What is it about kitchen drawers? You put things into them, and they disappear. When you need them, you can’t find them. Then, months later, when you’re rummaging through the drawer looking for the cheque book they re-appear.

It happened to us only last week – when my wife suddenly came across a voucher for dinner at a local hotel. We’d won it in a raffle last October, had put it in the kitchen drawer for safe-keeping and hadn’t seen it since. It was still valid, just, and when Sunday came around gave us the perfect excuse to head out for lunch and let someone else worry about cooking and washing up for a change.

We don’t go out to eat with the children very often, and they seemed to be doing their utmost to remind us of exactly why not. The restaurant was too noisy, it was too dark, the chairs weren’t comfortable enough, the table was too far away… the litany went on and on, and we’d only just sat down.

We went through the menu with them. It was typical Sunday lunch fare: beef, pork, turkey and stuffing, and salmon. For children there was the familiar artery-clogging selection of chicken nuggets and chips, sausages and chips, fish fingers and chips, and so on. We asked the waitress if they could offer half portions of the main meals for children, and she confirmed that they could. So far, so good.

Our waitress arrived to take our order. She was efficient and patient, if not exactly warm. After a lengthy period of procrastination one of the twins finally opted for salmon, the other went for beef, and the little one ordered pork. Things all seemed to be settling down nicely until one of the twins piped up with:  “This restaurant is rubbish, you can only pick meat or fish. Why can’t I pick my favourite vegetables?” I didn’t know whether to laugh or scream.

Instead I tried talking. I explained that there’d be a selection of veg with the meals, and the waitress added that the veg would come on-the-side, apart from the potatoes, so they’d be able to pick and choose what they wanted.

“Mashed or crispy?” came the almost instantaneous retort. She was talking about the potatoes. I explained to the waitress that by crispy she meant roast, and she confirmed that they’d actually get both.  That seemed to satisfy my daughter… for now at least.

Before long the waitress returned with five glasses and a huge jug of water. The food arrived soon afterwards and we all tucked in. I have to say I was pleasantly surprised. Eating out in Ireland so often disappoints. Restaurants routinely charge inflated prices for fare that rarely surpasses the mediocre. Most of the time I’m left feeling that I’d have been better off buying a bag full of ingredients and cooking them at home.

Why is it that so many chefs, who in Cork in particular are surrounded by some of the most sublime ingredients, manage to produced such utterly uninspiring food? There are exceptions, of course, but you have to pay through the nose for them – and even then it can be a pretty hit or miss affair. Compared to the continent, where you can enjoy a memorable three course menu almost anywhere, and often get change from €15 to-boot, eating out here is a joke. But I digress.

The broccoli may have been a shade overdone, the carrots a little under, and the roast potatoes could have done with a little more crunch – but the beef and the pork were beautifully tender and tasty, and the salmon was poached to perfection. All in all, as a family dining experience I’d have to give it a respectable seven out of ten.

Technorati Tags: parenting, eating out, Ireland, Evening Echo

When the headmistress of the local National School rang to ask my wife if she’d fill in as a relief teacher for a few days she jumped at the chance. It was an opportunity to re-enter the workplace, however briefly, and the prospect of working with other people’s children would make a welcome break from minding our own.

One of the great advantages of me working from home is that when something comes up unexpectedly, like this teaching opportunity, it’s relatively easy to accommodate it. There’s no need to worry about childcare, for instance – I can just rearrange my work to suit.

So for the first time in a long time my wife went off to work while I stayed at home. It felt strange – but in a good way.

The little one and I stood at the front door waving her off, then we cleared up the aftermath of breakfast before heading up to my office in the back garden. I  was pondering the dilemma of how to juggle the demands of work and the antics of a quarrelsome three-year-old, but as it turned out I had nothing to worry about. The novelty factor of spending the morning with Dad kicked in and my little devil suddenly turned all angelic on me. I checked my e-mail and started work on an article while she sat at the other desk playing on my old laptop, asking the occasional question, but otherwise leaving me to it. We had a great time.

The twins are still at an age where the thought of Mum being a teacher at their school was a source of great excitement, rather than the embarrassment it would surely become in a few short years. As soon as they heard the news they couldn’t stop chattering about it. She wouldn’t be teaching their class – but they clamoured for details of what Mummy would be doing with the other children.

One of the things she had planned was for me to take our two pet ferrets in to show the class. Primary school children and ferrets: an unconventional combination, but one that turned out to be inspired! The children were so excited when I arrived at the classroom door with the ferrets in a cat box.

I guess ferrets qualify as pretty unusual pets. They have an undeserved reputation for being vicious, but in reality are much the same as cats or dogs in that regard. A mistreated ferret will be unpredictable and may bite, but a well cared for, regularly handled ferret that is used to human contact won’t. They’re curious, intelligent and affectionate creatures – incredibly mischievous and playful. They’re kind of like kittens that never grow up; if you give them time, and play with them regularly, they make fantastic pets.

The children at the school were fascinated by them. Interestingly the younger ones were far less apprehensive, eager to get up close, to touch and hold the animals. The older children in the school were much more nervous, preferring to keep their distance.
There were plenty of questions too. What do they eat, how big do they grow, how old are they, how old do they get, what sort of animals are they, do you let them out in your house?

“Do they bite?” asked someone from the back of the throng. Right on cue the ferret in my right hand yawned, revealing an impressively wide gape and a set of needle-sharp incisors. Far from engendering irrational fear though, the revelation just fuelled a fresh spurt of questions. It was heartening to see such a healthy level of curiosity. Here were young minds eager to learn.

When we got home, the ferrets curled up in their hammock and went straight to sleep. They can sleep for up to 16 hours a day, have food and water available on demand and do pretty much what they want, when they want.

I wasn’t jealous. I didn’t have time to be jealous. I had hungry children to feed, the lawn needed mowing and I still had that article to finish….

Technorati Tags: parenting, children, ferrets, school, pets, Evening Echo

Bonjour and hola!

We’ve been threatening to go on a family road-trip and camping holiday in France and Spain for a while now, and yesterday I finally booked the ferry. Now that it’s booked, part of me is exhilarated at the thought of it, and part of me is dreading the prospect of several weeks on the road with the the children.

When I think of the culture, the food, the people, the places, the languages, and the scenery I’m elated. When I think of enjoying time with my family, seeing new things, experiencing all the wonders other country’s have to offer, I’m elated. When I think about long hours cooped up in the car listening to the endless tirade from the back seat, and putting up our eight-man monster of a tent while the rest of the gang cower in the car to shelter from the rain… well, then I’m less enthused.

Still, for better or for worse, we’re going, and that’s that.

This will be the first proper family holiday we’ve been on in ages. The last couple of trips – to Australia and Sweden – don’t  really count. The first was for my brother’s wedding, with all the stress, angst and obligation that a family wedding always entails. The second was a trip to visit my uncle, who lives in Sweden for part of the year now, and we were up to our ears in snow.

This time we’re beholden to no-one. We’ve arranged to meet a few friends in both countries along the way – but we’re going under our own steam and doing our own thing.

As for the girls they’re delighted. They’ve already started learning snippets of French and Spanish from their Mum, who speaks both having lived in France and Mexico in a former life. They’re doing amazingly well, especially the little one, who’s soaking it all up like a sponge. The other morning at breakfast, as I ladled out another helping of porridge for her, she turned to me and said “Tres bien Daddy” in such perfect French that I had to double check it was her who had spoken.

The twins are picking it up too, but ever since starting school they’re not picking things up half as quickly as they used to. I think it’s the fact that the school system tries to shoehorn young minds into learning and thinking in a prescribed way, and stifles the way children naturally absorb knowledge from the world around them. It’s certainly something we’ll have to keep an eye on and nurture before the school system obliterates it completely – and in part that’s what this trip is all about.

That’s one of the reasons I’m not worried about the fact that we’re taking them out of school a little before they break up for their summer holidays. I’m absolutely convinced that they’ll learn more travelling around France and Spain than they will in school over the same period. Later in their academic careers it might be an issue – but missing the last few days of the summer term in Senior Infants is hardly going to leave any lasting academic scars.

Now the sun’s shining, so I’m off to put the tent up and make sure all the bits are there. As soon as they see the tent up, of course, the girls will want to sleep in it – and that means we’ll all have to, even though we have perfectly comfortable beds to sleep in. Still, better to discover we’re short a peg here and a guy-rope there while where still at home, rather than in the dead of night at a French camp-site.

Technorati Tags: Evening Echo, Parenting, Children, Camping, Writing