belgianwaffle

Princess

How could they?


Posted in: Princess, Reading etc.

The return of Berlusconi has given the media a field day looking out his most inappropriate quotes from old files and happily awaiting new ones.

His most annoying comment of recent times is on the new Zapatero government in Spain which has a majority of female ministers.  According to this source, Mr Berlusconi suggested it is “too pink.”   He went on to say “he [Mr Zapatero] has asked for it, he will have problems leading them,” adding that “[i]n Italy there is a prevalence of men in politics and therefore it is not so easy to find women who are ready for the government.”

Magdalena Alvarez, Spain’s infrastructure minister, described the remark as offensive and said that “[m]any of us women would refuse to work for a government that had Mr Berlusconi as prime minister.”   Berlusconi tried to make amends by saying that he “greatly appreciated the colour pink in that government” and that “[i]t’s possible that the female members take a series of measures stemming from the everyday life, from the concrete reality of being a mother, a wife and perhaps also a working woman.”  “Perhaps also”?   I found this link on further comparisons between Messrs. Berlusconi and Zapatero; again, unflattering to the former.

When I came in to work, earlier this week, a female colleague drew my attention to this picture of the new Spanish Minister for Defence reviewing troops in Madrid.  She is the first woman to hold the post and also seven months pregnant.   It perked us both up.  Viva Zapatero.

Meanwhile, on the domestic front, I fear that all is not what it might be in the arena of gender stereotyping.  I had the following conversation with the Princess this evening.

Me: How was your school trip to the farm today?

Her: Great, I rubbed a sheep, a donkey and a bull [Really?]. Can I have horse riding lessons?  I didn’t rub a pig.  There were no pigs.   There was a dog though but we weren’t allowed to rub it in case it bit us.  We had Peter Pan on the bus in French and all the songs were in French [spirited rendition of same].

Me [a little overwhelmed by the flow of eloquence]: Was the farmer there?

Her: No, just our teachers.  There was another woman who showed us things.

Me:  That was probably the farmer.

Her: But it was a woman.

Me: But women can be farmers.

Her: But she had a baby.

Me: Even women with babies can be farmers.

Her: Sceptical expression.

Imagine women with babies can even be Spanish ministers for defence.

All the fingers of one hand


Posted in: Princess

The Princess was 5 on Saturday. Let joy be unconfined. Other than among her brothers where a certain amount of jealousy was evident. She got many lovely presents and parcels from far flung places and, believe me, I know how much of a pain it is sending parcels. For the first time, she examined each present and played with it in turn before opening the next.

One of her presents was from me.  It was a dress from Uganda.  She loves it.  I love it.  The only problem is that it is freezing in Brussels and it is cold wearing her summer dress round the house.  But we don’t care.  Her father is a little concerned though.   She knows that a nice lady in Africa made it for her – we got to examine the stamps on the parcel and the shopping bag from a local supermarket.  Very thrilling.

You are doubtless distracted by this exotic African element in the birthday frenzy.  I bought the dress from Lizzie who was brought to my attention by the lovely Heather. Lizzie is starting a business with her housekeeper, Eva, who is also an excellent seamstress.  Lizzie is rich (well, you know, relatively) and looking after marketing abroad and Eva is poor and looking after working and getting the profits.
I sent off the Princess’s measurements and Lizzie organised the dress in no time (also producing a baby in the interim, speedy work).  When the parcel came, there was a handwritten note from Eva saying thanks for the order and God Bless.  People, is this better than buying from child labour in China?  You know, I’m half inclined to think that it is.

Total cost is 28stg – 25 for the dress and 3 for p&p (to Belgium anyway) and, frankly, with sterling in freefall at the moment – what’s not to like?  It’s an ill wind and all that.

The dress is lovely: proof here.  If we get a summer, she will wear it constantly.  I think we might buy another one.

It’s the first time that she has ever had something made for her.   She is charmed by the idea. When I was little, my mother used to make a lot of my clothes.  She once, memorably, said to my father as she looked at him coming out of mass with us in our beautiful wool coats with velvet collars, that he looked like the groom following the children from the big house.  He still brings it up occasionally.  I digress.

So here it is, big plug for Lizzie and her business (there’s that link again) which absolutely deserves to prosper.

Disney


Posted in: Princess

I am cross with Disney. Everywhere I go, I am pelted with Princess tat. I can’t walk more than a few steps in the supermarket without seeing Princess biscuits, dresses, t-shirts, underwear, games, books, toys, cakes. You name it, the Princesses have sponsored it.

I would like to buy the DVD of Snow White for my daughter. Yes, hand over cash for a Disney item but I cannot because all of their DVDs (except rubbish like Tinkerbell II the voyage to pixie land) are released on a strict rota about once every ten years for reasons I don’t quite understand but, by gum, it is annoying. I see that Snow White is not scheduled for release at the moment but I can ask them to email me when it is. Probably it will be available in 10 years time when the Princess will be 14. Is there something wrong with our money?

Woe is me


Posted in: Boys, Princess

Every time I am left on my own with the children for an evening, it turns into a disaster. Witness tonight.

6.30 Arrive home. All is well.

6.35 Telephone rings, it is the children’s father ringing to say goodnight. Daniel wants to answer the telephone, the Princess gets it. He bites her hard. I remonstrate. He cries, she cries and Michael says placidly into the phone “Papa”.

7.00 Michael decides he wants to go to bed and starts wandering around the house with his doudou, nounours and a bottle clutched between his lips. Daniel gets into the bath which due to his insistence that the taps remain on is sufficiently deep for him to swim in and therefore requires my anxious presence.

7.05 The childminder and her two children come back looking for something she has forgotten. The children are perplexed but excited. Daniel gets out of the bath and drips around the house after them. The Princess gets into her pyjamas unbidden, I am delighted. All is under control.

7.30 The boys are in bed. The Princess and I go to make our dinner (the boys have eaten earlier with the childminder, I am not a bad mother).

7.45 The boys begin to howl. The Princess goes and gives them a bottle. They are clearly all enjoying this.

7.50 I sing to the boys in their darkened room while the Princess makes the noise of a cackling witch outside. Our mood is interrupted and I go outside and yell at her highness. All is silence except for a hysterical giggle.

8.00 The Princess brings the boys their third bottles of the night.

8.15 We eat. Well, I eat, the Princess refuses my offering and has salami from the fridge instead. Shortly after she brings a record fourth bottle to Daniel.

8.20 The Princess goes to wash her teeth and I hear an anguished roar from the boys’ room. Apparently a litre of milk is Daniel’s upper limit and he has got sick. I carry him to the parental bedroom while he liberally bespatters the corridor, me, the clean clothes in the basket and himself with vomit.

8.30 The Princess is a bit of a star and brings water and sponges as I mop up and change Daniel and put him in our bed. She then goes to wash her face while I change Daniel’s bed clothes and clean up the vomit with the aid of several floor cloths and some wipes to try to get out the bits between the floorboards. For the duration, Daniel burbles happily from our bed, where he is feeling much better and Michael screams bitterly from his bed that he wants to get up. He feels that there is fun elsewhere. Sensing that I am implacable, his screams turn to “Méchante Maman!”.

8.45 The Princess’s face washing has been over-enthusiastic. She is soaked to the skin. We put on new pyjamas but while doing so doggy falls into the toilet. He will have to be washed. This news is greeted with displeasure.

8.50 The Princess is finally in bed. Michael appears to have fallen asleep in exhaustion but Daniel is still wide awake. I offer to read the Princess’s story. She wants an Angelina book with a stage. She starts moving the cut out Angelina and friends around the stage and insists that I stay to watch. After ten minutes of this, I abandon her to it. As I leave her room I hear Daniel chatting hopefully to the by now comatose Michael “Where hibou, Michael, MICHAEL?”

9.00 I put on the washing machine. I clean up after dinner, I tidy up a bit. I go to turn off the Princess’s light. She is dutifully snuggled up to bed with the Angelina characters put away but she refuses to let me turn off the light. I decide to leave it as she will be asleep in a minute anyway.

9.15 I go and try to get Daniel to sleep. He is delighted to see me and very chatty. I sing to him, he talks to me: “Mama singing”. The phone rings: “what’s that”. “It’s the phone never mind.” We both hear the Princess getting up to answer it: “what’s that”. We hear the sound of the Princess padding round the flat. I put Daniel back to bed. He howls, Michael stirs. The Princess is starting to cry.

9.30 I go out to the Princess: “I thought I was all alone”. I comfort her, put her back to bed and assure her that we would never leave her all alone. She looks at me balefully – and you haven’t washed my doggy yet either. I go and wash doggy.

9.40 She’s asleep, the boys are asleep. I start typing.

10.00 My husband returns from his labours. I think he might like a cup of tea but he’ll have to read this first.

Being an expatriate


Posted in: Belgium, Mr. Waffle, Princess

Me: We have a new government, I heard it on the radio on the way home.

Him: We who?

Me: We Belgium.  And there’s a woman Minister for Foreign Affairs, Karen something or other.

Him: Karel De Gucht?

Me: Yes, that’s it.

Him: He’s a man and he’s the one who was Minister for Foreign Affairs before.

In other news, the Princess and all her little friends wore their pyjamas to school yesterday and got dressed and had breakfast in the classroom. It was the best thing ever.

There are times when I hate this job


Posted in: Family, Princess

My mother and brother came to visit for the weekend (my father steadfastly refusing to fly since he retired and doesn’t have to any more). There were many presents and there was much delight. All this love-in stuff is very tiresome for the blog reader so I will get straight to the only blog worthy incident of the weekend.

Due to my sister’s enormous carbon footprint and many years spent in hotels (insert here bitter mumbling from my brother about expense accounts – he is a lab rat and has never had one and absolutely refuses to believe that eating out can be torture as well as pleasure), she was able to book my brother and mother into a swish hotel in Brussels on her various points. This was, frankly, welcome as our flat is too small to accommodate two visitors who do not want to sleep together. This is relevant, bear with me.

So, on Friday afternoon, the Princess and I took my mother and brother to their hotel. My mother and I sat and chatted in her room while my brother unpacked in his and entertained her highness.

As I sat there with my mother, I heard a mournful little voice saying, “I want my mummy”, so I flew to her side. My brother was standing in his room looking sheepish. “I did a poo Mummy,” she said “and it won’t go away”. I went in to the bathroom and discovered that she had done a poo in the bidet; look, it’s the size of a kiddie toilet. So while my brother stood cowering outside and my daughter put her hands over her eyes saying, “that’s disgusting”, I took some toilet paper and transferred the poo bit by bit to the toilet.

This was not included in my original job description.

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