The Saturday before Valentine’s Day, Mr. Waffle said to me, “Tuesday, can we declare a truce?” “Tuesday,” I said wildly, “what’s happening on Tuesday.” Our lives are filled with logistics and I was worried I’d missed some. “Valentine’s Day,” he said. “God, yes, a truce,” I agreed. I was not therefore entirely delighted when on the morning of February 14, Mr. Waffle presented me with pink card with a heart on it emblazoned with the words, “To my darling wife”. I opened it up, “Did you read it carefully?” I asked. “It’s just that on the inside it says ‘Happy Birthday'”. Oh, yes, snatching victory from the jaws of defeat.
Wasting my Sweetness on the Desert Air
Myself and the Princess drove along the lane behind our house and when we got to the end we found someone had parked a van so that we couldn’t get out. I was very annoyed. I penned a strongly worded note as follows: “Please do not park here as your van is blocking vehicular access to the lane.” I then very slowly and carefully and to a symphony of beeping (our new car beeps if it gets near walls) reversed down the length of the lane which is quite long and narrow. “I wonder if he will move?” said the Princess conversationally. “I certainly hope so,” I said indignantly. “I don’t know,” she said, “when I cycled in to school this morning, it was there and somebody had taped a note all over the window saying ‘Don’t park here you f**king eejit’ and I notice that it’s gone now so the van owner must have returned, taken it off and not moved the van.” I take it my note was unlikely to be effective then.
Cross Purposes
Me: I see you’ve got a pink pen.
Her: I hate pink.
Me: Where did that come from?
Her: Internalised misogyny, probably.
Me: Oh, I was thinking, maybe Eason’s.
Busy Lives
I have a school friend who emigrated to America. She married a local and now lives in Vermont with her husband and four children. I wrote about visiting her in 2007 when she had fewer children. She is the busiest person I know. She and her husband work full time as doctors. He’s a hospital doctor and she works in her own practice where she stops people having heart attacks; she calls it her “plumbing” – she pushes stuff through people’s veins as I understand it. They are all very sporty and play tennis, ski, swim and play baseball all the time. She’s the only person I know whose family always travels with six tennis racquets. They go on very exotic holidays – Singapore (where her parents are living, to be fair, but still it’s a long way from Vermont), Hawaii, South America, West Cork (ok that last is less exotic but still a long way from Vermont). We usually talk a couple of times a year and meet up in the summer when she comes back to Cork.
She didn’t call this Christmas which was a bit unusual but not unheard of. I got a call from her the other week. “Sorry I didn’t call at Christmas, we’ve been busy.” “Goodness, I know, haven’t we all?” I replied. “Yes,” she said, “we’ve decided to start fostering and we have a 13 year old foster child as part of our family now. Also, we got two puppies.”
She says it’s been great and I am filled with awe. It’s a short term placement but it looks like it might become longer term and my friend is delighted. “We are so lucky,” she said, “it’s great to be able to help someone else.” Those Vermonters are amazing.
Inherited Characteristics
Everyone in our family likes Terry Pratchett. The other night, I was rereading “Carpe Jugulum” which, obviously, I recommend and Michael saw it and asked whether he could take it to bed with him as he wanted to reread it himself. “OK,” I said, “and I’ll pick it up from your room when I’m going to bed.” It was, as usual, lights out at 9.30 for Michael. When I went to bed at midnight there he was curled up in the corner of the bed, dim nightlight turning his face an unhealthy blue colour and the book, nearly finished, clutched in his paw. He leapt up guiltily. I was inclined to forgive him though having only the other night stayed up until 2 in the morning finishing off a Georgette Heyer I had read many times before.
Weekend
Our weekends are logistically challenging at the moment. Daniel has a match on Saturday mornings, usually in a distant location and Michael has a course in town from 1.15 to 2.45. Herself has a course, on the other side of town from 12.15 to 2.15.
A couple of weekends ago was not untypical. Daniel had a match in Howth which is brutally awkward to get to. Mr. Waffle took Dan and the neighbour’s child out to the GAA club. The pitch is on a high outcrop overlooking the sea which, as Mr. Waffle pointed out must be beautiful on a warm summer’s day but on a sleety, freezing day in February, it was nothing to write home about. Our neighbour’s child is very slender and quite fragile looking (though handy at gaelic games despite appearances to the contrary). He was wearing shorts and a t-shirt when he turned up at our house. “Would he like a tracksuit?” we wondered. No he would not as he had underarmour and he pulled it down to mid-thigh as he spoke. Frankly, we didn’t feel it would cut the mustard. When they got to Howth, the neighbour’s child went in goal. Sadly, our team was being flattened* and he was very busy in goal. So busy in fact that even though he now conceded that he would quite like to put on the tracksuit bottoms, there wasn’t a moment’s quiet form him to do so. Eventually, he got a knock to the head and had to come off which may have been a mercy. Mr. Waffle took the visibly shivering child into the club house and got him into the tracksuit and plied him with hot chocolate and crisps and he seems to have been no worse for the experience.
Meanwhile back in the city, I was looking out glumly at the rain. The Princess was getting the bus into town and wasn’t quite sure where her venue was. I volunteered to go with her leaving Michael home alone. She and I got the bus in together and then I went to get the bus home but due to extensive works on the new city centre tram line was utterly unable to find the bus stop for the return leg for a surprising length of time. I was consequently both late and very damp when I got home to pick up Michael. We rushed into our rain gear and cycled into his course. Then I cycled off to her course and showed her where the bus stop had moved to, put her on the bus, cycled back to Michael’s course, cycled home with him, peeled off my damp clothes and stayed at home for the rest of the day a shadow of my former self.
If I had known in my 20s what was coming, I would have enjoyed those long, relaxed weekend brunches even more.
*Daniel got man of the match as he is a child who does not give up even under the most daunting of circumstances. I was pleased for him, it was all that could be salvaged from a rather grim experience overall.
