Michael asked me at dinner, “Mum, do I get any spam in my email, aside from you, I mean?”
Michael
10
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.
Dublin Victorious in Sporting Endeavour
Sunday was the All-Ireland football final. Dublin beat Kerry. Knock on benefits included no homework for the boys yesterday. Cork and Dublin often win all-Ireland finals, Longford and Roscommon never do. I was talking to two colleagues from these counties today and saying how the Dublin team (or representatives thereof) were going to visit the Dublin primary schools and possibly “give” the children a half day. They were outraged. “But that always happens when your county wins the All-Ireland,” I said. Awkward silence.
Anyhow, we were at mass on Sunday and it was all about humility. We had, from the second reading: “Where do these wars and battles between yourselves start? Isn’t it precisely in the desires fighting inside your own selves?” From the Gospel:“‘What were you arguing about on the way?’ But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest. He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, ‘Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.’†And then our parish priest devoted his sermon to humility and not arguing over who was the greatest and so.
After the prayers of the faithful, the priest added his own prayer to the ones on the leaflet. “Let us pray,” said he “for those in the All-Ireland final and all of those watching from communities around the country.” Herself lent across to me and whispered, “Isn’t the All-Ireland just a big ‘who is the greatest’ competition?”
Endless Summer – Dublin Cinema
We came back to Dublin on Thursday, July 16. The cat was delighted to see us back.
That night, the boys and I went to the opening night of the IFI family festival where we saw “Inside Out”. As it was the opening night, they had various competitions and events for the children. As they went around the stalls, Michael was given a stage pass. Before the film started, the children with stage passes were called up to the front. Michael loves this kind of thing and bounded up. There were four other children onstage. They had to do a little piece where they answered “sausage” or “banana” to every question asked. The other children were nervous and almost inaudible. Michael was in his element and had the audience rolling in the aisles. He got awarded the winning prize of the “golden banana” and I have worked out what he can do when he grows up. A win all round.
In fact, it was afterwards I was most pleased. Michael might have been tempted to boast but he hardly referred to his triumph because he felt for Daniel who hadn’t won a prize. Daniel for his part was sad that he shouldn’t have been chosen to go on stage and didn’t win a prize but bravely congratulated Michael and was pleased for him.
We went back to the festival on Saturday with all of the children and a friend (tickets, incidentally fantastic value at €15 for a family and €5 for an individual). We saw a terrific German language film, Winnetou’s Son. It was very sparsely attended which was brilliant for our little group as the star of the film was there with his mother and in the Q and A, they got to ask him loads of questions. He was a lovely, immensely polite child and he posed cheerfully for pictures afterwards:
Added bonus, Michael was yet again exposed to the advantage of speaking foreign languages. The star was 11 and didn’t really speak English. Mr. Waffle and I speak German (he’s much better than me but I like to talk more so it kind of evens out) so we were able to chat to the star and his mother which Michael could see was useful loath though he might have been to admit it.
Then we went to the closing film. It was a Norwegian film with beautiful cinematography. When I hear the words “beautiful cinematography” I always think, “rotten film”. The film wasn’t bad, it’s about three children who get stranded in the Arctic through a series of deeply improbable events, but for this once, the cinematography really did make the film for me. It was one of the most stunningly beautiful films to look at. The children found it reasonably enjoyable; the main characters are an older sister and her annoying twin siblings and this resonated particularly with some of the family, less so with others. Michael, for example, doesn’t want to see another film, possibly ever, certainly not for some months.
Pub Culture
Michael asked me the other day why there weren’t pubs specially for children. This is what happens after you have holidays in Ireland and the kids eat in the pub all the time. Still, a little unnerving all the same.
In other news, hold out for a blow by blow account of our holidays in Kerry and Cork. Are you on the edge of your seat?
Sharing the Housework: Perceptions
I have said before that I am blessed to have a husband with a well developed sense of duty and a clear understanding that housework should be shared by both parents.
I thought I would check over dinner what the children’s view of this was.
Me: What work does Daddy do around the house?
Daniel: The laundry!
Michael: The cooking!*
Herself: The cleaning up after dinner!**
Me: And what do I do?
Long Pause
Me: Well, for starters, the tidying up! I am always picking up things and putting them away.
Michael: But that’s more of a hobby, really.
I think my work may not yet be done here. On a related matter, I was very struck by this post and the comments; worth a look, if you are working mother.
*At weekends
**During the week with the children