Cultural differences

To celebrate the journées du patrimoine this weekend we did a tour of the Saint Gilles Hôtel de Ville which was very splendid.  Then, on Saturday afternoon, we went to the Maison Pelgrims which was not only splendid but had a playground attached as well.  Sunday morning was best though.  We went to the musical instruments museum which sounds dreadfully dull but is actually excellent, something that is reflected in the normally hefty entrance fee.   The boys liked it but the Princess was enchanted.  They give you headphones which play the music of the various instruments in the glass boxes as you approach them.  It really is very clever.  I would so love, if she were musical.  I asked whether she’d like to come back with me another day without the boys and she said “oh yes, Mummy and we could go to the café as well.”  That’s my girl.  Tired of culture, in the afternoon, we went for a walk.  Well four of us walked but the Princess said she was tired and plonked herself in the boys’ span new double buggy.  Culture is tiring.  I rang the heart surgeon that evening for a chat.  When we visited her and her family in Vermont, I swore we would do more outdoorsy things because they did and our children loved running after balls.  I felt the weekend had not been hugely successful from that point of view.  What, I wondered had she (now five months pregnant) and her two children under two done for the weekend?  They went camping.

Oh well, I need my strength, Mr. Waffle is off on a two day work trip tomorrow and Daniel is sick.  Tomorrow evening will see me arrive home, feed the children, put the boys to bed, leave the unfortunate Princess with the unfortunate babysitter, rush out to a parent-teacher meeting at 7.30 (which I know will not start on time) and then hare off to a work dinner at 8.30.  And when I get home, I’ll have to put out the bins too.  Just as well I didn’t spend the weekend with only an air mattress between me and the damp ground.