Me: Guess what Daddy and I went to see in the cinema last night?
Daniel and Michael: What?
Me [Don’t mock – even the teenage ticket vendor sneered at us]: Thor, God of Thunder
Them [in unison]: And hater of hair cuts.
Me [Trying to figure out some parts of the plot]: Who were Thor’s enemies that he defeated?
Michael: The Jacobites.
Sweet Cork of Thee
I took the children to Cork last week leaving Mr. Waffle to work alone in the big smoke. I stayed with my parents who I felt would welcome the excitement of being woken early, feeding our picky eaters and generally bonding with their grandchildren. That last worked well, the Princess and her grandmother are now both addicted to “Keeping up Appearances“.
We made the obligatory trip to Fota. I don’t know why I keep doing this to myself. Mr. Waffle, safe in his Dublin fastness, suggested that it might be fun to go. Hah. It was a warm day and I covered the children in sunscreen. Michael and Daniel insisted on wearing their jumpers which they resolutely kept on all day – turning slowly purple in the heat.
No sooner had we passed through the gates (long queue, of course) than the children scented the possibility of acquiring plush toys. Once this hurdle had been cleared, they threw themselves into the playground by the gate paying scant attention to the monkeys sitting nearby. The Princess discovered that she does not like sand in her sandals and, to my horror, I saw her sitting in the middle of the playground licking the sand off her toes. Does this kind of thing happen to anyone else?
We then hurried on to the cafe in the centre of the park because everyone was hungry. The cafe had long queues and the food was quite vile. I lost each of the children in turn in the seething mass of humanity in the nearby playground and, of course, had to drag the other two, unwillingly, on the search, so that I didn’t compound my losses. I spent €27 on a range of items which the children might eat. The Princess ate most of hers. Daniel ate some chips. Michael ate two or three chips, announced he was full and skipped out to the playground. As is his form, 15 minutes later, when the food was gone, he announced that he was hungry. Ice creams followed. Daniel kept asking to go on the little train around the park but we always seemed to miss it and he spent much of the day looking after it mournfully. At no point, other than when we saw the baby penguins in the incubator, did they show the slightest interest in the animals. Sigh.
Obligatory giraffe picture. They’re all looking at me exploding with rage.
On Friday, the boys and I dropped my parents’ car into town to get the clutch fixed. We found ourselves in the centre of town at 8.45. It was a perfect morning. Blue skies, leafy vistas and no one in town but ourselves. The boom was kind to Cork and the centre didn’t change fundamentally, it just got nicer. Cork is at its best in summer, it feels like a compact appealing maritime town which is exactly what it used to be. For me, there is nowhere in the world that is so lovely early on a sunny day. Maybe the fact that I no longer live there added some enchantment to the view.
We went into the market for a wander. The lady in the egg stall gave us free duck eggs to try and confided that they were all very excited about the Queen of England’s forthcoming visit. Michael walked around the market holding his nose because it was full of disgusting smells like olives, fish and fresh bread.
We got back to my parents’ house in time to watch the British royal wedding. Sample conversation during same:
Daniel: When will this be over, I want to watch cartoons!
Michael: Why can’t we watch cartoons?
Their mother, sister and grandmother: Wait, wait, look they’re going to kiss on the balcony.
Herself was somewhat confused by the extensive references to the Irish Guards and shouted out gleefully, “Look Mummy, the Gardaà are coming.” Of course, having spent the week in my parents’ house, we were fully aware of all aspects of the wedding. My father reads the Daily Telegraph – does it make it better or worse that they used to always take it in his house when he was growing up? The Telegraph outdid itself last week with pictures of the happy couple on the front page every day.
After the wedding, I prodded the children out the door to the beach. Despite considerable reluctance, they loved Garretstown beach where they had never been before and all got wet to varying degrees.
And then into Kinsale afterwards for an ice cream.
Is it always the last day of a holiday that’s the best?
A Game of Two Halves
The teacher sent me a note saying that Michael has no interest in learning to read and when called upon to attempt reading, guesses words and makes no real attempt to work them out. I went to talk to her and dutifully promised to work on his reading over the Easter holidays (has this happened? alas no but a small reprehensible part of me feels that he’ll read when he’s ready and no point in torturing him). “On the plus side,” said she, “he’s the fastest in the class at maths, whenever I give them a sheet, he’s first up with the answers and always right.” I have to say that Michael has hidden his light under a bushel – this came as a complete, and clearly welcome, surprise. And I happen to know that he’s the youngest in the class by 20 minutes. Mr. Waffle suggests that a career without much writing might suit him, civil engineering perhaps?
Hmm
Daniel and I were listening to Umberto Tozzi, an Italian, singing his most famous number [Gloria] in Spanish. “That’s not English,” said my son sagely. “I know what language it is, it’s Irish!”
I corrected his misapprehension. A couple of days later, Daniel asked me, “Mummy, what was that song again, the one we were singing together in Japanese?”
Outing
On Saturday we went for an outing to the site of the Battle of the Boyne. Despite Mr. Waffle’s dubiety this proved a very successful expedition with an interesting exhibition, many cannons and some lovely parkland. And, as Michael pointed out to me, in great excitement, a map. The exhibition was very carefully done to reflect what is usually tactfully referred to as “both traditions”. It was underlined that Irishmen fought on both sides. There was no triumphalism and only sign of the unfortunate outcome for Irish catholics was a copy of this act without a great deal of further comment:
The children were delighted by the interactive displays and the adults were interested. The occasion was only marred by an all too accurate description of the failed charge of the Jacobite cavalry. This led to the Princess moaning for the rest of the afternoon: “They killed the horses, they killed the innocent horses.” Pointing out that, as the battle took place some 320 years ago, the horses were long dead was of no comfort to herself. Even a picnic in the park in glorious sunshine was only a slight distraction from the nastiness of battle and the infinitely superior regime pertaining for horses in Narnia.
After lunch we took ourselves off to the ruins of the Cistercian Abbey at Mellifont. The visitor centre was closed and I feared that we might not be able to get to the site itself but it was open and we saw it at its best. There were few other visitors and the weather was beautiful. The children occupied themselves filling their hats with gravel and we were able to lie on the grass admiring the surroundings and imagining the cloisters.
At about 5 in the afternoon when we returned home, I had to go into town to pick up some things. Town was hot and heaving with people, most of them sweaty, red-faced, disgruntled children in buggies. I finished my errands in ten minutes and flew home borne up on the wings of smugness as I reflected on our glorious day in the country. I am sure that this is very bad but I’m past caring.
Trouble in Paradise
Background: It is the Easter holidays. Mr. Waffle is minding the children every morning this week. As you know, regular lengthy exposure to small children can lead to tetchiness. I have been sailing into work early unencumbered by anything in particular, having made no sandwiches, dressed no one, given no one breakfast and driven no one to school. In the evenings, I return all sweetness and light.
I overheard this exchange from the kitchen this evening.
Daniel: I wish we had two Mummies.
Michael: Well, I don’t.
Daniel: Why not?
Michael: Because then we’d have to have two grumpy Daddies as well.
