Back to full parent mode now that school is out for a long summer A substance second only to plutonium on the league table of noxious waste
THERE are times when all you can do is laugh at how little control you have over your life. The Whirlwind Princess finished her first year of big school on Wednesday at noon and what a year it was. From ABCs, she has progressed to writing her name, doing addition and subtraction and outfoxing her Daddy with her razor sharp, steel trap memory.
‘The world is so strange,’ she declared in the car on Monday morning as I explained time zones to her. Blessed with a great imagination, like her Daddy, the lines between fact and fiction blurred as she composed her own reality, where night is day and everything is inverted.
Many landmark moments were achieved throughout the year, from walking her up the steps to her school, hand firmly clasped, to letting her cross along the traffic calming lines under the watchful gaze of the lollipop lady. A few times, on the school to creche run, she confided truths she barely deigned to utter, from class, like how she was caught picking her nose once, or how a boy had pulled up her skirt in the yard.
Like every parent, getting the children out of the house in the morning is the day’s ultimate test and once this is achieved everything’s a doddle.
My daughter and the Little Fella have reminded me this year about the importance of being organised and up early. After a rocky start I managed to achieve a better routine and everyone is benefiting.
My wife and I parted ways this past year and co-parenting has been a challenge, but I think we’re doing a good job.
The last few days of June have thrown up a new challenge, summer with an almost six-year-old, so it should be the quickest summer of my life.
Last weekend alone we attended two festivals, the beach, a local park, a dance show, a restaurant complete with play areas, an outdoor theatre production of Peter Pan and a carnival.
The children got to spend time with their grandfather, while making some new friends.
Up next is a few weeks summer camp for my daughter, where more friends will be made. Oh, to have the time to be in stimulating environments with my peers.
There will be plenty of opportunities for further adventures over the summer months and for proper lunch breaks, without school to creche runs, dance class drop offs and swim classes.
Watching Peter Pan in a resplendent sun soaked garden on Sunday evening with my children, in a rare monent of bliss, the story took on a more sombre dimension, addressing time and how quickly it flies by.
There are times when we just muddle through life and other times when we enjoy every drop of it and last weekend was one of those.
The belly laughter of a child is something that brightens any day and with the sun shining there were plenty of sunny moments, hinting at further happinesses to come.
The stresses and strains of life fall away and life becomes as simple as a bucket and spade, sand, sea and ice cream.
There was a dark cloud on the horizon this week as my former colleagues in The Echo newspaper lost their jobs. To endure such a loss at any time must be incredibly difficult to contend with, but for it to be so sharp, so sudden, is something which will take time to fully get over and come to terms with, but support will not be found wanting.
TIDY Towns has Our Town terrorised. Apologies, that should read: Tidy Towns has Our Town transformed. Sorry about that. The drive to neaten up the streets and boost our standings in the national competition has certainly been a keen topic of debate in these parts. And advancement in local politics has been achieved by many of our public representatives on the back of anti-litter campaigns.
Never mind whether candidates are in favour of a 26-County Republic, a 32-County Republic or secession by our single proud County to form its own independent Republic. Never mind whether they are left-wing, right wing or completely flightless. Would-be councillors who have shown willing with a rubbish picker and a refuse sack are more or less guaranteed a quota when the elections come around.
Voters are impressed by someone who is willing to roll up the sleeves and fill a refuse skip. The local politician who is out and about scouring highways and by-ways for discarded tin cans and cigarette packets is also more approachable than the one who operates out of an office. This is street politics at its simple best, a demonstration of good works and pride of place which is hard to beat - and impossible to criticise.
There is no Tidy Towns party as such on the council but three councillors particularly embody the great clean up crusade. Over the past ten years our reputation has graduated from being on a par with a Brazilian shanty slum to matching the standards set by Neetaasniuewpinn, the Our Town twin town in Holland.
The trio who deserve most credit for this immaculate state of affairs allowing anyone who so wishes to eat their dinner off the pavements are Councillors White, Green and Blue. Councillor White organises litter patrols on summer evenings, with volunteers in hi-viz jackets and rubber gloves. Councillor Green wages a one man war against outdoor cider parties, collecting mounds of discarded drink cans. Councillor Blue haunts the outlying housing estates, sifting through dumped rubbish in search of clues to identify offenders.
White, Green and Blue are fervently united on two issues. First, litter bugs should be, if not put in the stocks and pelted with half eaten slices of pizza, then at least named and shamed by way of lists published in the press. Second, dog dirt is second only to plutonium as a noxious substance, a material which has no place whatsoever on our side-walks or lawns.
And so say all of us. And so said I too the other evening rambling around town with The Pooch waving cheerily to the litter patrols. Before they took to the streets, the main square was a sea of garbage. Nowadays, citizens are so well trained that there is no need for litter bins and no responsible dog owner ventures on to the street without little plastic bags to scoop up the poop.
I checked the back pocket where I always, always, always keep my bags – only to find there was none. A change of trousers had been followed by failure to transfer bags (scented, according to the blurb on the box, with handles and ties for ease of usage) to the new jeans. So, here I was, a kilometre or more from home, with a terrier suddenly poised to poop.
The Pooch hunkered down on the kerb and opened up the prospect of my becoming instant Public Enemy Number One. In plain view of two groups of litter vigilantes, oops, volunteers he deposited a steaming pile of stools on the path. I felt the eyes of all the town upon me as I looked around for an old crisp packet or maybe some tin foil sandwich wrapping chucked in the gutter to mop up the mess. There was no crisp packet, no tin foil either, and no sign of one of those cardboard coffee mugs which would have been a godsend.
In desperation. I pulled out my wallet, willing to sacrifice a tenner if necessary to the Tidy Towns cause. Mercifully, this was not required. The poop was conveyed home wrapped in one of those supermarket receipts which tell you on one side not only how much you spent and also advertise bargains on the other side.
I may have missed out on a discount rate for a hotel break in Tipperary but at least my reputation remains intact.