The Princess and I had a day off together last Friday. We went to the Metropolis exhibtion in Trinity which she found moderately entertaining and we went for tea and a bun which she probably enjoyed more. In the tea and bun shop, there was a beardy student reading “The Unbearable Lightness of Being”. I drew my own slightly snarky conclusions about this. As he was going out the door he said to me, “excuse me, I hope you don’t mind, but I couldn’t help overhearing you and your daughter’s conversation (few people can help it, we are loud, alas) and what I heard of her was delightful”. I felt chastened and also slightly alarmed about the implications for the pretention levels of our conversation (this was, I would say, relatively high as the Princess had decided to demonstrate her linguistic prowess and even I, the greatest show-off alive in captivity, felt that this was somewhat overdone and kept hissing at her to keep it down – “Mais maman je veux parler en Francais, why do I have to speak English to you, ba cheart duinn Gaeilge a labhairt”)
Princess
Chinese whispers
Me: What do you want for breakfast?
Daniel: I want some lego.
Me: You can’t eat lego.
Daniel: I want lego you can eat.
Me: There isn’t lego you can eat.
Daniel (fretfully): Yes, there is.
Me (fretfully back): No, there isn’t.
Daniel (weepily): I want lego.
Me (crankily putting it on the table): There, are you happy now?
Daniel (crying): No. I want white round lego with butter.
Me (mystified) to Princess: Have you any idea what he wants?
Her: Yes, he would like a bagel.
Literary criticism
Me: Look “a crowd, a host of golden daffodils”
Princess (patiently, as though talking to the feeble minded): Yes, lots of daffodils.
Me: “I wander’d lonely as a cloud”.
Her: No you didn’t.
Me: Eh? It’s a poem.
Her: But you can’t wander lonely as a cloud.
Me (truculently): Why not?
Her: Look up, there are loads of them. Clouds are never lonely.
I can’t help feeling that this astute observation is probably as true in the Lake District as in Ireland. I’m holding off on our discussion of poetic licence for another day.
Analysing the Downturn
This morning, the Princess and Michael were lying together chatting in their parents’ bed and, coming up the stairs, I heard the Princess say to Michael:
You see, Ireland is in crisis Michael. People are losing their jobs and they are standing in large queues to complain about it. There are no jobs because the banks took all the money. In fact, Mummy got the last job in Ireland.
That last bit is probably true.
Industrial Action
The Princess will be six on April 12. She has been preparing thoroughly for this event. Using her new found reading and writing skills she has been drawing up guest lists and food lists and sundry other lists for the big day.
She is particularly concerned about presents. She does not want any more dolls. She has enough dolls and she wants exciting toys like her brothers get.
The other evening I arrived home from work to find her marching up and down with a home-made placard saying “NO MOR BARBEES”.
Those of you who were kind enough to offer advice will (mostly) be pleased to hear that her parents have decided no more ballet. It looks like, following the work to rule, management has caved on one item, at least.
Advice please
The Princess, at her request, started ballet classes before Christmas. We paid for the gear and we paid for the lessons. After two weeks, she said that she didn’t like it and she wanted to give up. I wouldn’t let her on the grounds that I think it’s bad for her to be able to take up and give up things on a whim (we have previously had a similar experience with swimming, I can only rejoice that I have never succombed to requests for a pony).
The ballet teacher has already taken me aside and told me that the Princess shows no interest in class. Last Saturday, I was called aside again. They are having a show at the end of March. As I understood it, the Princess was to be the seventh snowdrop of seven. No longer. The ballet teacher said that since the Princess was inclined to wander off, she was worried that she would fall off the stage. The stage is very high. In my heart of hearts, I believe that the ballet teacher’s real problem is that she does not want one of her snowdrops to be out of time and wandering aimlessly around the stage and she is using health and safety concerns to achieve this objective.  I do sympathise but, at the same time, they are only 5; how much can the Princess be ruining the performance? The ballet teacher is obviously very keen to get rid of the Princess as she has offered (enthusiastically) to refund me the fees for the term.
The Princess is, understandably, a bit upset that she won’t be in the concert but I think she would bear up very well, if she knew that she could give up ballet. We have given her a chance to put her defence which goes as follows a) she cannot hear the teacher b) it is too complicated c) it is too cold d) she does stay with the group and e) it’s not fair.
Internet, what should I do?
