Absent Fathers

CC#2 wants a quiet celebration of his 21 years. Just his parents, his brother and the lovely Orlanda. My ex-husband - pause, while I think of a funny name… I can’t - and I haven’t lived in the same country for over fifteen years, and we've navigated these milestones very well so far. It works, in that I bring the boys up and he visits for special occasions. You never know how these things are going to turn out; leaps of faith were frequent in my past. Like everything else over the last few years, there is a lot of pressure on us. When it comes to parental issues, all I can say is the children come first.

Clarice was confirmation sponsor for CC#2 and I wondered if she'd like to join us. The birthday boy was delighted with that idea and I’m very glad she came. My sons have grown up in the company of my girlfriends, many of whom have been like honorary aunts, as I've no sisters. And I've much appreciated when these ladies have stepped up in the early years, to collect them from school or watch them for an hour. Now the boys display a great fondness for them, especially Cruella and Clarice. As these women are now more likely to give them career advice or simply indulge them.

Not having seen ex in nearly a year, I arrive with a studio portrait photo of the boys and our dog, which he’s delighted to receive and brings out the baby photographs from his wallet, I don't even have those. They’ve all had a few pints, and are on the mellow side. Next thing, the dad recalls the night that CC#2 was born, or rather the whole day hour by hour, including the rugby score. It's always funny to watch the faces of big boys when you talk about their babyhood, or rather, their jaws hang open, especially when their girlfriend is present. It's no harm to be the centre of attention for one evening a year. So, I for one will continue to be a pain in the neck about birthdays.

We make our way to Chez Max, our favourite French restaurant, where you’re guaranteed snails dripping in garlic sauce and a sense of being out of Dublin for a few hours, albeit with rain pounding overhead; I hope it will be a night CC#2 will remember, for all the right reasons.

With a Little Help from my Friends

After 1,360 page views on DAFT since January and over twenty viewings, the new tenant moves in this evening. The vote was unanimous at Sunday lunch yesterday. I took a straw poll with Cruella and other girlfriends before the first bottle of wine was consumed, so there can be no accusation of bias towards Dr Kovac.

I’ve taken down my ad and also my b&b ad from Airbnb, where I was running into lengthy correspondence with new pen pals from all over the globe. I’ve written apologies to all the runners up, a golden orb appeared in the sky this morning and has stayed put all day, there is washing on the actual line. It’s approaching 8 degrees, I just need to win the Monday Million and all will be well with the world.

Which reminds me, Cruella commented yesterday that my posts appear to be written in the middle of the night, she presumed I came in from a party and got keyboard happy, every night? No, it’s the google clock, it seems to log the posts around 8 hours behind Irish time. That’s my story anyway. I can assure you I haven’t been known to write coherently at that time of day.

The five girlfriends agreed the gap since Christmas was way too long to have convened a lunch. A quorum of four is all that’s required for a thorough-going analysis of all that’s wrong with the world and the ensuing six hour debate on how it’s put right. I could only stay for five hours so I’ve missed at least a further five hours of material for the ‘girlfriend lunch’ post. It will have to be assembled some other time, they were far too sober and forbidding for me to use anything discussed up to 7pm. From whence I got myself home to go back out on the absentee boyfriend date. Is there some coincidence with the tenant uptake in my house and his frequency of visits of late? Like I said before, he isn’t known as absentee the last four years for nothing, I think he started off as invisible boyfriend, or useless boyfriend and has graduated to the more permanent title, harking back to absentee landlords, those men that had a territorial interest in Ireland, but lived and worked elsewhere.

As a dinner date I believe it went quite well, especially as I wasn’t in the least bit hungry having partaken of the finest fare assembled by our girlfriend group earlier and I wasn't in the least bit interested in prolonging the evening into dancing or any such crazy notion. 

Budding entrepreneur lunch hostess had only returned from Morocco with baby son, and deposited him with his dad that morning, ready to greet us glowing with a healthy tan. She made it all look so easy that I’m inspired to host the next one, knowing I won’t be rushing anywhere. The days of sitting seventeen women down for lunch in my home are long gone; you can only talk to four or five with any sort of comfort. So, not being hungry at dinner and only having to deal with a delicious starter, I was able to offer all the advice and perspective that AB required. Because, reader, between lunch and dinner chats yesterday, I know we are all feeling different these days, everybody needs an ear or a shoulder, don’t be fooled by appearances.