St Patrick’s day has become all about the dancing. Their friends go to parades or hang out in parks, and my two don the sparklies and do the rounds of the local area, dancing in pubs, the youth club and on the street. Watch the video here. When I checked last, it had 66K views- I’m fairly sure most of those are from the dancers themselves, examining hairstyles or wondering how they ‘messed up’. You should note that it was a sunny day in Belfast, worthy of many views for that reason alone…
The next night there was a ceili, when the internet stars helped the tiny dancers, all the enthusiastic siblings and dutiful parents around the floor. It’s a powerful demonstration of their patience, and ability to keep smiling through havoc. Dance classes are about so much more than the dancing.
And when all the dancing was done, it was the turn of the grown ups. The excitement! We packed up and went west to the caravan on the hill.
We saw evidence of spring- not just the struggling city daffodils, but lambs bouncing about and whin bushes (gorse) blossoming beautiful yellow. We sat outside and looked at the sea, and the hills and beaches in the distance. We walked on the beach, and sat and watched the waves. We explored and clambered on rocks. There may have been an ice cream or two.
Of course there was cleaning, and airing and rearranging of all the suff. (One of us is going to have to stop buying the decorative ‘seaside’ items.) Ceilings and walls were wiped down, and now rarely noticed bits of my body are protesting. We’ll bring the hose next, for the outside. That’s the fun bit.
We’re back. We will work to find the annual compromise- we’ll be there more often than the girls would like, but not as much as I want. We will chill out, and visit the water park. We will do homework and sleep plenty. We will play board games, and I will lose. Them’s the rules.