Home Alone

I am not quite sure how I managed to swing this but I am in Cork with my parents and without my children. Mr. Waffle is at home minding the fort with the aid of the Dublin relatives. I found a reference to my father-in-law’s company on a techie site and sent him the link asking whether he recognised the company and he replied:

“Some fly-by-night outfit: however, one of their founding members is with a hot new start-up, providing new concepts in grand-fathering, child avoidance for stressed parents, etc.

A sure-fire winner-invest all you’ve got, even putting off the garden shed project.”

I hope that this doesn’t mean part of the crack baby sitting team is tiring.

This morning I did not get up until TEN O’CLOCK. Imagine that. I went into the Crawford Gallery and saw a very interesting, and very beautiful exhibition of 17th and early 18th century Irish portraits and had some deep thoughts about Irish identity and how it is intertwined with that of our larger neighbour but they have seeped out of my head in the course of the day. Many of the portraits had detailed descriptions, some of which assumed a knowledge of 17th century Irish affairs which, in my case, at least, was not warranted. The syntax was also occasionally mangled. The whole effect was enlightening just not, perhaps, as enlightening as the curator might have hoped. I remain confused about how Wentworth died and why his daughter’s marriage might have made matters better for him. Particularly since he was dead. Perhaps I need to go back and have another look.

On returning home, I noted that my sister’s car which was parked outside my parents’ house had had its rear window smashed in. The guards came (my, aren’t they getting younger?), sympathised, identified the problem as someone “running the car” pointing to the large footprints on the bonnet and roof. A whole new world of vandalism. I asked them whether my sister would be getting a letter from them asking whether she, as a victim of crime, needed counselling to come to terms with her experience as Mr. Waffle had when he had reported his bike as stolen. They snorted and said, “probably”. I feel they may not be completely on message about the standard letters which issue to the victims of crime.

Then, I went out in the rain and taped on a black plastic bag. I left a doleful message on my sister’s voicemail which I am sure made her morning in Chicago (where she is on holidays, try to keep up).

Then, my mother and I went out for an elaborate and expensive afternoon tea and did some mild shopping. It was all very pleasant aside from the nagging guilt about Mr. Waffle at home minding the children. Even with team in-law fully deployed – the boys are sleeping over with their cousins tonight – two days full time sole parenting while also very busy working is trying. I feel his domestic credit is in the stratosphere.