

Lier is very pleasant although we were unable to fully appreciate its marvels as the Princess didn’t like it much and roared all afternoon.  An attempted stop for tea had to be hastily and humiliatingly abandoned as she was a bit noisy for the establishment. Arrived home and she went straight to bed for a nap, so spent the early evening perusing the Sunday papers.  Excellent, though I fear we will pay for it later.  Since we’ve got back from Cork, herself has only been waking 2-3 times per night.  On Wednesday night she only woke up once.  In case you didn’t know, this is excellent. Whether this exceptionally positive trend will continue or not is difficult to tell.  I bet you’re waiting for further news with bated breath.

Tuesday, March 23

Mr. Waffle drove us to glamourous Charleroi and we hopped on the Ryanair plane. While I am no fan of Ryanair, they are cheap and, to be fair, very nice if you are travelling with babies (big plus).  We flew to Shannon because, alas, there are no direct flights of any kind from Bxls to Cork. Although the Princess was very good on the plane, she did require lots of entertaining. After an hour and a half’s flying, I was running out of entertainment options. Have decided not to visit my sister in Chicago after all (9 hour flight from Bxls). The loving parents were there to collect us. Princess was in outstanding form having been waved at by lots of random strangers on the plane or “toy picker uppers” as she thinks of them.  Packed brilliantly – one, yes one, bag only, so managed to fit everything in the boot of the parental car. Then spent half an hour trying to strap the Princess into the car seat my mother had borrowed with my father intoning dolefully from the front of the car “we won’t be able to get out you know, our ticket will have expired”.  We got out.

Wednesday, March 24

My father found me feeding breakfast to the Princess.  He waved at her, she waved back at him.  They were delighted with each other.  My father said “they’re almost human, aren’t they?”  Quite.

My cousin called round. Her baby was due in May last year, a month after mine but was actually born in January, at 24 weeks. And she, the baby, is absolutely fine.  Isn’t that amazing and fantastic?  Apparently she is walking and, technically, she is younger than our crawler. My father was astounded to hear that her grandfather actually looks after her. On his own. He is now terrified that this might set a precedent…

Thursday, March 25

Went to Kinsale with my mother and the Princess.  Weather was beautiful and Kinsale v. picturesque.  Princess was, however, unenthused about Kinsale and its glories and spent the time on the walk to Scilly squirming unhappily in her pushchair. She was somewhat revived by a cup of tea outside the Spaniard (our girl is fond of cold tea) but screamed blue murder when put back into the pushchair. A day of less than complete success. Became convinced that she was coming down with something. Parents felt not. They were right, mercifully.

Friday, March 26

Have I mentioned that my aunt lives next door? Well, she does and she loves the Princess. The feeling is mutual. Princess was displayed to all of aunt’s friends and dutifully admired. Felt aunt was pushing it when she called over the builder working on her house saying “Wally, I’m sure that you’d love to see this beautiful baby.” It has to be said that Wally was only medium enthused “Sure all babies are beautiful.” “But this one is particularly beautiful” she said. He seemed unconvinced. She was most disappointed, I hope that she’ll still pay him for his work on the bathroom tiles.

Saturday, March 27

Saw in the Examiner property supplement, the house which Locotes was laughing at on his website is for sale for 160,000 euro. Good grief.  Watched rugby match because mother made me (she either taught or knows the mothers of half the squad). Because my mother got so excited every time we scored a try, the Princess would clap her little hands also. Mother was entranced.

Mr. Waffle called. Our Irish friend in the Netherlands has given birth. Clearly the relaxed Dutch attitude to childbirth has affected her. She gave birth in the morning and was on in the afternoon for a chat. Those Dutch people.

After dinner, abandoning my poor mother to babysit, I skipped off to see my friend for whom I bridesmaided.  Had most entertaining time looking at wedding pics.  When I came home, my mother was sitting in the dark talking to the Princess who was refusing to go back to sleep.  Most trying.

Sunday, March 28

Went to mass with the parents.  Father arrived first and mother, Princess and I were somewhat later as we had to retrace our steps to find doggy who had been carelessly chucked out of the pushchair.  Father was ensconced three rows from the front with no one in front of him.  We slunk in beside him, 10 minutes late. Gospel was about the woman taken in adultery. The sermon was about forgiveness for adultery. The priest addressed his remarks exclusively to me. I was strongly tempted to hold up a placard saying “It’s ok, I have a husband in Brussels”.

Forced by my evil mother to stay up until 12.30 watching the golf. I hate to say this, but it was kind of exciting.   Between 12.30 when I went to bed and 7.30 when I got up, the Princess woke up 7 times to check that I hadn’t abandoned her with a babysitter again.

Monday, March 29

Further cousin called. Inspected the Princess and found her beautiful. Mildly depressed me by saying that it took her two years to find a job. But secretly a bit cheered. Maybe am not utterly without hope after all.  She is now gainfully employed.

Went out with friend the bride again. We had a lovely dinner in town and reminisced about school. Mostly about how hideous it was. And I said “Who would have thought that nearly 20 years out of school you would be a consultant heart surgeon and I wouldn’t have a clue what I want to do?”  This got a laugh out of her because at school she never, ever did her homework and I was always very virtuous.  She comes from an interesting family. Her mother’s siblings are notoriously brilliant and sporty and so are their children. One of her cousins won the Pulitzer Prize. You would think that at the family reunions saying “My 34 year old daughter is a consultant heart surgeon” would trump any other offerings, but I think that “My daughter just won the Pulitzer Prize” may be a winner here. I put this to my friend, but she said, no, mostly they just say “My God, it’s just a nightmare, why do you think she dresses like that…”  Mothers can be hard to please.

Came home to find the Princess sitting up in the kitchen chatting animatedly to my mother. She gave me a dirty look on my return.

Sister texted us from Chicago to say that she has finally got the keys of her new apartment, having waited six months for the sale to close.

Tuesday, March 30

Began our trip back at 9.15.  Father tense as he wanted to leave at 8.30 (for margin). Passed the journey trying to initiate my mother in the mysteries of predictive text. Eventually sent a message to my sister in Chicago saying “Great news love ma and la”. Got to Shannon at 11.10.  Checked in baggage. Weighed 17.7 kilos as against 12 on the outward trip. Mostly because of the range of presents received by myself and the Princess from our generous family.  Hounded by Ryanair into departure lounge, tense that we would miss plane (unnecessary tension).  Realised in X-ray queue that I had no money and when I left machine in Charleroi was broken.  Would it be fixed? If not how would I pay for the bus in Charleroi?  Borrowed 50 quid from my saintly mother. I’d say, in some ways, she must have been relieved to see the back of us. Ryanair stewardess spectacularly nice, did safety demonstration where Princess could see her and smiled at her throughout. Princess watched in rapt attention.  I’d say this was a bit of a novelty for the stewardess as well. Journey home uneventful but horribly long. Collapsed into flat at 5.15.