TERAPROOF:User:johndolanDate:25/05/2010Time:12:41:58Edition:26/05/2010WOWwow260510Page:8 Zone:EW1

8 9Wednesday, May 26, 2010 Wednesday, May 26, 2010EW1 - V1

ROOT canal work. Meeting the bank manager.When the Garda steps out onto the road. All incitea feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach.And the children’s birthday party, let’s not forget

that one. Even better, let’s have two of them toattend in one day and really ramp up the anxiety!A few years ago, I bounced the baby on my knee

and watched bewildered as friends with older kidsstarted on the birthday party trail. I watched asevery weekend became a mad dash to a playcentre or a frantic search for a playschool chum’shouse with a sign that said ‘Freya’s party this way!’I watched as the weekly shop included several

birthday gifts from the toy section as they would“always be needed”. A plethora of age cards werepurchased and put away. One wise mum-of-girls Iknow stocks up every time she sees a special offeron hair bobbles and pencils with fluffy tops. Achild’s social life is very expensive!God, I sound like The Grinch. I don’t mean to; the

kids always have a brilliant time and where elsewould you get to wear all those beautiful outfitsGranny buys? But it can be hard work.Last weekend, we had two parties on Saturday

— 2-4pm and 4-6pm. The first was at Davina’s whohas three kids and that renders her unflappable. Myproblem was going to be getting Zoe to leave thatone in time to make the second one for 4pm. Wehad to be on time because a) I was bringing thechocolate marshmallows (my new party piece) andb) it was my lovely god-daughter’s big day.The previous week saw Zoe getting more and

more excited. “I wear my pink dress Mama!” sheyelled. “No way,” I growled “you’re wearing the neworange outfit I paid a fortune for (and waitedmonths for occasion to wear). We shopped for pinktrampolines, pink beads, pink outfits...lots of pink.We rearranged grandparent visits and shooed Zoeto bed early on Friday so I could melt chocolate.The fridge was a shrine to marshmallows.Saturday arrived and with it, the predicted heat-

wave. Having won the battle to keep freshlywashed hair out of the sun cream, we negotiatedhard for the orange outfit and relented on the shoechoice (I wanted sandals, she wanted trainers).I threw on washes and attempted all the jobs I

usually do at weekends. Then, we did the groceryin record time and loaded up presents and marsh-mallows before heading to for Granny’s for an earlylunch with me screaming at the girl to stay out ofthe sandpit and not to get dirty.Having gulped lunch, we took off for Davina’s

house and arrived a mere 10 minutes late. Very fewcars were outside. A small girl definitely notdressed for her birthday party answered the door,looked at us proffering gifts as if we were mad andinformed me that I had the wrong day.My heart stopped. Racing through the house, I

found Davina breaking her heart at my mistake.Having laughed at who got the dates mixed up, wespent a pleasant hour chatting, while birthday girlopened her present a day early and my daughterpoured bubble solution all over her new outfit.The mix-up also meant that I was early with the

rapidly melting marshmallows to my god-daughter’sparty, which soon descended into toddler chaoswith mums trying to keep control as the dadssunned themselves and talked sport.The weekend of parties was both lovely and ex-

hausting. I got to see people I only ever bump in tooccasionally and Zoe got to wear pretty dresses.You have to be in the mood but I might as well getused to it, she will have plenty in coming years.And I have it easy. At one party was a tired

mum-of-four. Her husband was away and daughterhad performed in Feis earlier. Then she had to getthem all to a god-child’s Holy Communion and thenon to this birthday party. The four children (undersix) then had to be changed for their third event ofthe day — another Holy Communion up the road.At one stage, I was cooing at the baby, while

mum changed one and two others waded in tochange the others. An adult female with no kids yetaccidentally strayed into the melee. Horrified, shebacked away, mouth agog, whispering “Oh myGod, how does she do that every day?”Yes, kids’ parties are wonderful, but spare a

thought for the mums!

Ailbhe Noonan, aged nine, who has lived inIreland, Romania and

Egypt — so far!

“We sat around the lovely Fanus (the Ramadan lantern) and toldstories in the cool sunset.”

Cliodhna (in black), Ailbhe, Sheilagh and their guide enjoy a tea

break in the snow at Miklosvar, Transylvania.

M Y SON was born in Romania. Mystrongest memory from the hospital isthe piping hot sweet fruit tea thatseemed to be constantly on tap.

In fact, there is a tea for every ailment andsituation in Romania and I spent many morningsmarvelling at the tea aisle in the local supermarketin Dorobanti, spoilt for choice!Being an Irish mum however, and more than a

little fussy about the strength and taste of my blacktea cuppa, I havenever founda substitute abroad forthe Irish tea bag. I always have a supply in mycupboard, very coveted bymy friends atmother andbaby mornings chez nous.Living in Romania with three small children

certainly had its challenging moments when wearrived. Until the opening of the supermalls duringour third year there, good quality cotton children’sclothing and leather shoes required a small mort-gage and shopping for baby vests involved beingshepherded around the store by a personal shopperon commission.But over the course of our four years in

Bucharest, life changed on a daily basis and all sortsof high street stores can be found now.You miss strange items when you live abroad —

fresh cream, juicy pork sausages, cheese and onioncrisps, tea bags and green food colouring were ourstaples. But there are a million new tastes to enjoy— local tomatoes and strawberries ripened in thesun, fresh corn on the cob, stuffed vine leaves andspicy sausages.The children learned to choose the ripest fresh

fruits from the market and they quickly becameaccustomed to the daily trip to the park whichinvariably involved being admired, touched,blessed and even spat at. Don’t panic! This is a localcustom against the evil eye and is a compliment.As an early years arts specialist, I look for new

cultural experiences wherever we go for the new-born to six age group. We were spoilt for choice inBucharest.Sundaymornings provided awealth of arts exper-

iences, from state puppet theatres to large scaletheatre productions of fairy tales and children’smusic sessions at the Atheneum concert hall in thehistoric area of the city. We did them all!We rarely missed a craft fair at the Peasant

museum and everywhere we went, children werewelcomed. They learnt to paint eggs in the tradi-tional style, they tried painting on glass andmosaicwork, they sang traditional carols and learned todance traditional dances.They attended a mixture of schools according to

age. The eldest went to the American InternationalSchool and the youngestwent to a local gradinita, orprivate kindergarden, where she learnt to under-stand and speak Romanian. The baby was at homewithme but picked upRomanian fromdaily contactwith the housekeeper and outings to the shops.The girls learnt about Martisor, the Romanian

custom of giving women and girls a little giftwrapped with red and white thread on March 1every year. They found clay whistles and mademosaics at local craft sessions. They stood on thebalcony every year on December 1 (RomanianNational Day) and waved their flags at the passingparade. These are their treasures today.The International Schooling system exposes the

children to every culture. Our children have celeb-rated and learnt the history of Divali (Indian festiv-al of light), Hannukah (Jewish festival), Ramadanand Eid (Muslim festivals with excellent cakes!),Santa Lucia (Swedish festival) and Christmas.As the Irish population representatives at the

school, we added our own special St Patrick’s Day tothe list of celebrations.AroundMarch 17 every year,I become an expert at designing costumes (thankyou to those local retailers in Ireland who provide“Irish Girl” and “Irish Dude” t-shirts every year,and the grannies who send us the hula skirts, greencard, face paints and zogabongswith flashing sham-rocks. Not to mention the Leprechaun hat!) Thechildren enjoy their sense of pride in being Irish atthis time and the celebration of their heritage withtheir friends. We usually end the badge making andstorytellingwith some céilí dancing and a parade tothe tin whistle.We now live in Egypt. When we told our eldest,

eight at the time, that we were moving to Cairo, shesaid: “Oh great! So we will learn Arabic, sail on theNile and learn to read hieroglyphics!” I was astoun-ded at her geographical and historical awareness.We arrived during Ramadan. We spent many

evenings on the balcony of the hotel listening to theIftar call to prayer and smelling the food that isprepared for this time in the evening to break thefast. We sat around the lovely Fanus (the Ramadanlantern) and told stories in the cool sunset. Al-though we live in the international communityarea, I have foundmy youngest daughter “praying”withher forehead to the floor on the rug in the livingroom and my little son (Joe, aged four) says“Le-Ah!” (Arabic for No!) with gusto. It is amazingwhat children can absorb.When you live abroad, you seek adventure.Week-

ends and visits from home provide the perfectopportunity to hire a local bus and explore.While inRomania we attended arts festivals in Sibiu, wetoured on day-trips to Bran (home to Dracula’scastle!), Rasnov and Brasov, medieval and snowySighisoara and the count’s estate in Miklosvar,Transylvania. I still recall with a shiver (it was -20degrees) the black raven that met us at the woodenbridge on entering the village and then silently

swooped down over the snow-covered fields of theestate — the hot sweet tea and the traditionaldonkey and cart ride!Since coming to Cairo, we have collected coral in

the Red Sea, visited ancient pyramids at Giza,Sakkara and Meidum, walked on ancient Romansites at Karanis in Fayoum, hired feluccas on theNile at sunset and slept for a night with Bedouinguides under the stars in the desert.The children wear silver necklaces with the

scarabbeetle and their names inhieroglyphics.Andat 10pm,we hear the gentle bell-like sound along thestreet outside of the security men’s spoons in theirmugs as they prepare the evening shay (tea).Must go and put the kettle on.

● Cork County Library and Arts Service, in associ-ation with Belfast Children’s Festival, Cork HSEand Acting Up! Early Years Arts present: IvicaSimic and Story About The Cloud— a puppet showfor two-five years.This is on Saturday, May 29 at 11am and 3pm in

the Briery Gap Theatre Macroom. Admission isfree. Come on an adventure to remember. Travel theworld with a little cloud and hear the amazingstories it has to tell about the life that’s all aroundus. Using a simple, magical form of puppetry andwith five suitcases acting as deserts, rain forests,meadows, mountains, rivers and seas, the littlecloud travels through them all.Following this, on Sunday, May 30 there will be a

workshop for teenagers interested in puppeteeringat 11am and a discussion session for theatre practi-tioners andperforming arts students from3-4.30pm.Bookings: Sinead Collins, Library Arts Officer (021)4346210 or sinead.collins@corkcoco.ie

● Cliodhna Noonan: Acting Up! Early Years ArtsConsultancy — cliodhnanoonan@eircom.net;www.actinguparts.com

Welcome to some family postcard memories from Romania and Egypt where Corkwoman CLIODHNA NOONAN has raisedher three young children for the past five years — but she still yearns for a good cup of Irish tea!

Family friend Eva Day is shown how to wrap aSyrian scarf by Abdul in the desert at Fayoum.

Ailbhe and her visiting friend Isabella Day showoff their Syrian scarfs at Fayoum, Egypt.

Cliodhna and Sheilagh enjoying early morning inBahariya oasis, Egypt.

Cliodhna leads a singing session with lots ofchildren at The Valley of the Whales, Fayoum.

Ailbhe, Sheilagh and Joe Noonan off on safari inBahariya, in Egypt.

Noonan children Joe, aged four; Ailbhe, aged nine and Sheilagh, aged six enjoy the snow at theCount’s Estate, Miklosoara, Transylvania, Romania.