I overheard the Princess saying to her brother – “Daniel, if you find the cat, I will give you a shilling.”
Princess
When did that happen?
During my enforced bedroom tidy up, I found a sheet of paper in the Princess’s room on which she had written her name backwards. I suddenly remembered that she used to almost always write her name backwards. But she stopped at some point. Recently, I feel, but I can’t say when. It appears that despite my attempt to obsessively catalogue their every move, the children keep growing up and it happens so naturally, I don’t even notice.
Recovering
I’ve been saving this up until I could get back online.
One Saturday afternoon, the Princess went out with a friend and his mother for a birthday treat, Mr. Waffle went to the supermarket, I cut the grass and the boys played upstairs with a little girl who lives on our road. Later that evening, after the children had eaten dinner I went upstairs to dress to go out. It was only then that I discovered that my sons and their little visitor had taken off the shelves, out of baskets, out of cupboards and out of wardrobes everything their little four year old mitts could reach. In all the bedrooms. The Princess’s room was knee deep in tat. I couldn’t even open her door. I roared at the two boys. They lay on the ground and bawled contrition. I continued to roar at them. I was so furious that I STILL don’t feel bad about that. At this point the babysitter arrived and asked, in awed tones, whether we had taken photos. As we had to leave, our priority was to clear a path to the beds so that the children could get into them at some point later in the evening. I was most displeased. I think that this may well be the boys’ earliest memory.
As though this were not bad enough, the following day we had the Princess’s birthday party. This normally hair raising event passed off relatively peacefully due to the following factors: the party was only two hours long; my sister came to help and made the birthday cake; we hired professional help; one of the invitees was 11 and more like an extra helper than a guest; the weather though not sunny was dry and the children were able to run in the garden; and, all the parents collected their offspring on time.
Much entertainment in the office with stories of colleagues stuck all over Europe under a cloud of volcanic ash; ferries fully booked; general hilarity on the part of those not stuck in Cherbourg where colleagues comprehensively fail to see the humour. All back to normal now. Until the next Icelandic volcano.
The Age of Reason
The Princess turned 7 today. This is the first year of my own life which I remember with some clarity and I wonder whether it will be the same for her.
I took a half day from work and picked her up from school as a surprise. We bought high school musical stationery (ah girls and their love of stationery), sandals to celebrate the change in the weather, tea and a bun which we enjoyed in silence: I read my book, she read her Beano. Then we browsed in a bookshop amicably together and went home. When we got home, we found that the boys and the childminder, M, had put up balloons and bunting and made her a cake. M had also bought her a present. Relatives called to wish her happy birthday. Shortly after M’s departure, my brother and sister arrived weighed down with presents. And we finally got the walkie talkie we gave her in the morning to work. She had such a great day. And that is not always the case. For example, she spent much of her birthday last year sulking in her room.
I seem to remember that 7 used to be regarded as the age at which children can give uncorroborated evidence in court and I can see why. The Princess is much better at seeing things and describing them in ways other people can understand. Smaller children can describe what they’ve seen but it’s as though they have no points of reference in common with you. They’re speaking another language. She has lots of points of reference in common with adults.
Mind you, sometimes, I think that we attribute more knowledge to her than she has. She really startled me the other day by saying that she had thought that you got change from every commercial transaction. When she paid the exact amount some months ago (counted out by me, she was buying a stuffed turtle), she was surprised not to get change. I remember the incident and I would never have thought that, at that stage, she didn’t really understand how money worked. She has a very extensive vocabulary (today she described herself as “tempted by several different cakes to the amusement of the people at the table next to us) which she does not always deploy in a manner which indicates understanding but she does like words.
She reads a lot and she hates to be told anything. I suppose, as an eldest child, she suffers from the full weight of her parents’ didactic tendencies (poor Daniel is always begging to be asked sums but we seem to have used up all our energy on herself). And sometimes, she does know surprising things. One day, in the wake of one of their unhappier interludes, I described herself and her father as being like diamond on diamond. “Why do I say that?” I asked her. “Because diamond is the hardest thing.” “That’s right and you know what’s interesting about diamond? It’s made from carbon atoms and do you know something else that’s made from carbon atoms?” I asked, about to trot out everyone’s favourite science fact. But she answered “Yes, coal.” “How do you know that?” I asked. “I read it in my science book.” That science book gets a lot of reading. I’m unclear how much she understands but she loves it.
It seems almost incredible that this whole loving, clever, beloved little person with views (oh how she has views), likes, dislikes, friends, conversation and a personality (lots of personality) was once a tiny baby. Although seeing her closing her eyes and sucking her thumb when I put her to bed tonight reminded me that she’s not so big as all that. Of course, it’s easy for me to check what has changed as, unbeknownst to herself (insert appropriate quantity of guilt here) my daughter has lived a life online. I hope that, on balance, someday, she will be pleased that so much of her youth is set out here. I think it might be interesting to read about what happened to her when she was little from a grown-up’s point of view and match it to her memory. She is part of the very first generation of blogged about children – it’s different from being in a book or being in a newspaper column. It’s more anonymous yet more detailed. I think that it is also less intimate than a book where more seems to leak out and, of course, it’s much, much more common and that’s probably a good thing. If the worst comes to the worst, all this can serve as a basis for her PhD research.
Happy birthday my favourite girl in the whole world.
Wretched Easter Bunny
The babysitter tells me that last night the Princess confided to her that she does not believe in the Easter bunny. I was distinctly lacklustre about the Easter bunny myself. My line to the children was “there was no Easter bunny when I was a child, I know nothing about its habits or habitat”. However, as the Princess spoke to the babysitter, she began to speculate that if there is no Easter bunny, there may well be no Santa Claus. The babysitter went for “well, I’ve never seen him, but some people believe in him.” I am distressed. Also, I foresee trouble as the Princess is incapable of keeping a secret. I think the tooth fairy has bitten the dust as well (no repining there) as her French childminder has said that in France children’s milk teeth are taken away by a mouse and there is no tooth fairy in France.
Nah Nah Nah NAMA
The country is seething today as details of the sums that will be poured from our pockets into the banks were analysed. The Irish Timessummarises it thus:
“In reality, nothing that could have been said yesterday would have altered the fundamental risk associated with Nama. At its most simple, it is a calculated gamble that the all-in upfront cost to the State of bailing out the banks will be less debilitating than the wider costs of letting them fail. That upfront cost is still not clear but based on the information that was released yesterday it could involve capital injection of up to €31.8 billion in fresh capital and close to €40 billion in debt issued to the banks to pay for their discounted property loans.
The cost of having let the banks fail is unquantifiable and is inextricably linked to the impact on the State’s own credit worthiness and ability to borrow. Ultimately the view was taken that standing behind the banks and their obligations to international debt markets was preferable to letting their bond-holders suffer the consequences of the banks’ greed and stupidity.”
As my loving husband said, if the banks can transfer their loans to the State at a 60% discount then why can’t we transfer our mortgage with a 60% discount too. I guess the bottom line is that the international bond-holders are a lot more important than we are.
The Princess and myself watched a news report on NAMA and she asked me what it’s all about.
Me: Well, the State has pledged a lot of taxpayers’ money to the banks to keep them from failing.
Her: Who’s he?
Me: Who’s who?
Her: The taxpayer.
Me: Well, everyone who has a job and pays taxes to the State to run it. And everyone who is going to have a job in the future. You’ll have to pay for this too, sweetheart.
Her: Really?
Me: I’m afraid so, honey.
Her: You’d better up my pocket money then.
