As we drove through heavy traffic in the centre of Dublin, Michael piped up from the back of the car “I want to do a wee.”
We exchanged glances of horror and he said gleefully “I never lost it.”
Michael
Advice on twins, please
When I thought about school for the boys initially, I had assumed that I would put them in the same class. Then the school told me that, normally (or normalement as we say in Belgium, how I will miss that expression), they put twins in separate classes. I decided that this was cruel and heartless. I consulted and both twins I knew said that they had been in the same class as their twin siblings and they seem like pleasant, well-adjusted people.
Then, I was talking to the women who work in the creche whom I find very helpful and reliable.  They said that Daniel wants to play with Michael all the time. Some days, Michael does not want to play with Daniel (fair enough) and then Daniel gets cranky (who could blame him?). Apparently, there are never times when Michael wants to play with Daniel and Daniel does not want to play with Michael. Their advice would be to separate them at school.
I had noticed that Daniel says that Alice is his friend but when I enquired at the creche, they said that Alice and Michael tend to play together and Daniel waits until they have finished and grabs Michael. My poor little mite.
They are both, of course, great fantasists, like their sister. Whenever they hurt themselves, they both say “It’s not funny.” When I ask them why, they say that Manon laughs when they hurt themselves at the creche. On enquiry, creche staff confirmed that Manon, who seems like a very sweet little girl, is in fact a sweet little girl and very gentle. However, on hearing the context, they explained that some time ago Manon had fallen over and hurt herself and Daniel and Michael had both pointed and laughed at her whereupon they were both severely reprimanded. On the plus side, it does look like they’ve learnt their lesson. On the minus side, I don’t think that they are ever going to forgive Manon for her imaginary offence, she remains a hate figure who mocks the injured, chez nous. I digress.
At home, it is clear that Michael is the ringleader and Daniel dutifully falls into line. We call Michael “dangermouse”. He is the only one of our children who likes risk. Daniel is by far the most obliging of our three children. If we want to quell a fight over a precious object, it is most frequently Daniel who is called upon to give up his claim; because we know he will. I know this isn’t fair but we’re tired.
On closer questioning, both of my grown-up twin advisers (one of whom is, handily enough, the dominant twin and the other the passive), agreed that on balance, it probably would have been better had they been in different classes from their twins at school though, at the time, they certainly didn’t think so.
So, what do you think? Were the twins you know in the same class in school or different classes? From what age? What worked best?  I await any comments with bated breath (well, I always await comments with bated breath but in this case particularly bated breath).
Things I want to remember
“Daniel, come to dinner.” “I finish my book”.
“How!” – Daniel as an Indian with arms folded stiffly and a solemn expression.
Daniel using the wooden spoons as skis.
Daniel using the wooden spoons as violins.
Daniel using the wooden spoons as lethal weapons.
The boys running down the corridor with their towels on their heads flapping out behind them.
Sounds from the bedroom.
Daniel: Scream.
Michael: Giggle.
Michael: Scream.
Daniel and Michael: Giggle.
Dialogue
Daniel (in bed): Ehhh, mmh, waah (general whimpering noise).
Me (tiptoeing to his bedside in the dark): Daniel, what’s wrong?
Him (delighted): Moi, je fais “Ehhh, mmh, waahâ€.
Today, I explained to the creche that when the boys leave in July, we are moving back to Ireland. Since they would be finishing in July anyway, if they were going to school in Belgium, we hadn’t explained that we were actually leaving the country. It was funny because the women who worked there all said “ah, that explains a lotâ€. To be honest, I hadn’t really thought that the boys were aware of the proposed move at any level, but it seems that I was wrong.
Daniel insisting on silence before speaking and saying to each of us in turn “Can I talk?” or “Je peux parler?” before imparting an item of information such as “The house is big.”
Busy Day
The Princess completed her education in Belgium today and I felt quite sad as I walked her to and from school. She was unmoved.
I took the three children as well as the childminder and her two children (it seemed like a good idea at the time) to the ophthalmologist this afternoon. We spent an hour and a half there. Truly, these are times that try men’s souls. The Princess was excruciatingly badly behaved.  The only crumb of comfort was that both she and her brothers were very well behaved during their longish examinations and didn’t whine about the eye drops which appeared unpleasant.
I noted, by the simple expedient of nosily peering over the doctor’s shoulder as she typed up my children’s results, that the beautifully dressed and charmingly behaved boy who was waiting patiently for his appointment, shared a surname with the woman who will one day be queen of Belgium. I later pointed this out to the Princess and followed up with the rider that this was, effectively, her first chance to impress a Prince and it had been an abject failure. I further told her that I did not think that a real Princess would insist on lying (with her brothers) on the waiting room floor with her feet in the air showing off her stripy underpants. I know what you are thinking; sarky comments of this nature are unwelcome.
On the eye front, the Princess and Michael have identical optic nerves (who knew you could tell); the Princess very deftly manoeuvered letters to reflect those on the screen; Michael mortified me by not knowing what an apple was or any of his colours (“I dunno”) but Daniel redeemed my reputation. The Princess and Michael, as well as their identical optic nerves, share perfect eyesight.  This was the good news. Unfortunately, poor Daniel’s eyesight is not improving. We have been given a prescription for stronger glasses and he may yet have to have an operation. We will have a long note to take to someone in Dublin. I imagine we will have to translate it first.
A Practical Arrangement
Michael completed his toilet training some time ago with almost no accidents. So much for boys being bad at this. This process has given me some unexpected insights. It’s actually relatively hard for boys to aim with any accuracy but I am amazed how much easier it is for small boys to wee in public without wetting their clothes than it is for small girls. I suppose I knew in theory but I never really expected to know in practice in quite so much detail.
A friend (mother of two daughters) tells me how she had a little boy to stay and after he had been to the bathroom, it was soaked. He had stood at the toilet but every time he heard a noise outside the bathroom he had twirled around to see what it was and sprayed liberally as he turned.
Too much information?
Pasta
Michael loves pasta. His diet largely consists of pasta and pesto. My first mouthful of pesto only passed my lips when I was 19 years old and spent a summer as an au pair in Naples. I do wonder whether, if I’d paid a little more attention to the whole picking basil from the garden of their country house and sticking it in the blender with pine nuts and so on, I might have been Ireland’s answer to Nigella. I digress.  So intrinsic is pasta and pesto to the modern Irish child’s diet that when I went to Perugia a couple of weeks ago, it was to find that my cousin had brought pasta and pesto with her from Ireland to feed her children. She was a little defensive about this decision but it’s hard not to sympathise.
Anyhow at the supermarket Michael, took a packet of pasta from the shelves and clutched it to his bosom until we got to the check-out whereupon he briefly handed it to the cashier and then reclaimed it and carried it tenderly to the car.  “Mummy,†he said to me hopefully “me eat pasta after my dinner?â€
