Kinvara and Home Cinema

We've been planning a visit to Dunguaire Castle for months and finally got around to taking the kids there today along with one of Boy's wee girlfriends and her mammy. If only we had checked the opening times, we would have known that the castle is closed October-March.

In the end we had a great morning anyway. We took a stroll around the castle, stopping to pick up a geocache halfway round. The lower walk was easy enough for the toddlers to manage but not obvious enough to entice the throngs of tourists jamming their noses and camera lenses through the locked castle gates. It also offered a good view across the water's edge to the pretty village of Kinvara, about half a mile from the castle itself. On reflection, the babies probably had a better time scrambling over the grass and rocks than they would have if we had gone straight in to the castle.

Afterwards we took another walk around Kinvara itself and Boy and his pal had a merry old time chasing each other, blowing bubbles, and picking daisies to stick in their woolly hats (Girl was forcibly adorned too).

After deciding we needed a coffee to warm up we soon discovered that the castle is not the only part of Kinvara that closes for winter. Our favourite spot, Burren Beo was closed, as was my friend's cafe of choice. In the end we stopped into Keogh's pub. Their staff were mighty understanding about the two mischief makers - as were their other customers who happened to be friends, thank goodness for the small small world of County Galway.

On the drive home I reflected how much more fun Boy appears to have when there is another child his age to share it with. I'm hoping when Girl gets on her feet they can provide that company to each other.

This evening we tried watching a proper video all together for the first time. B lit a fire, we all got into PJs and I made popcorn and hot dogs for dinner with bottles of water (that's all the food groups, right?). We decided to shun the more predictable Disney cartoon classics for my favourite childhood film, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Sorry Johnny Depp, you're cute and all that but no one could ever replace Gene Wilder in the role of Mr Wonka. That actor is one of a kind. Moreover, Oompa Loompas should not all look exactly alike - terribly racist, or at least xenophobic towards Loompaland. But enough of social politics for the insane...

We hoped at least to get to Augustus Gloop's downfall and the first Oompa Loompa chorus before one of the babies lost interest, puked, or otherwise halted the proceedings. In the end we somehow, wonderfully, managed to watch the whole thing. Girl fell asleep somewhere around Violet, you're turning violet, Violet! and Boy was utterly enraptured by the whole film. From the rippling chocolate backdrop of the opening credits he was glued to the screen. He smiled, giggled, danced and didn't seem at all bothered by the scary bits (like that freaky boat ride, anyone?) His only protest came when Mammy overquoted certain bits of the film, and sang along with a little too much gusto but to be fair, Daddy was about ready to throw his popcorn at me too. By the end Boy was happily exhausted and went down to bed with no fuss and a look of sleepy content only matched by yours truly.

We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams...

Bubbles and Puddles

After some recent "Long Walks" I came up with the perfect cunning plan to help us move forward and beat the snails to storytime at the library today. Old faithful, a bottle of bubble mix. The plan was to blow bubbles and have Boy chase them, allowing us all to enjoy a walk without constantly trying to find ways to hurry up a bit (ooh, want to walk on that wall up there? ooh look at that dog across the road, come on, let's run and chase that jogger etc etc).

Unfortunately I forgot to have a planning meeting with my old buddy, the freezing February wind, who decided it would be a fine jape to blow the bubbles in the opposite direction to where I was heading, no matter which direction that might be. Twice I had to run and pop the bubbles myself to stop Boy chasing them onto the road. However once he knew I had them there was no going back. More bubbles! Want more more more! Want more bubbles! At one point I discovered if I knelt down the bubbles went straight towards Girl in the buggy, much to her delight. They also hit the ground faster and because it had been raining, many of them hit the ground without bursting, so we were able to see the rainbow colours and our own reflections before stamping on them and screaming POP in a very un-pop-like fashion. That was fun.

Boy spotted some dew on a green plant and spent a good while trying to pop the dewdrops while exclaiming "flower bubbles!" Wrong on both counts, but cute, so I let him off.

Finally I caved and used the even older faithful - puddles - to distract from the contrary bubble fiasco. Boy has a fine pair of colourful wellies that I NEVER remember to put on him. I convince myself several times a week that it's OK for him to ruin his shoes at this point because he'll surely grow out of them soon anyway and need a new pair. I don't listen to the tiny voice of reason who points out that Boy has freakishly small feet that never seem to grow - he's been in the same pair of size fives for nearly six months, and that's only because he lost one of the last pair (also size five). His toenails don't grow either, but I'll save that mystery story for another day.

So the pair of us danced up the street jumping in every puddle we could find on the pavement - yes, that big puddle on the road is for cars - and forgot about wet socks and shoes for a couple of hours. The librarian probably wasn't delighted by the footprints, but both babies were tired out by the time we arrived and for the first time Boy sat (or stood) and listened to a story, while Girl sat on my knee flashing toothy grins to anyone that looked her way.

There's something quite therapeutic about splashing in puddles and I couldn't help feeling a bit sorry that Girl missed out on the fun. Her day will come too though, probably sooner than I would like. I just hope she reminds me to put on her wellies.

Ailwee Cave and Birds of Prey Centre

It was another really beautiful day today - and a proper sunny Sunday in February demands nothing less than a trip to the beautiful Burren. We recently spent a fiver's worth of Tesco clubcard vouchers on a €20 token for the Ailwee caves in north Clare and today seemed like the perfect day to use them. My favourite part of any day trip to this part of the country is - no competition - the drive from Kinvara to Ballyvaughan. On a sunny day the Burren hills to the left look almost purple, Galway Bay on the right is the kind of blue found in Mediterranean travel brochures, the houses dotted around look like Lego creations and the views are just breathtaking.

The Ailwee Cave is set on a large site with enough to occupy a family or group of any age for at least several hours. We buy a combined ticket for the Bird of Prey centre and the cave, costing us an extra €14 on top of our token. By the time we arrive it is nearly midday and we head straight to the Bird of Prey Centre where we take a walk around the owls, hawks, buzzards and other birds, who eye up Girl like a particularly rare feast they might partake in if we would only turn away for a moment (we don't). Soon it is time for the flying display and we sit on wooden benches facing a truly beautiful backdrop of Ailwee Mountain. B and I have been to Disney-type bird shows before, but this is quite different. There are only three birds shown - an owl, an eagle and a falcon. Although the birds do fly for the reward of some unspecified furry looking titbits (and I'm sure I saw some toes too), they do not perform "tricks" and the atmosphere is one of education and caring for the birds. The speakers are knowledgeable and friendly. They encourage questions and there is even an opportunity for older children (fine, and me) to have a rather friendly eagle perch on a leather-gloved arm. Both babies really enjoy the show, despite its length and lack of pizzazz and Boy spends the next hour or so asking "where's the owl?" Or he might be saying "where's Elmo?". Sometimes it is hard to tell. We leave shortly before the end of the show, as both babies are reaching the end of their patience.

There is a charming but steep woodland walk up to the cave, but we decide to take the car up so as to reach the top before closing time next Friday. We don't have long to wait for the next cave tour. The tour lasts around 30 minutes, and buggies are not allowed. A guide takes us along the first part of the loop, then lets us find our way back ourselves. The cave is interesting, but not spectacular. While there are stalagmites and stalactites, waterfalls and a few bones, there are better examples of these features in other showcaves in Ireland (e.g. Crag Cave in Co Kerry). Nevertheless, Boy really enjoys the cave. He walks most of the tour himself and stays in good humour long past his nap time. Girl falls asleep in B's arms.

Once the cave tour is finished we head back into the sunshine. Boy tries to drag us up the Ailwee mountain itself. Sadly Girl is now awake and yelling and B's arms have lost all feeling so we have to cut the walk very short. This was a pity as it was such a beautiful day and there is a lovely mountain path with truly stunning views. We leave vowing to come back and climb the mountain again when the babies are a little older. We stop at the farm shop on the way out, but despite promises of homemade fudge and award winning cheese, the shop is closed, so we head home munching some award-free, mass produced apple rice cakes instead. The Ailwee Cave is best enjoyed as a fine weather day out, and while the site has a few more attractions during summer (like a kiddies' train ride), we felt it was worth coming in the off-season to avoid the huge crowds of tourists that flock here in summer. We understand why they do, though.

A Pain in the Swings

Play parks seem such a simple, cost-free, and fun way of spending time with your children. So when I saw what a sunny morning it was I wondered why I hadn't taken the kids in so long. There is a small but very adequate playpark less than five minute's walk from home, so I set off with the double buggy to give B a couple of hours' peace and quiet.

Less than half an hour later I suddenly remembered why we hadn't been to the park in so long. We head straight for the swings as usual. Boy and Girl sit side by side in the baby swings and we indulge in the usual Ready, steady, go! and Got your feet! Got your tummy! Got your nose! Both babies are in fits of giggles, grinning at each other and generally the picture of happy families. After about 10 or 15 minutes I try and persuade Boy to try playing on the slide or the roundabout for a change. He shakes his head, so I push for another five minutes. Now Girl is getting cold. Out she comes and gets wrapped up in the buggy.

I gently extract Boy and nudge him towards the slide. He climbs the ladder, with a bit of help then stands at the top whining incoherently. In the end I have to lift him down and he runs straight back to the swings. A familiar creeping sense of foreboding has suddenly come across me. After another five minutes, my hands are numb and Girl is turning slightly blue. The sun may be shining, but let's be real here: it's Galway, and it's February.

The usual snack and chugger bribery has failed. Eventually I drag Boy kicking and screaming from the park just in time to run into a friend taking her pink and smiling baby out for a morning stroll. I try to swap buggies without her noticing but she's too smart for me. Boy is headbutting the side bars of the buggy and wailing as if I have just deprived him of the only pleasure he has ever experienced. This tantrum lasts half an hour (yes, I timed it). That's longer than we spent in the park altogether. Eventually he falls asleep, nose smooshed into the front bar of the buggy, just moments before we reach home.

It may be a while before we go to the swings again. There is plenty of other fun to be had: watch this space...

Morning Stroll

Had a parcel to post today, so set out for the Post Office at 10am for what should have been the 20 minute gentle stroll there and back. This turned into a 3 hour hike - due not to any detours, but only to the incomprehensibly slow pace of Boy, who acts as if sitting in the double buggy is an admission of weakness and takes any encouragement to do so as a personal slight. After keeping Mammy and Daddy awake for most of the night, Girl passes out the second we step out the front door and stays asleep for most of the morning.

The 2km walk to the shops has its own familiar waypoints. Stage One is the tantrum that invariably occurs as we pass the first coffee shop and Boy realises we are walking straight past. Stage two is The Wall. The Wall is an excellent distractor from Stage One. Its primary reasons for being are to be walked upon or jumped off, although today it manages a hat trick, serving as train tracks for Wilson-Chugger. Chatsworth lies neglected in Boy's buggy seat. Action Chugger lies in the river, where Boy threw him during Stage Four last week.

A single early tulip has somehow appeared in someone's garden and I show Boy how to smell it. For the rest of the morning he stops and sniffs every plant, blade of grass, mossy wall and ivy covered telegraph pole, letting his breath go with a delighted "ahhh". I draw the line and the old cigarette butt he picks up to sniff.

Stage Three is the third coffee shop. By this time Girl is snoring hard, Boy is practically walking backwards he's so slow, and I am desperate for a breather."The usual?" calls the waitress as we enter, reminding me just a little too hard that we come in here just a little too often. Boy remembers his manners: "Peas", as his espresso cup of milk is set down in front of him. When the toast arrives he bawls "Mammylade! Mammylade!" but the waitress is on the ball and three little portions of marmalade appear immediately. I hide two of them, as usual.

When Girl wakes up and unabashedly steals the last of the toast it's time to leave and resume the snail's crawl to Stage Four: the river. We used to feed the ducks at the bridge regularly until one day I realised there wasn't a duck in sight and Boy was just as happy standing by the river eating stale bread. Now I just use "The Ducks!" as a way to keep him moving in the right direction. By the time we reach the river the shops are finally in view and it's a race to get to the post office before it closes for lunch.

Stage Five: just yards from the post office an escalator beckons and Boy takes the requisite tantrum. Luckily the tractor ride provides a speedy distraction. I have never yet put any money in the tractor ride, but that doesn't seem to bother Boy and finally at five minutes to 12 we reach the Post Office. The Long Walk Home follows much the same pattern, although we manage without a coffee break. Wilson-Chugger gets driven along the walls and windowsills of the opposite side of the road and by the time we reach home Boy has finally succumbed to the buggy, ready to pass out for his afternoon nap, while Girl decides this would be a splendid time to wake up, just in case Mammy got ideas above her station, like the possibility of getting some shut-eye herself. Ah the joys.