Recently Mr. Waffle and I both took a day off work while the children went to school. An excellent idea and something I fully intend to repeat. We did not share details of our illicit outing with the children. We didn’t say that we were going to work but we didn’t say we were not going to work either. Jesuitical. We went for low key, nearby pleasures: a walk around Glendalough and a cup of tea in Hunter’s with the paper. I was, however, made to squirm for my fun when, in the morning getting the children ready for school, herself who is an expert on guilt said to me “Mummy, I know that you are in a hurry getting ready to go out to work but I wonder could you get me another bowl of cornflakes?” Her normal form of address is “More cornflakes, minion!” so it was unfortunate that she chose that of all mornings to ramp up the politeness quotient. Oh well.
Eventful
The other night we were awoken by frantic knocking at 1.30. It was the security men who patrol the institution nearby, someone had broken our car window and the neighbour’s camper van. They had got away with a set of jump leads and Mr. Waffle’s glasses. So, a great haul then. The poor gardai came at 2.30 am. Mr. Waffle took the car to be repaired the following day. It was covered by insurance and done in an hour. Hurrah, finally a return on the approximately 20,000€, I have spent on insurance over the years.
Summer Plans
Herself: Where are we going on our summer holidays?
Me: East Cork and West Kerry.
Her: But no, for our summer holidays.
Me: East Cork and West Kerry.
Her (outraged and, also quite correct): But it will be raining. Summer holidays are in the sun.
Sharper than a serpent’s tooth etc.
The Incredders
We got “The Incredibles” out on DVD. It has made a huge impression on the children. They are now to be known as Violet, Dash and Jack-Jack. I am Elastigirl (though, as Michael kindly pointed out, Elastigirl is really thin unlike me but I can still be Elastigirl because I am his Mummy) and their father is Mr. Incredible. Sometimes we forget and call them by their real names and Michael, in particular, becomes furious. He is also demanding that his diet be further restricted as, in the film, Jack-Jack only eats porridge. In vain do I argue that off-screen Jack-Jack enjoys a healthy and varied diet and that he can eat alone (in the film his mother feeds him). It’s all becoming very tedious and shows no signs of wearing off.
Because Daniel speaks so clearly, I regularly correct him. Michael is far less distinct and as I can’t hear what he’s saying, he is far less subject to maternal corrections. I note that Daniel has decided to address this deficit. I heard Michael say “The Incredders is a vewy good pwogwamme.” Daniel replied firmly: “No, Michael, ‘The Incredibles‘ is a very good programme.” “Yes, a gweat pwogwamme.” “No Michael, not pwogwamme, programme.” “Yes, progwamme.” It’s tough being a twin.
A-r-t-i-c-u-l-a-t-e
Daniel speaks exceptionally clearly and quite loudly. Grown-ups always understand him. This has its drawbacks.
The other day Mr. Waffle met a little old lady who chucked Daniel under the chin. To his father’s mortification, he said to her clearly and reproachfully, “You hurted me.”
Shortly afterwards I was cycling with Daniel in our edgy/urban/ rough (delete as appropriate) neighbourhood and saw two small children (maybe 3 and 18 months) playing on the main road. A quiet main road but certainly a main road. As I toiled up the hill , they fell over together and lay spread out and bawling. I stopped the bike, took Daniel off, went over, took them off the road, dusted them down, made comforting noises and asked, “Where are your Mummy and Daddy?” No very coherent answer was made but shortly a large man came around the corner and grabbed them roughly. I made bleating “no harm done they seem to be fine” type noises. He was joined by his partner. Both of them seemed slightly out of it and they yelled at the children (who ignored them – a constant across socio-economic groups, apparently). At no point did either of them address me. I mounted my trusty steed and peddled slowly off (it was hilly). Daniel, speaking loudly and, of course, clearly said from his perch behind “Mummy those people were very rude, they didn’t answer you when you spoke to them.” I pedalled more quickly.
A series of unfortunate events
Slightly against my better judgement, I read chapter 1 of “The Bad Beginning” to the Princess last night.
Cravenly, rather than turning out her light, I said that she could read for a little longer and slunk away to the end of the news and my waiting cup of tea. I did not go up to turn off her light and for this I paid dearly. At five to eleven as Dr. House was about to solve the problems of his patients who suffer from narcolepsy (did everyone else know that he was modelled on Sherlock Holmes and Wilson is Watson?) she came into me in tears. She was scared of Count Olaf. I went back upstairs with her and it was well after midnight by the time she got to sleep.
We dragged her from bed this morning. She instantly began reading her book again. We took it away. She was extremely crabby though whether from exhaustion or a foiled desire to know the fate of the Baudelaire orphans is unclear.
In other news, both home doggy and travel doggy are lost.
