Michael: Everyone hates homework.
Herself: What’s the sample size and what’s your source?
Michael: [Pause] Everyone.
Boys
Broadband – Our Ongoing Saga
Another depressing message from Mr. Waffle on the broadband:
Another 10 days before we get broadband…
———- Forwarded message ———-
From: <getmore@eircom.ie>
Date: 16 Mar 2015 12:50
Subject: Your eFibre & eVision installation appointment
To: Mr. Waffleeircom
Account Number: XXDear
Thank you for choosing eircom. Your eFibre and eVision installation appointment is 26 March AM.
In the interim, poor Mr. Waffle has taken to lugging his modem home from work which is good for us but only in the evening. Poor Michael, you should have seen his appalled visage when I told him that it would be 10 days before the internet and television were restored. I asked if I could take a picture of his sad face for the blog but he seemed to regard this as an unwelcome and tactless intervention, so you will have to use your imagination.
Busy Weekend
On Friday night we dropped Michael off at the scout hall at 7 for his first sleep over. It was his first time ever sleeping without his brother under the same roof. They both really missed each other. All the time he was gone, Daniel kept asking when he would be back and when Michael eventually came home, they gave each other a big hug.
On Saturday morning, Daniel had a GAA match, herself was on a course and I went to look at new bikes. V. exciting. On Saturday afternoon at 3, Michael returned from scouts. At 3.30 the Princess and I cycled into town and tracked down a jacket for her to wear to her confirmation. At 5.30, I dropped Daniel and Mr. Waffle up to meet a group from Daniel’s GAA club who were going to see Dublin v Tyrone in Croke park (a draw). We collected them at nine and collapsed into bed. On Sunday, we had a starring role at mass. After mass, herself and Daniel stayed for choir rehearsal. When they came home, we had lunch and then cycled to the supermarket (reasonably painless) to pick up treats for a trip to the cinema with the cousins at 4.
Is it any wonder that we were all a bit tired as we sat down for dinner at 7.30? With one thing and another, we also have a very busy week ahead and as, over dinner, I outlined the excitement that was coming, I commented, “And I’ll be playing a couple of tennis matches as well, because I’ve entered the Spring round robin.” Then I sat bolt upright in horror as I realised that I was meant to be playing at that very moment. I telephoned my opponent all apologies and we agreed to meet at 8 instead although I was somewhat unenthused after my roast chicken dinner. I returned defeated 6-0, 6-3 an hour later. And I still haven’t packed for my work trip tomorrow. Sigh.
How was your own weekend?
Stranger Danger
I was late leaving work this evening which often happens because I am busy and constitutionally ill-adapted to being on time.
This meant that Michael was late getting his healthy pizza (ahem) for dinner. His father had been out dropping Daniel to GAA. If only I had been home on time, or somewhat organised and got herself or the childminder to put on the pizza, Michael would not have been eating pizza in a plastic box as we screeched out the door to go to scouts (still very popular, thanks for asking). There was some running up and down the street in the snow to find where the car was parked – definitely adding to the allure of the pizza – and a call home (don’t mock the afflicted) but we found it eventually.
After dropping Michael to scouts, late, I had to go and collect Daniel and a neighbour’s child from GAA. The traffic was very slow in the driving snow and I didn’t turn up to collect them until 7.30. I arrived to find the pair of them sodden, frozen and last to be picked up. A man I didn’t recognise delivered them to the car.
As they thawed in the car, I asked what had happened. Due to the snow, practice had stopped at 7 rather than 7.15 (unprecedented in my experience, usually nothing stops practice); the club house was locked, the other children’s parents were punctual (caring, delete whatever you think is appropriate yourself) and they stayed alone and coatless in the snow like a pair of orphan waifs until a man came up to them and asked whether they would like to sit in his car. His face was familiar and he had a kid they knew from training in the back. Daniel said, “But stranger danger, [neighbour’s child] didn’t want to get in.” “So,” I said in horror, “you stayed freezing in the snow.” “Oh no,” said Daniel, “I got in alright, just [neighbour’s child] stayed outside in the snow. The man did try to bundle him into the car, but he resisted.” One can only imagine the scene. Shortly afterwards, the man brought them up to the car park where they met me and all was well.
You may draw your own conclusions about this little tale but I am quite pleased by Daniel’s good sense.
Crushed
Me, looking at Michael’s novelty rubber (eraser, Americans, eraser), “Is that a hedgehog?”
Him, coldly, “No, it’s a stegosaurus.”
Mid-Term
I have just returned from four days in Cork with the children. It was very wet but moderately successful.
On Thursday we went out to Charles Fort; a familiar walk. The children did not look forward to it. In fact, only the day before, they had refused to leave the house with the childminder on the grounds that they would be forced to go to Charles Fort the following day.
Despite the rain, it was reasonably successful. We stopped for lunch in the Bulman and got coveted seats by the fire. From there we had an unimpeded view of the lashing rain and grey sea.
After eating, it had eased to heavy drizzle and we went on. The fort itself was successful.
The boys played with imaginary swords and herself bonded with a small dog. The pair of them went running around the grass together; both delighted.
The walk back to the car was damp but mostly downhill and they got to play with the “caution children” sign.
On Saturday we traipsed in the rain up to Elizabeth Fort. This has been tarted up a bit since I was last there (about age 10 with my mother picking up coal from the coal merchant tucked in under the ramparts; still there, you will be pleased to hear) and there are walks around the ramparts; some statues; a damp man from the city council handing out leaflets and demonstrating commendable enthusiasm; and stocks.
Pushing my luck, I also took them into the Protestant Cathedral as it was on the way. I remembered it as being small on the inside but it’s much bigger than I had thought. Still a lot smaller than you might expect given the size of the outside. They had a child friendly two-page brochure which engendered some mild enthusiasm on the part of herself and Michael but Daniel continued to make a strong case for retreat.
Aside from that, we rarely ventured out. Much of the children’s time was spent working their way through their Uncle’s change mountain and bagging it for him in exchange for a share of the profits. He had more than €600 which is really quite extraordinary and made a tidy profit for the children who had sought 10% of the total. They were subsequently forced to amend this to a lower percentage but it was still very satisfactory. Arguably not as satisfactory as their encounter with my aunt who gave them a small shopping bag full of change and told them to keep it.
The children also played cards with my family. I am regarded as a guru here in our little family group in Dublin so I think the children were surprised to hear how my play was regarded by my cruel siblings. Herself said, “I’m worse at cards than Mummy and Daddy.” To which her aunt responded bracingly, “Don’t be ridiculous, nobody is that bad.” Indeed.
Finally, my brother has been clearing out the attic (I think, because he wants his head examined) and has found some wonderful family photos including a lovely studio one of my aunt and my father in the mid 30s. He has also found loads of press cuttings. It’s a bit difficult to work out why some of them were kept. “Why,” I said to my brother, “have we kept the Evening Echo from 1986?” and as I flicked through I came across this photo of me at my debs. I must say that I look very cheerful considering that I found that particular rite of passage a rather grim experience.
And finally, my aunt gave me a lovely coffee table which used to belong to her aunt (a glamourous photo of that aunt from 1921 was also found in the attic) and I am very pleased.
