Herself had a spelling test in school and was the only child in the class who could spell “accommodation” correctly. “How did you know that?” asked her teacher. “My grandfather’s students could never spell “accommodation” and he drilled it into my mother and then she insisted that I suffer in the same way.”
Archives for November 2012
Did You Have a Good Day at Work?
I got an email from an old friend today commenting that he thought I would enjoy seeing him damned with faint praise. I thought you might too. Might I point out that he is terribly clever with vast experience so that you can suitably appreciate this also. Relevant line in italics.
Dear all
Following the various meetings which have taken place recently on the.., I write to invite you to a discussion on [X]. [A], who is working on …has identified the very strong potential for … prioritisation arising from the…work currently under way.
We are fortunate that [B] is able to attend the meeting and bring his considerable expertise to bear. [My friend] will also be there (thank you for arranging the room).
Regards
In other news, Mr. Waffle is, even as I write, attending the residents’ association AGM. I sped him off with the anxious words, “Try not to get elected to the committee.” Yes, I’m all about civic engagement; your point?
Weekend Round-Up
The weekend was filled with excitement. Mr. Waffle’s sister came home from London with her fiancé [the man my children are calling Pruncle – short for pre-uncle obviously] and we all got to congratulate them and admire the ring. Although many details in relation to the wedding remain unsettled, the role of the flower girls has been discussed at considerable length and is the source of great joy to herself. Upon my asking Pruncle whether they intended to have lots of cousins at the wedding, he said “Well, I have no cousins, my parents are both only children.” He then cast a slightly nervous glance around the teeming masses of people in the room and said, “All this is quite new to me.” And then he had to play football in the garden for ages which was both virtuous and, I suspect exhausting. When driving home, I commented to the children how odd it was that both of Pruncle’s parents were only children. Michael was particularly fascinated by this and it was only when he asked why Pruncle’s parents weren’t grown-ups that I realised why.
On Sunday, Daniel really got the hang of cycling and is able to start by himself often – though not always.
The Princess is now an old hand at her prayers of the faithful at mass and she loves it. At the start of mass, five children were brought up for a first annointing – a new ceremony (well post the baptism of my children anyhow) which extends the baptism process over two Sundays. “This will take forever,” I muttered bitterly. Michael, of all people, said, “Mummy, don’t be mean, it’s nice to see new children being welcomed into the church.” I felt suitably chastised. After mass there was tea and a biscuit in the sacristy for those who were so inclined and the Princess and I may have been inveigled into joining the church choir.
In the afternoon, in response to Michael’s repeated requests, we went to a games shop in town. There you can buy horrifically expensive very tiny models which you need to paint and assemble yourself and use them to play games so complex that the rules can’t be explained in a normal lifetime. There were two ten year olds there who had to come into the shop to play because they couldn’t understand the rules after 2 years of playing with the models. I really can’t see the attraction myself but the boys were transfixed. I see shoals ahead.
We wrenched them away from the Games Shop and took them to the Dublin Book Festival. My expectations for this were pitched low. We had tried to book tickets for a number of the children’s events and failed. I suspected that we might arrive to find that access was only by ticket holders to a session for adults chaired by Ireland’s cultural commentator in chief, Fintan O’Toole. I was quite prepared to sell the whole thing to the children as a walk up and down the quays.
However, the venue was open and it was lovely and really interesting to look around. Upstairs, there were books for children to read and beanbags to sit and read them on.
There was a treasure hunt and each child who did it [and to my certain knowledge one who didn’t] got a bag containing bookmarks, two sweets and a small book. While the Princess was reading her book she looked up to see a woman staring at her. When she caught the Princess’s eye, the woman said, “I wrote that.”
They had this man called Niall de Burca do a storytelling session. He was phenomenal and the boys absolutely loved him. I have never seen them so engaged and entertained by a live performer. I know he’s an artist but I really wanted to ask him, “Do you do birthday parties?” I have never seen a group of children so entranced and he was at it for ages.
All in all, what with one thing and another, it was a busy weekend.
Nature or Nurture?
My sister-in-law is half Italian. She was born and grew up in Dublin and aside from looking a bit exotic and dressing beautifully she seems entirely local. The other night over dinner we fell to discussing clothes. I asked her whether she ironed her jeans. She does. And she seemed genuinely appalled that there are people who don’t. Gentle reader, do you iron your jeans?
Standards
Michael came into our bedroom this morning at 4.23 fully dressed in his school uniform. “I’m ready to go to school,” he announced happily. I lured him into our bed where he chatted merrily. “Would you like to take off your school uniform and put your pyjamas back on?” I asked hopefully. He did not fancy this. Eventually he fell back asleep, fully clothed (including tie, people) and in the morning we got him up and sent him off to school in his slept in uniform. Look, don’t judge, he got to change out of it again at 4 in the afternoon. Sigh.
We’re All Going to the Zoo Tomorrow
When I was young, my mother bought a season ticket to Fota. Every Sunday, she would say, “Will we go to Fota?” And every Sunday, we would groan, “Do we have to?” To be fair, I think the wildlife park may not have opened at that point and we were being asked to visit the arboretum and gardens rather than exotic wildlife every Saturday, so you can see why it might be unappealing.
A part of me knew that buying a season ticket to Dublin Zoo would see me repeat my mother’s experience and so it is. Now the prospect of a trip to the zoo is greeted with sounds of horrified protest. We’ve only been twice since I got the ticket but something about being able to get in free fills parents with enthusiasm and fills children with an equal and opposite measure of disgust. They don’t actually mind it once they get there, it’s the prospect of going there that fills them with dread. Look, have a picture from the zoo, why don’t you?
Are we all glad that NaBloPoMo is almost over?
