I found this taped to the boys’ bedroom door the other night:
There’s an obscure joke to be made about this and this post on the Schengen area on Jon Worth’s blog; I’m too tired to make it. Fill in the gaps yourselves there now.
Daniel
Cultural Differences
It is the end of GAA training until after Christmas. The young men from the under 8s are invited to a Christmas party. Last Saturday was the deadline for paying for the party. I brought my money dutifully. Another mother whom I know from our time soldiering together on the side of the pitch arrived rather late and handed over her money and appeared to be scurrying away again. “Are you off already?” I asked in surprise. “Yes,” she said, “[the GAA under 8 boy] and his sister are both sick in bed.” And off she went, looking quite harassed. When I related this to Mr. Waffle we both marvelled at the trouble that she had gone to and as one said, “Of course, she’s English.” Later in the week the inevitable email arrived: 57 boys have been signed up for the party but only 36 have paid, can the others bring their money on the day?
Gotcha!
Horrid Henry has a game that he plays with his friends that is modelled on Monopoly. It’s called Gotcha and features dragons’ lairs instead of streets and rubies instead of money but the principles are similar. In an ill-fated moment of inspiration, Mr. Waffle suggested to the boys that he and they might make Gotcha themselves and, with the aid of pictures printed out from the internet, an old packet of Rice Krispies and a Pritt stick, they did.
They, therefore, successfully created a game even duller than Monopoly which one or other of the boys always wants to play but never both together. Mr. Waffle and I have put in many unhappy hours on the Gotcha board. Yesterday afternoon we stayed at home, the weather was inclement. Daniel tired of the rugby on the television and begged to play Gotcha instead so he and I did so. If I never play Gotcha again, it won’t be too soon.
Getting Bigger
About a month ago we gave up reading bedtime stories to the boys and just let them hop into bed with their own books; the end of an era. I am torn between sorrow and joy.
Oh the Guilt
Me: Sorry I had to go to work before you woke up this morning. I missed seeing you in the morning.
Daniel: That’s ok, Mummy. It’s good that I get to see you before I go to bed anyway.
More Record Keeping
Daniel finally learnt to cycle at the weekend. Hurrah now we can all cycle. Daniel needs a little more work: he can go and he can stop but he can’t start. We are going to spray paint his sister’s old pink (I knew that colour was a mistake) bike for him.
Michael meanwhile goes from strength to strength and cycled with me to the polling station on Saturday (constitutional referendum on which two thirds of the population decided not to bother voting) and with his father to the park on Sunday.
The Princess continues her impressive prayer reading at mass. She is very pleased with herself. Meanwhile at school, they asked me whether I am doing any extra-curricular activities to “stretch her”. Do you think reading at mass is likely to count?
