The Princess loves to identify cars. For a while I thought she could identify them side on without even seeing the logo but then I realised that she was identifying them from the hubcaps. This afternoon I drew a diamond shape. It’s like a “rrennot†she said. “A what?†I asked. We continued in this vein for a while with her getting increasingly frustrated. “THE CAR, Mummyâ€. “Ah, Mummy says rehnoâ€
Bitter
This morning, the Princess came running down the corridor to me in floods of tears.
Me: What’s wrong sweetheart?
Her (gasping between sobs): Daddy is torturing me, the big meanie.
Me: What did he do?
Her: The mean old Daddy treated me like Cinderella.
Me: How?
Her: He wouldn’t help me make my jigsaw.
Me: Why not?
Her (she is without guile): Because he wanted me to eat my breakfast.
Later, while helping her to make the offending jigsaw:
Me: Is there a piece still in the box?
Her (peering inside): We’ll see whether the mean old torturing Daddy left a piece in the box.
While I was away..
I got Daniel a sailor suit. He is so big that with his shaved head, Mr. Waffle says he looks like a Russian naval recruit.
Mr. Waffle’s former boss (now retired) dropped him in a present for the Princess to tackle the trauma of having two new siblings. He brought it back from America where he was on holidays. It is a cuddly duck that makes a real bird sound (sponsored by the Audubon society); the label tells us it’s a common loon and who are we to quibble. By the time I returned the toy had already been christened in accordance with the family naming policy, adopted on the sage advice of the Dutch Mama, i.e. called after the donor. It in no way reflects the affection and esteem in which Mr. Waffle holds his ex- boss that our daughter is now wandering around the house saying “Where’s Dierk the loon?”.
I read the Telegraph and found two items of interest. It is only a matter of time before I start a petition to bring back flooging. Item 1 was an article on the perils of driving in Belgium. Item 2 was a cartoon. I can stop any time.
Home again, home again, jiggedy jig
It is lovely to be back. The children are all bigger and more beautiful than I remembered. Yes, I know, they probably haven’t grown that much since Tuesday. My saintly husband has taken the boys out for a walk and her imperial highness is napping. What should I do with myself? I suppose there is always laundry. I think the glamour is what I love most about my lifestyle.
Dilemma
The Narnia flick is available on pay TV in my hotel. I would quite like to watch it. I am told that “All movie charges will appear as ‘room service’ on your bill”. But we all know that my employer will think that I am watching porn. I want the movie charge to appear as “Narnia flick” on my bill. What should I do?
On the home front
Mr. Waffle is playing a blinder or else he’s putting up a brave front. It’s hard to tell. He had 5 consecutive hours of  sleep last night having stashed the boys in strategic locations about the house so that they wouldn’t wake each other up. I’m not sure that it will be feasible to keep a cot in the kitchen in the medium term, but we can think about that.
Mr. Waffle is much more upset than I am by the fact that our infants continue, at 8 months, to sleep like newborns. I wasn’t quite sure why that was until he said to me “you made a deal with God, didn’t you, they could wake as often as they liked, provided that they didn’t have CMV” and I realised straight away that he was right. In fact, I think I promised never to complain about anything ever again, if I remember rightly. And though I have not, perhaps, held true to that, I think I have become much better at resigning myself to everyday problems that arise. I may have to cede my place on the “whinge for Ireland” team to a new contestant.  Beth knows what I mean.
