belgianwaffle

Family

Rats


Posted in: Dublin, Family, Ireland, Mr. Waffle

I had a busy day at work yesterday. When I got home, about 6.30, I put Mr. Waffle and the boys in to the car. We drove into town through rainy Friday evening traffic to collect the Princess from a course, then we dropped Mr. Waffle to a dinner in his old school (he offered to sort himself out but I was feeling noble – he was a bit peeved as a) we were nearly late for herself and he hates to be late and b) having worked himself to the bone for this deadline on Wednesday, some new disagreeable, urgent thing has now presented itself, as he said, “it’s like getting arrested on your release from jail”), then I came back into town with the children and had dinner in Milano’s which I thought would be good but Michael was unhappy (tired and hungry) and he spread the love. I felt a bit sorry for myself last night but thought it was just that I was tired, so I trooped off to bed with my book and looked forward to Saturday.

This morning I woke up with the head cold which my daughter, my husband and my childminder have had all week. I wish I had been a bit more sympathetic to them. At lunchtime I dragged myself out to drop herself off to an event and hung around to pick her up. I was going to let herself and her father out to buy her some new clothes in the afternoon but my nerve failed me and I went instead. Not a blow for feminism, I concede, but she had to get a winter coat and I couldn’t face looking at something I didn’t like all winter. Go on, judge away.

I am now updating my blog while sipping a lemsip. Mr. Waffle and I are going out to dinner to celebrate reaching his hideous deadline (although this seems a little premature now, see paragraph 1) and sick or no I am going to go. Let us hope that the lemsip works.

Cork


Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland, Travel

I took the children to Cork for the bank holiday weekend. We did the usual things: bonding with relatives, lots of TV, a trip to Charles Fort and the Bulman, the traditional photo by the “caution children” sign:

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The trip down was rendered exciting by a largish piece of plastic from the underside of the car coming off on the motorway (happily it came off near the edge of the road – no damage done to anyone). Our car has been with us since 2005 and, perhaps, this is a sign that we need a change before the NCT later this month.

Herself spent a couple of hours with my 87 year old aunt Marie Kondoing her house. They found my aunt’s birth certificate. She was born in California but returned to Cork aged about 2 and has found it perfectly acceptable ever since and has never, to my knowledge, pined for sunnier climes. I suppose she got it out of her system early. They kept the birth certificate.

Later, when I came to see how they were getting on I heard her great niece addressing my aunt kindly but firmly, “Are you sure you want to keep the Meister Eckhart? Does it spark joy?” My aunt was unsure. I think Meister Eckhart was saved in the end but a vast number of other books (including a substantial collection of theological books which it turned out did not spark joy) and random items were not deemed worthy of keeping. The pair were delighted with themselves: four black bags of stuff for giving away and three full of rubbish. Then, my brother put his foot down and said that the rubbish bags couldn’t go in the bin as it was too full and would have to go after the next collection (my parents and my aunt live next door to each other and there is a complex bin sharing treaty in operation between the two households). They are stored temporarily in my aunt’s front room but I fear they may never leave. In my heart of hearts, I knew that nobody was ever going to bring the four bags for giving away to the charity shop so I hauled them into the car and brought them back to Dublin to give away. They’re gone now, I hope some of the Dublin locals enjoy reading about theology. I drew the line at bringing the bags of rubbish back to Dublin but even now, I am feeling mild regret as there is a real danger that they will never make it to the bin at all.

As though her work in her great aunt’s house was insufficient to meet her needs, herself begged to be allowed to make a pilgrimage to my parents’ attic. I permitted this, but only on the condition that she did not try to tidy it. You will be delighted to hear that “Star Trek Annual 1976” is even now upstairs in Dublin. She also found some material in a big trunk. She loves to sew and make costumes and was graciously permitted to help herself. When it came time to go back to Dublin, she and her brothers kindly packed the car for me. Once we were beyond Mitchelstown, she said, “Is it too late to go back to Cork?” “Yes,” I said. “Good,” she said, “because I brought more material than you might like.” When we unpacked the car, there were bolts and bolts of material. That night, when she dressed up for Halloween, I noted that the lace covering from my first communion dress, was getting another outing for the first time in 40 years.

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Halloween passed off peacefully enough. The children went out on their own for the first time. They liked it. More particularly as they came home laden down with sweets. Not a solitary monkey nut this year.

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In other Halloween news, the cat was puzzled, and not entirely pleased by the Halloween decorations:

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New Tricks


Posted in: Family, Mr. Waffle

This evening we were playing cards (snap/beggar-my-neighbour – all the sophisticated games) and when the game was over I picked up the pack, shuffled and started playing patience. I did this without really thinking. Herself and Daniel have seen me play before but this time they seemed more interested and wanted to learn the rules (possibly because it was bed time). Then they played a game each, very slowly. I commented that the more you played the more likely you were to get it out. In the slightly sanctimonious middle-aged parent manner which I am perfecting, I told them: “When I was a child and at home sick from school, there were no electronic devices and there was no daytime television, so when I got tired of reading, I used to play patience. By the end of a couple of days, I almost always got it out all the time. It seems impossible when you don’t practice, but there it is.” They were suitably impressed and trooped off to bed, determined to work on their patience playing tomorrow.

After they went up, I said to Mr. Waffle, “Did you play patience when you were sick as a child?” “No,” he replied as I laid out the cards. This time it came out. As I was stacking the cards in the pile at the top, he asked “Is that it, will it definitely come out now?” “Of course, it will, you know that” I said. “Actually,” he said, “I’ve never played patience and don’t know how to play.”* I am astounded. How could he have kept this from me? Honestly, it’s like only discovering your husband never learnt to swim 15 years into your marriage. How can a child of the 70s have developed without extensive patience experience? He muttered something about lego. I played with lego too but, really, who didn’t play patience? I am shocked to the core of my being.

Can you play patience? Seriously, can’t everybody? Even Mr. Waffle can now.

*Note that we were a good hour and a bit playing patience with Mr. Waffle giving the impression that he knew all about it before he came clean. There is some moral about gender there, I feel. It reminds me of my mother’s story about how when she was going to study in Germany in the 50s (when Germany was where it was at in terms of chemistry), her professor of chemistry in Cork summoned her to his office and said, “Now, they’ll have a lot of equipment that we don’t have here, but you just don’t say anything and you’ll learn what it is and how to work it fast enough.”

Wednesday


Posted in: Dublin, Family, Ireland

For years I have been taking Wednesday afternoons off work. When I started the new job in February, I gave that up. And I have missed it. Today I am taking my first Wednesday afternoon off in nearly 8 months (and have 6 months worth to go at the end of which we will review) and it is amazing! All the things I got done: tested the new local café (good), picked up the boys from school and had a word with their teacher at the school door, wrote thank you letters, went on an emergency shopping trip, got to the picture framer who is eccentric and not open at weekends to pick up 5 pictures (he could only find 3 but that’s better than none which has happened before – he’s good and he’s cheap but he’s not organised), had a look at the boys’ homework before signing it off, made jam, lit the fire (although 3 firelighters died horribly in the attempt, it is now blazing), made dinner, talked to herself on her return from school and I am here blogging away and it’s only just gone 6.

Also, they finished our windows and they are nifty but the entire house is covered in a layer of dust (ok, I may not have got absolutely everything done today).

Please ignore out of control foliage and admire intact, draft free windows:

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All Go


Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Dublin, Family, Ireland, Michael, Princess

Last week was another rather busy week. On Monday night we had GAA for Dan, scouts for Michael and Pilates for Mr. Waffle to try to help his bad back (on the advice of an eccentric gentleman from Co. Down – more of which anon).

Tuesday was open night for the secondary school that the boys are most likely to go to – the Princess’s current school. She wasn’t there (off at a debating competition) but the teachers all recognised Daniel as her brother as he does look very like her. “I don’t just want to be someone’s brother,” he said mournfully. However, overall the evening was a success. We headed home about 8.30 and promptly, as we sat on the sofa, got a call from the school saying that the debating team had finally returned and could we go back to the school and collect herself. On the debating, she had came home and told us that the motion was “The internet is a waste of time”. So we tossed around some ideas on that. Then the next night she said, “My mistake, it’s Transition Year is a waste of time.” Her teacher is from Donegal where the Irish can be hard from Dubliners to understand and, in any event, idirlinn (internet) and idirbhlian (transition year) sound more alike than you might think.

On Wednesday, Mr. Waffle and I went to the theatre. The piece we saw was a site-specific, interactive, interpretative dance piece and perhaps you needed to be on top of your game to appreciate it because we did not, particularly. It has got superb reviews, if you fancy going along yourself.

On Friday night herself had French class which she got to on the bus but needed to be collected from – v. happily, however, a neighbour volunteered to collect her but with traffic, it was gone 8 when she was restored to us.

All week long we had men in the house fitting new windows which meant that the house smelt of putty (not unpleasant) and was covered in a layer of dust. Also all the curtains will need to be dry cleaned. But still, new windows. They’re supposed to finish this week. Fingers crossed.

On Saturday morning, I was up with the (slightly later) lark to drive Daniel and a neighbour’s child to a GAA match. Herself came with us. I got horribly lost in West Dublin, not helped by the boys piping up from time to time: “The match is probably over now” or “How long have we been in the car?” We did eventually make landfall and the boys were slaughtered by the opposition and quite mournful. In the afternoon we looked for a new car (no joy yet) and Mr. Waffle and I went to a very good exhibition in the National Gallery. We forced Michael to come with us as he had not left the house all day (the other pair stayed behind and made dinner – good eh?). Despite himself, Michael found the exhibition mildly interesting. When asked whether he found it even a tiny bit good, he said “A tiny bit, like about the size of an atom which is the basic building block of the universe.” You have to start somewhere, I suppose.

Then on Sunday, I went to my bookclub which is an all afternoon affair and Mr. Waffle and the children went out to visit his parents in a distant suburb. I felt mildly guilty that we absolutely failed to see anything in Open House Dublin but I think I may be beginning to know my limits. We had some friends call around that evening and they stayed for dinner which was lovely and as they are v low maintenance, quite undemanding- although Mr. Waffle cooked so it may have been more demanding for him.

And then, this evening, it starts all over again: GAA, scouts, pilates. No culture this week though.
Updated to add: Today (Wednesday) Mr. Waffle asked whether in my floundering around west Dublin I had crossed the toll paying ring road.  “Only for two seconds and I told Daniel to remind me to pay the toll when we got home,” I said defensively.  Funnily enough the 11 year old didn’t remember my obligations for me.  Still not too bad, fine is only about 6 quid and Mr. Waffle (having lost all faith in his wife’s administrative ability) is paying it for me.

Busy Times


Posted in: Family

Last week was a bit horrendous. I had parents’ council on Tuesday night, open night for what may be the boys’ school on Wednesday and a play on Thursday. The play was about how Irish society treats Travellers (appallingly) and I left the theatre staggering under the weight of my guilt for being complicit in really dreadful prejudice and treatment. It was worthy but it wasn’t exactly a fun night out. On Friday night I went to Cork leaving Mr. Waffle to manage collecting Herself from French class, minding the boys (including getting the hairdresser in to give them a haircut) and letting in Falling Fruit who were volunteering to collect the apples from our three trees and give them to good causes. He managed. Partly because Herself was sick and couldn’t go to French class. But it was all a bit much. Still, I am delighted that our apple harvest is being used rather than rotting on the grass.

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