Daniel and Michael were ten at the weekend. We’ve come a long way.
Posts describing them fully at this great age will follow but first I have to tell you about the weekend which nearly sent me to an early grave. My sister came up which was lovely and filled the children’s hearts with joy and left them swimming in presents. So far so good.
At 10 on Saturday, I dropped herself to a friend’s house as she was too sophisticated to party with her brothers. Then I dropped around to another house and picked up one of the boys’ guests. Then we all went to the boys’ party (lots of quasar, which they enjoyed very much). As I said bitterly to my sister, “I have been so rushed this morning, I haven’t even had breakfast; I’ll have to have breakfast in the Starbuck’s in the shopping centre.” “I think that’s called a first world problem,” said she. Which was true but still didn’t mean that I could eat the unutterably vile pain au chocolat which was available in Starbuck’s.
Then the father of one of the guests rang and said he was going to be late as he had been clamped. So we waited around for a bit until he was declamped. It was nearly 2 by the time we were heading back. I had to drop one of the guests home but his mother rang to say she was going out and could I drop him to his father’s workshop. I could. He knows the way, I was told. He did not know the way. However, after some floundering he was safely delivered. Then I went to pick up herself. I was home by 2.30 to eat my much deferred lunch. Then I went into town with the birthday boys and their aunt so that she could indulge their passion for small bits of plastic that require assembly. Meanwhile Mr. Waffle dropped herself to tennis, then picked her up and dropped her into town with her aunt while collecting the boys and me. I later drove into town to collect herself and her aunt.
In the background, I was arranging a long deferred piano removal. A man was going to Limerick to rescue my grandmother’s piano from my aunt and uncle’s house. He was going to be there between 3 and 4. He was not there between 3 and 4. My elderly (though spry) aunt had assembled relations to help move the piano. They waited. With the inevitability which one associates with these things, they were not there when the man arrived at 5.15. Did you know that a piano weighs about 200kgs? All was well eventually. There were many phone calls.
The piano turned up in Dublin at 9.30. I thought the van driver (two degrees in forensic science, van driving is more profitable, draw your own conclusions) and Mr. Waffle would be able to move it, but no. Our lovely neighbour across the road came out to help, he stopped a further neighbour who was innocently walking down the road and we knocked on the door of a further misfortunate neighbour to help as well. The five of them just about got it in.
Sunday was the boys’ actual birthday but we were far too exhausted to do anything other than hand over further presents and pick out “Doe, a dear” on the piano. We had to go to mass, of course. Michael was very bitter, wasn’t it bad enough to have to go to mass on Christmas day, did I have to ruin all of his celebrations? It was an especially long mass too, celebrating the silver jubilee of the ordination of a local priest with extra singing. Though that could hardly be heard over Michael’s pointed and prolonged sighs.
For added excitement, Sunday was my parents’ 48th wedding anniversary.
