Mr. Waffle: There are no gloves for the children.
Me: There are loads of gloves in the bag in the press in the hall.
Him: They don’t match.
Me: Lots of them do and it doesn’t matter, if they don’t match anyway.
Him: We need more gloves.
Me: We definitely don’t. Have you seen the gloves on the radiator in the utility room?
Him: Yes, you’ve been harping on those, why is that?
Me: Because we have loads of gloves and I know that given half a chance you will zoom out to Lidl and buy loads more.
Him: Do you want this to be a gloveless marriage?
Plans for Tuesday Evening
After work on Tuesday, we have the following:
Invitation to a book launch
Invitation to Christmas drinks
A meeting of the school parents’ council
Michael’s weekly scouts meeting
Mr. Waffle’s weekly soccer
Things which made the cut:
The book launch
Michael’s scouts
Things I feel bad about (in order of priority):
The parents’ council
The Christmas drinks
Mr. Waffle’s soccer
Biggish meeting at work on Wednesday, likelihood I will end up working a bit late on Tuesday: 100%
How much I am enjoying having it all at the moment: 0%
Weekend Round-Up
The weekends are going to be the death of me. I am limping towards Christmas. I was out a bit during the week which didn’t help general grumpiness levels by the time we got to the weekend (pub quiz on Wednesday night where I thought I had a crack team and we did not win, bitterly disappointing, I digress).
On Friday, Michael stayed home from school sick. This was a mercy as it meant no hockey Friday night and French was cancelled also as T wasn’t available. Herself went off with a friend for a sleepover. Leaving Mr. Waffle to mind the boys on Friday evening, I went to a drink after work for a couple of departing colleagues, I went on from there to a retirement for a much loved former boss who is now a friend. It was lovely but a bit sad. Her husband died suddenly a couple of years ago and they had no children and she is an only child herself so a bit thin on relatives. That said, she more than made up for it with loads of friends and staying in great contact with all of her cousins but still, she and her husband had such great plans for when they retired which, of course, will never now be realised. On the other hand she’s off to New Zealand for all of January hiking with a friend while I will be weeping at my desk so, definitely not all bad.
On Saturday morning, I was outside Tesco with Michael (fully recovered) for two hours flogging tickets to support the scouts. People were really generous especially people you felt couldn’t really afford it which was a little depressing. We had a venture scout, a scout, a cub and a beaver and I can unequivocally state that, if you want to sell tickets, then beavers are the business. This little six year old pulled them all in with her enthusiastic bell ringing (small angel sized bell). She was in Michael’s old school so he was able to offer her some sage advice on how to handle the teachers. While we were selling tickets, Mr. Waffle and Daniel were off at a GAA match. Daniel’s team won comprehensively and he was pleased. We all arrived back to the house about lunchtime, including herself from her friend’s house. Quick lunch turnaround and then up to the church fair where herself and Daniel were singing carols at 2. Mr. Waffle drove Michael in to drama at 2.30. I bought various Christmassy items at the fair and, although it was freezing, a reasonably good time was had by all. Mr. Waffle picked up Michael from town at 4 and I went in to look disconsolately at possible throws and cushions for the sofa of doom. No joy. Ikea beckons.
On Sunday morning, Mr. Waffle and Michael went to mass in Irish and then on to hockey. Herself, Daniel and I went to mass together where they sang (beautifully I have to say, our choir mistress has done a wonderful job with the choir) and then stayed for rehearsal where they sang lots of lovely Christmas songs.
Back home to lunch with Mr. Waffle’s parents. It was a bit of a rush and I think that they were waiting patiently in their car when he got back from hockey with Michael. Herself was going into town to meet friends and I had promised to drop her in so, after a quick lunch, we abandoned the grandparents but I was back in time to have a cup of tea with them. After they left, a couple came from Bray to take away the old sofa which we had offered on freecycle. They sat on it and declared that it was too uncomfortable to take even for free. They were very pleasant and apologetic but while I sympathise, I was not entirely delighted.
Then Mr. Waffle and I decided to take a trip into town for ourselves. We abandoned the boys to Christmas test prep (school Christmas tests start tomorrow, there is a certain amount of tension around as I type) and went in to the National Gallery and then off for a cup of tea. Herself agreed to join us for tea. I picked her up in a bookshop where she was with her friends. I found myself asking one of them whether having that enormous rip in the knee of her jeans was conducive to keeping warm in December. I am my worst nightmare. Herself seemed unphased by my extreme parentness. She had just, unwisely in my view, spent €9 of her own money on “The Great Gatsby” because she loves it. Given that we have, at least one and probably two copies in the house and Christmas is coming, I felt that she could have played that better especially when she explained that she only had €7 and had to get the extra €2 from her friend M.
And how was your own weekend?
31 Years of Learning
I was out of school 30 years last summer. Mr. Waffle went to a school dinner earlier in the year and it brought this significant milestone to mind. I thought I would record what I have learnt since leaving school.
1986 – After a certain number of exams; nobody cares any more (reflection caused by my entire family going off on holidays, leaving me to sit the matric while staying at home alone). How to talk to boys (college was mixed; school was not).
1987 – Just because contact hours in university are few, this does not mean that all of the time not in lectures should be spent off enjoying yourself. How to speak Italian. How to touch type. Some law.
1988 – Au pairing is quite exhausting (good lesson there for later if only I had really taken it to heart). More Italian. Slightly more law.
1989 – Why you should get a professional photo of your graduation. Peak Italian. More law.
1990 – Just because you can’t get a job, another degree is not necessarily the ideal solution to your problems. Peak law.
1991 – How to use a dictaphone. How to discover that being a solicitor is not for you.
1992 – Rudimentary Dublin geography. Little did I know how useful that would prove to me later.
1993 – How to ride a moped in Rome. How to share a house with people from lots of different countries. How to make yeast bread with milk.
1994 – How to party. Peak party year. Basic EU bureaucracy.
1995 – How to speak and write good French. Peak French year.
1996 – How to live on air. How to share a house with a house proud man. How to speak very basic Serbo-Croat.
1997 – How to live by the seaside.
1998 – Advanced EU bureaucracy. How to live alone. How to finally cast aside the shackles of a legal career.
1999 – How to meet a husband.
2000 – How to move country when you have possessions. Challenging. How to set up a book club (still going, thanks for asking).
2001 – The importance of booking a good wedding photographer (learnt the hard way). How to organise a wedding in three months. How to get a diploma in Art History.
2002 – How to pretend to own a house in Ranelagh when, sadly, you do not. How to buy a house.
2003 – That your friends will all get married at the same time. How to have a baby in Belgium. How to mind a baby and travel to two weddings in Italy, two weddings in Ireland and one in France with a small baby in tow. How to blog.
2004 – How to job hunt in Belgium. Peak job-hunting.
2005 – How to have twins.
2006 – How to work full time with three children under 3.
2007 – How to live without sleeping. How to travel to America with three children under 5.
2008 – How to move country with many possessions and 3 children. Challenging.
2009 – How to survive with one new business, one income, a paycut, creche fees and a childminder and also, the collapse of the economy. Challenging. How to own a cat as a grown-up.
2010 – How to garden. How to have 3 children in primary school.
2011 – How to change jobs unexpectedly. How to use a smartphone.
2012 – How to househunt in a depressed market. How to deal with mortgage brokers.
2013 – How to move house in Dublin. Less challenging than changing country. How to pass time in hospital with an elderly relative.
2014 – How to have a child in secondary school.
2015 – That you have drifted apart from many of the people you invited to your wedding but you are still friends with your bookclub.
2016 – How to do a different job. That the only new friends it appears you will ever make are the parents of your children’s friends. That no matter how much you pray for them to be discriminating in that regard, your children will not be swayed by your concerns.
2017 – How to cope with cancer in the family. How to mildly regret that some 20 years previously you cast aside the shackles of a legal career. How to appreciate what you’ve got.
And we have come to the end of another NaBloPoMo. Thank you and goodnight.
First World Catastrophe
I spent nearly 5 years choosing a sofa. It was delivered today and it is unutterably hideous. I want to cry. I think we’ll have to get rid of it. It’s much too big. And the smaller one I chose to go with it is disproportionate and ugly. I would show you photos but I haven’t the heart to take any. My affliction is not rendered the easier by being utterly ridiculous.
The Struggle Continues
I have recently covered how ideologically opposed I am to Kildare Village (outlet shopping) in principle while being strangely attracted to it in practice.
When we went down to the wedding in East Cork a couple of weeks ago, we stopped off for breakfast in the Pain Quotidien in Kildare Village which I loved. Mr. Waffle was distinctly less impressed as he sipped from his bowl of weak tea. “It’s all very well abroad,” said he, “but I am in Kildare and it seems outrageous to be drinking this kind of tea when I know that everywhere around me perfectly good, normal tea is available.” I left him to brood over his tea while I went for a quick run around the shops. I bought some Penhaligon Bluebell perfume which my father used to bring from London to my mother. When I met my sister that evening, I said, “Smell this!” and held up my wrist and she instantly recognised it. I’m wearing it all the time now although I do seem to be mildly allergic to it and it makes me sneeze which I concede is sub-optimal. Like my relationship with Kildare Village.
Did I mention it has a Villeroy and Bosch shop? I love Villeroy and Bosch.
