Bookish

Let us take a moment to marvel at the fact that it's December now. I can start contemplating Christmas in earnest. And we can all listen to this.

[A co-worker of mine in Pennsylvania once remarked to the office cleaning lady, as we were expecting winter weather, that it hadn't started snowing in earnest yet. The poor woman naturally asked her where Earnest was. (To be fair, there are a lot of odd placenames in Pennsylvania: Intercourse, Lima, Bethlehem, Blue Knob...)]

There is a lot of snow in Ireland right now. This is not good. The country is already in economic chaos, and nobody has budgeted for salt, or grit, or snow shovels, because this much snow is not normal. And my parents, who are past elderly and into just plain old, live at the top of two steep hills and say things like, "I know we didn't have to go to Mass, but we were fine, really...". So if you have any influence with the weather gods, please tell them to stop it. At least by the time we fly in, because if our flights are messed up due to the weather I'll be particularly put out.

Also, if you know me in person and read this blog but I don't know you do, it would be lovely if you'd say hi in the comments, so that I don't go telling you the same story twice, or twelve times, by accident.

None of that is what I came here to say.

Our local library has been closed for renovations for the past six months, depriving us of a much-needed dropping-in and killing-time spot for when the weather is inclement, since it's right beside Monkey's nursery school and the community center around which much of the toddler-set action revolves. Today, we went along to see the new, improved, excitingly open, library.

Mabel ran inside, thrilled, shouting, "It's open! Yaaay!" as befits a book lover like herself. The other patrons looked on, benignly tolerant of the elfin moppet. She made a beeline for the lovely new twirly orange stools in front of the computers, climbed up, and proceeded to bang happily on the keyboard. Her brother followed suit. Luckily, the workstations were all offline, or out of order, or something, so they didn't have a chance to break much, and I pulled them off and tried to interest them in the books. "Look, books. Remember? Ooh, let's find some good books to take home..."

Monkey wasn't remotely interested in books, except for a copy of The Snowman he found that was just the same as the one we own, and which he very much wanted to borrow. When I cruelly shot down that idea, he started climbing into the windowsills and showing me how he could stick his leg out and balance. He complained that there was nothing very cool here, and he was only interested in things that were very cool. Not even just cool; they have to be very cool to pass muster with mister 'I wear my sunglasses at night' over here.

I found a few books, rescued Mabel from the computer stools again (or vice versa, more like) and decided the thrill of the new library had palled and we were ready to go. As Monkey started to whine about something else, again, and my patience began to trickle out of the soles of my shoes, the unfortunate coincidence of my vehement hand movement with his unlucky head movement made me stab him, hard, in the nostril with my fingernail.

There were tears, wailing and guilt-ridden apologies, and I tried to head quickly for the door before we disturbed the whole library. Mabel had other ideas, and decided this would be a good time to run away and play can't-catch-me between the adult fiction shelves. So I had to deposit her still loudly-and-snottily-heaving brother on a stool (not a twirly one) while I retrieved her, and then carry/chivvy the pair of them outside, smiling through gritted teeth at the nice librarians and wondering if we'll ever be allowed through the doors again.

I might send their father the next time.