It's the usual craziness round the D'Oubby way.
But lots of good stuff!
I've started to write a new book! A crime thriller! (I felt that the two spare minutes I have left a day were just temptation for the Devil. )
What else... let me see. Oh, yes, we are getting our garden redesigned! Yes! No longer will we be able to rent out our back garden to film crews who want a waste land location. The children will be able to play outside without the worry of wolf attack. Sure the last remaining example of the Dublin lowland Tiger will be made extinct when we destroyed it's natural habitat, but what price my desire to bar-b-que???
|They were are underwhlemed as we were|
We had a pleasant St Patrick's Day. The boys were in the local parade. Which was pretty lame, truth be told. The parade, not the boys. Though, I must say, they weren't exactly giving it their all as they lumped by in their Cub Scout uniforms and green hats. Couldn't they have been tying some knots as they went? Lighting a mobile campfire? Even a bit of a dib dib dib chant would have been good. But we were just meant to be stunned by the majesty of their existence.
Next year we're going to into the town parade.
|Lily was deeply bitter that this was her first St Patricks Day parade experience. It was rubbish.|
But the very, very best news of all is that we have acquired an ice cream man! This is super news.
Let me tell you a story....
(A bit of background first...) So, a number of years ago I heard of a mammy who came up with the rule of tirds for her kids communion money. One third to be saved. One third to be spent. And one third to charity. I thought this was a great idea. So, when son number one made his communion three years ago, he was informed that this was how things were going to happen. And last year, when son number two went through it all, he got the same lecture.
But, the D'Oubs being the D'oubs, the money got put in a savings account and we never quite got round to sorting it out. But Mr D'oub last week got a fit of organisation upon him and consolidated a few of the kids accounts credit union/bank etc... this seemed like a good time to talk to the chaps about giving some of their loot away. They looked a little pained. I worried that my amazing mothering had been ever so slightly too much for them, that they hadn't 'got it' and were in fact greedy selfish little heathens. But after a pause, sweet and thoughtful son number one said 'Ok, I'll give (insert large amount of money here) to charity.' Son number two said 'Me two!'
And then it happened.
Jingle, jingle, jingle.
From outside, the sound more beautiful than a baby's laugh, came from our road. AN ICE CREAM VAN!!!!
You must understand. Ice cream vans don't come our way. We are surrounded by retirees where we live. Lovely OAP's each and everyone of them, but there is a reason ice cream vans don't have 'Mind That Pensioner' on the back.
I looked at each child.
I screamed 'ICE CREAM VAN!'
They screamed 'ICE CREAM VAN!'
We all screamed 'ICE CREAM VAN!'
I grabbed my purse, thrust five euros in their little hands and said 'Run! Run! Catch the ice cream man before he leaves and never comes back!'
And yay, they doth run and gather to them some 99s. And they were good.
And what did I get to do?
I got to say to them - look kiddies, you agree to give money to charity, and look, ice cream appears.
Now, if I can only find out what time he plans on coming every day, I could fleece those rich kids.