We went to the Natural History Museum which is a small museum where the children have been a couple of times before. At the door, I said, “You can go where you want inside the museum, but don’t go outside. If you need me, I will go to the book corner when I have finished looking around.”
The Princess pushed her brothers forward, “Go on, let’s enjoy our small slice of freedom pie.”
The boys were recently assigned their first school project. Each child had to pick an Irish county to write about. Daniel, still fascinated by the Battle of the Boyne, picked Meath. He did some research on his chosen county. He wrote about the Hill of Tara and the stone of destiny at the top.
“You know,” I said, “I’ve never been up the Hill of Tara, we should go this weekend.” Whereupon the Princess moaned with acute, though deplorable, insight, “Don’t make us, it will be a long walk up a hill in the rain and when we get there the stone will be titchy.” I know that this is true but I am still going to make them do it; if only the weather would improve just a little bit. I have a new Portuguese colleague at work and she is in daily astonishment at the awful weather and refuses to believe that it could be worse in Cork but it is. I digress.
Michael meanwhile chose to do his project on Cork. “Why did you choose Cork?” I asked beaming with pride. “Because there was nothing else left and I knew you would know lots about it.” My pragmatic though not notably tactful child. One of the things he stuck to the chart was a picture of UCC the university in Cork with which my family has a long association. On the front he had written, “Lift the flap to find a fact.” Underneath was written “This is a college, it is called DCU.” [Spelling corrected for your benefit. Michael’s spelling continues to be idiosyncratic.] DCU is a local university in Dublin. As I squealed in horror, a part of me took off my hat to DCU’s outreach programme which is manifestly building excellent brand recognition among local school children.
That is all. The projects have now been submitted and are gracing the wall of 2nd class.
Daniel: Tomorrow is a day.
Me: Well, yes, of course it is.
Daniel: No, it’s a day.
Me: No, today is a day, it’s Ash Wednesday and yesterday was a day, it was Pancake Tuesday but tomorrow is just Thursday.
Daniel (insistently): No, it’s a day!
Me: It’s the day you start your mid-term break?
Him: NO.
Me: It’s the day I’m going to drive you to Cork?
Him: NO!
Me: Well, I don’t know then sweetheart.
This morning before we drove to Cork Mr. Waffle gave me a Valentine’s card. Turns out today is a day. Did I have a lovely card for him? A tasteful gift? Alas, no. I hope he still loves me.
Daniel had to plan an evening of (fictional) television programming as an exercise at school. This is what he came up with. Transcript follows below.
4.00 Skyrim
5.00 a Dark beginning
5.30 a Ninja’s last test
6.30 a battle won by a daydreamer
7.00 Shang-hu vs Shang-hei
7.30 The dragon and the warlord
8.00 Death of an army
9.00 The boy who killed an army
I would guess that the girls in the class came up with a rather different schedule.
Michael [apropos of nothing at all, I assure you]: Mummy, do you know how chemotherapy works?
Me: I do, I suppose, if somebody has cancer, it kills the cancer cells but it kills other cells too. So it can make people really sick.
Michael: No, it kills the fast growing cells; that’s why all their hair falls out. Would you like to know about GHD?
Me: Um, no, that’s ok. Have you been reading the Medikidz books again?
In the middle of the night, Daniel started to cry [aside from illness this has never happened before]. I went in to comfort him and he fell back to sleep. The following evening I asked him whether he remembered his bad dream. “Yes,” he said, “I went to a rugby match with Daddy and Uncle G and my cousin. Daddy and Uncle G were chatting and I interrupted them so Daddy took me home and I cried all the way. Except when we got there it was the library and Mummy was waiting. And then she took a picture of me. Because, Mummy, you’re always taking pictures.”
