Daniel is just on the verge of reading. The other day he read his first words cold and completely unaided, they were “no disc” followed shortly by “play all”.
Daniel
Written in the stars
Daniel: Mummy are we vegetarians?
Me: No, sweetie we eat meat.
Daniel: No, no, veg-et-tar-ians.
Me (moment of inspiration): Sagittarius?
Daniel: Yes!
Me: No.
Cooking with Children
The other day I made ginger nuts with the children. This is a very easy and, hitherto, failsafe recipe.
Because our kitchen is somewhat smaller than your kitchen table, I brought the bowls and ingredients into the other room and sat the children around the table to weigh them out. I left Daniel creaming in the butter while I went into the kitchen to get the golden syrup.
The texture was a bit odd when I added the golden syrup but I chucked the biscuits into the oven happily enough. That evening when my brother came around, I offered him one, “Are they undercooked or something?” he asked. I tried one myself, they were utterly vile.
Close cross-questioning of the children revealed that Daniel had eaten the butter.
I See Dead People
The Town Mouse delegation, being tourists, had been to visit the National Museum and spoke animatedly, if not enthusiastically, about the bog bodies. I think the words TM used were, “Someone should give those bodies a decent burial.”
Not having set foot inside the door of the National Museum since 2008, I decided it was time to bring the children to investigate. I keyed them up the night before, I made popcorn and gave it to them sitting on steps adjacent to the Masonic Hall before going in so that they would not be hungry. We passed through the shop safely and saw two bog bodies which were holding everyone’s interest nicely before Daniel announced that he needed to go to the toilet. This inevitably involved passing the cafe and after that, all was doom and gloom. Michael wept for crisps and did not stop until we got back to the car. The nice Garda who tried to cheer him up was treated with tears for her pains. The Princess ran off twice in a huff.
Culture is very tiring, I find.
Very Tiring
On Friday, Mr. Waffle and I went for a walk in Glendalough. All very pleasant.
”
”
”
”
We arrived home and whisked the children off to a freebie cinema showing of “The Red Balloon” which won some prize in Cannes in 1956. It was mildly endearing but the children didn’t think much of it. What was startling was how dirty and run down Paris looked in 1956. For a while I thought it was Brussels but then I saw the Eiffel Tower looming through the smog. Further culture night activities included a visit to a quite spectacularly disgusting take away in Temple Bar and an obligatory visit to “The Ark” a slightly worthy cultural centre for children. The best bit was being out with the children at night: looking at the moon; the river lit up; and all the grown-up slightly drunk people. Weird for everyone.
On Saturday we went to the GAA, dropped the Princess to a birthday party, took delivery of a bouncy castle and went to IKEA.
This morning we realised that we had left the camera in Glendalough so, to ensure that our comprehensive catalogue of our children’s birthday parties remained complete, Mr. Waffle drove off and fetched it. In the interim, the children and I were at mass. Some woman in West Cork had asked that people boycott mass to support the ordination of women. While, unsurprisingly, I am in favour of the ordination of women, I’m not convinced that boycotting mass is the answer. Firstly, I think there’s no evidence that anyone would notice. The archbishop appeared at mass – mass therefore ran forever. He gave an erudite sermon managing to bring in references to Dante and the depiction of Lazarus and Dives in medieval art. He didn’t touch on the ordination of women though.
There was a very eclectic selection of music varying from some African number (really beautiful) to a local soprano (medium) and the regular choir of pre-teens accompanied by a guitar (achingly dreadful). While all this was going on, the children had been off in some room behind the altar at the children’s liturgy where they were free to colour and speak loudly. Daniel and Michael arrived back with two pictures. “What’s this?” I asked. “That’s Lazarus outside the gate,” Michael explained. “And what’s this?” I asked. “That’s the remote for the electronic gate and that’s the surveillance camera.”
In conversation with herself:
Me: What did you do today while you were with the ladies behind the altar?
Her: About Lazarus and Dives. Dives is mean and won’t give any food to Lazarus and in the end when they die, Lazarus is in Heaven and Dives is in the other place.
Me: Hell, you mean.
Her: You can’t say Hell, especially not in a church.
Ah, the post Vatican II world.
And finally, as we were about to leave, I asked her “Would you like to shake hands with the archbishop?” “Will he have lollipops?” she asked. I said that I thought not and we left it.
This afternoon was the boys’ party and in many ways it was a huge success.
”
”
Unfortunately, the strain of the week began to show and the Princess was fiendishly awful. In any event, the boys had a terrific time and, unlike their mother, were indifferent to their sister’s behaviour. So all was broadly well. Their uncle and grandparents kindly came around to assist with crowd control. They got mountains of presents, the clear winner being (and I am sorry if you are a donor and this causes you pain) the hilarious Kung Zhu Battle Hamsters. These are fighting hamsters and were clearly inspired by someone who had an alarming experience with hamsters at an impressionable age. In fact, when my sister-in-law was 8 she woke up one morning to find one of her hamsters dead and the other, blood spattered, devouring the corpse; so, I suppose, experience of battle hamsters may be more extensive than I imagine. Aaanyhow, it all passed off peacefully. Very touchingly, a woman who lives around the corner called round as we were prodding the troops up the stairs to bed with cakes for the boys. I had met her on the street earlier in the day and mentioned it was the boys’ birthday tomorrow and she had decided that they should have more cake. How delightful.
And now it is over for 12 months. Tomorrow is their actual birthday and then I will have two five year olds.
Notes from the edge
We have done all these things recently that I want to record faithfully here. But I haven’t time because we are out doing things.
Thing one:
We went to the fire station for a visit. Firemen and women are a) very kind to children and b) amazing. Did you know that they are all trained paramedics as well? That they can abseil? That if you fall into the Liffey, they’re trained to dive in and take you out. That they will let small children ride in their fire engines, play with hoses and show them equipment? It was the kind of thing that we did for the children and were genuinely fascinated by ourselves. One of the firemen said that he was in hospital for four months when someone threw a brick on top of the engine from a pedestrian overpass. I am still outraged on their behalf.
Thing two:
The President turned up at Sunday mass. She did a reading. She did not tut at my children running up and down the aisle. Her security man took part in the service and put money in the collection box. I told my mother that the President was at mass; she said, “What was she wearing?” “And what did you say to that?” asked my husband. “A camel coloured coat.”
Thing three:
There was organised fun in the Dublin mountains. We took the children. I am always surprised by how much they actually like just running around in the woods. There was a time when I would have photographic evidence but it appears to have passed.
Thing four:
At 10 this evening, I dashed upstairs to turn off the Princess’s light. Clearly, she should have been asleep but she was reading her book as we had neglected to turn off her light because we were distracted by hunting the internet for bouncy castles for hire. She asked what the gentle plinking noise in her room was. Investigation revealed that it was a drip in the ceiling. Further investigation in the attic (all three children now awake and peering up the into the attic) revealed that a slate is missing from the roof. And we only just got a leak fixed. My father says, “Houses are nothing but trouble.” I’m beginning to see what he means.
Tomorrow we are going out for culture night. The boys’ birthday party is on Sunday. Further details may follow. There’s something to look forward to.
