A Mid Term Election

Who put ‘break’ into Mid Term Break ? Are they related to the fella who put the figs in the Fig Rolls ? Or the gal who put the ‘O’ in the Polo mint. Would Mid Term Break Down not be more accurate ? The very thought of the children having a week off in February, when I’m up to my oxters in work, was enough to bring me out in a cold sweat. It’s taken me almost a week to recover, hence that fact that I am only writing about it now. So, how to juggle an action packed, 1916 commemoration fuelled work schedule with the little uns ? I opted for marathon driving sessions, to leave my little darlings for a series of overnight stints with my lovely, gorgeous, sweetheart Mam in Co Meath. If it wasn’t for the incessant rain on the car journeys, a four-hour round trip (no matter which route I took, or how fast I drove, often through rush hour traffic), the whole thing could have been quite pleasant. If any of you are lucky enough to have a Mammy, or a family member living close by who will give a dig out with childcare, you REALLY don’t know how lucky you are. If that is you, take your Mammy, or whoever that person is and give them a big smack on the lips, hug them so tight, that you hurt their ribs and tell them how lucky you are to have them. Did I mention the incessant rain ? The sort that turns your newly-straightened-hair-for-work-because-you-want-to-look-like-you-have-your-act-together-even-though-its-Mid-Term into a Tina Turner ‘do in 2 minutes ? It’s great standing in it, overseeing the eight year olds pee on the roadside. Flipping great. Other than the weak kidneys, the chizzlers were good as gold. But in the week that was in it, it was inevitable that the topic of conversation would turn to the upcoming General Election, especially with the invasion of election posters over the last few weeks. Because I work in a local authority and work a lot of nights and weekends, my pair get brought along to more-than-your-average-eight-year-olds-fair-share of launches and events. As a result, they have met many of the elected representatives and are now highly amused to see many of them smiling out at us on election posters. With this familiarity, they also tend to earwig on conversations that I have at home around local politics, especially if they perceive that I am in the Bold Corner about an issue at work (I seem to have spent a lot of time there, of late). Keeping up to speed with the election posters and explaining who’s-who in South Kildare was enough to be getting on with. Driving through other electoral regions in North Kildare and then Meath East and West and Cavan, with different sets of faces and explaining to the children how the local feeds into the nation was as gruelling as what I imagine a Planning Tribunal would be. I thought I was getting somewhere, until I drove towards West Kildare, via Monasterevin. Here, the electoral boundaries have changed, with some of the traditional Kildare constituency now pushed into Laois. How can you explain that to an inquisitive pair, when you can barely understand it yourself? My babes and I have strong opinions on important matters such as who is the candidate with the ‘funniest glasses’ (Sharon Keogan, Meath). We are what you might call ‘very pass-remarkable’. My boy is TOTALLY disgusted that he cannot vote in the election. I had to break it gently to him last week. I got the ‘WHAT DO YOU MEAN I CAN’T VOTE ?’ tone, with a total sense of injustice. Maybe an exception should be made for children like mine who are dragged to a disproportionate number of local government events ? I might start a petition next time around. I have a confession to make, Dear Reader. You could call it ‘active participation’ in politics ... Every time we drive past a certain election candidates’ posters, my children shake their fist at them. (No rude finger gestures, mind – My pair are very well reared). From their previous earwigging, they have concluded that ‘That person was really mean to Mammy’. I sniff and nod, feeling vindicated by my very own, not-influenced-at-all fan club. My children are studying 1916 in school now and are very animated about it, which is lovely to see. But then there’s joining the dots on 1916 and politics today, and how to talk about it in terms that are actually correct and that will satisfy two information hungry little people. Myself and the boy happened upon Micheal Martin, leader of the Fianna Fail party with a local election candidate, while out walking the mutt in town last night. He shook my hand warmly, saying, 'I think we have met before'. We haven't met, but I replied, 'I think we have', suddenly taken by his charisma. He shook the boy's hand too, who was too star struck to even make eye contact. As soon as they had left, the boy got excited, 'Mam, he could be the next Taoiseach. I bet he doesn't usually shake children's hands. Do you think I'm the first child whose hand he shook ?' 'I'd say you are Leon. One of the first anyway'. Bless his wee heart. Big news to tell Teacher. P.S. Please vote. There's an eight year old boy here who is very envious of your privilege.