Mr. Waffle is away for a couple of days and standards have slipped. The children say, in great excitement, “Are we foraging for dinner?” This consists of staring at the contents of the fridge/freezer and hauling out what appeals. Tonight the Princess, upholder of standards, has promised to make us chicken rissoles from Monday’s leftover chicken. I think, however, we all feel that the return of Mr. Waffle will be a good thing.
Mr. Waffle
Blood and Gore
My loving husband was virtuously cleaning the cooker one morning and managed to give himself a knock on the overhead extractor which led to him bleeding copiously all over the kitchen floor and down the side of his face in a very dramatic manner. The children and I were very alarmed. No more cooker cleaning for him.
In other – admittedly tenuously connected – blood on the kitchen floor stories, the cat caught a blackbird and brought it into the house. A blackbird is quite a big bird to have in the house, particularly when a cat is haring after it in delight. The childminder and the children ran out of the house and shouted at the cat and the bird through the kitchen window with results such as you might expect. The childminder rang Mr. Waffle for directions on opening the kitchen window (trickier than you might think – particularly from outside). The Princess bravely ventured in and scooped up the cat and locked her into Michael’s room to the cat’s intense chagrin. The bird lay behind the kettle with a wing stuck out at an odd angle. The kitchen was plastered with blood and feathers. The childminder and the boys went to inspect the damage and the bird, like something from a creepy horror movie, sprang up on its feet and gave them heart failure. It began to fly again just as Mr. Waffle, feeling that support was needed on the home front, came back so he was able to help usher it out the window. Then he set to clearing up blood and feathers so that by the time I got home from work all that remained was a dramatic story and small feathers which turned up for quite a while in the oddest places. Is he not a saint?
Cat looking as though butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
Duty, Stern Duty
Michael was sick one morning and Mr. Waffle stayed at home with him. By 11, Michael was fully recovered. To be fair, he had been awake crying in the night with a sore tummy (possibly starvation, I worry, 4 cream crackers do not a balanced dinner make) so it wasn’t malingering but the ailment was clearly not serious.
That night, as we corrected Daniel’s homework (which was also Michael’s homework as they are in the same class), Mr Waffle asked me, “Should we make Michael do the homework?” For me, there was only one answer to that question, namely, “Are you insane?” This little interchange tells you a lot about our respective personalities.
Mr. Waffle’s Muesli’s Philosophy
From the side of the packet:
“Our Philosophy: We partner with dedicated suppliers to deliver the best for you, working with inspiring foods and ingredients from both home & abroad. Signature Tastes is a great way to bring friends, families and communities together to create real moments of joy & celebration.”
Frankly, I think that’s quite a big ask for a bowl of muesli. It’s clearly pushing the envelope as, going forward, it seeks to be a thought leader in the challenging and diverse world of breakfast cereal philosophy.
More Branding
Trinity College Dublin is re-branding an event which the Irish Times is covering in tedious and unnecessary detail.
In other news, a man drove into the gates of Trinity. I notified Mr. Waffle.
From: Me
To: Mr. Waffle
Subject: Cor
Man (68) arrested after car smashes through TCD gates.
In response:
From: Mr. Waffle
To: Me
Subject: Man (68) arrested after car smashes through TCD gates
That’s the gates of “Trinity College, the University of Dublin” to you.
Happy Birthday
Today is Mr. Waffle’s birthday. It always casts an ominous shadow over mine on the 10th. Almost invariably, he gets me a lovely, thoughtful present. My pleasure is always tempered by the knowledge that I have nothing for him and by the 19th, I will have to rustle up something.
Oh yes, it’s all about me. Anyhow, when he came in from work this evening the children and I sat him down and gave him a glass of wine. The Princess had made madeleines during the afternoon while we were at work and he had them as his birthday cake. She is a virtuous child. Mr. Waffle often asks for these but the children and I prefer our cakes to be iced and to include chocolate. His family are frugal in their habits; a marietta biscuit between five of them is plenty. These are good genes. Michael has them in spades.
I thought that I should note that my husband is a saint. I intended to give lots of examples of his virtue, including, for example, that I still don’t know how to operate the washing machine and yet we have clean clothes. A daily miracle. As it is late, one earlier example of virtue will have to suffice. After dinner, I told him to go and sit down and I would clean up when the dishwasher had finished. I went upstairs to harass the retreat (or “sing a lullaby” as it is known locally) and what unmistakeable sounds did I hear from the kitchen? Yes, indeed, my husband had cast his book aside and was cleaning up after his birthday dinner.
Definitely, the best husband.
