When we got to the house Natasha warned me that my room was being occupied by her ten year old daughter, Aileen. "She has never slept a night that room. I think it's because we just put new curtains in there." Yes, Natasha, she did it because of the curtains. So rather than retire to my room as I so desperately needed, I went into the kitchen with Natasha.
First I meet Gemma. She is four years old and looks like a cherub; curly blonde hair and sweet little face. She walks in still half asleep in her pink pajamas, takes one look at me and goes straight to her mother's arms. Natasha told me that Gemma is extremely shy. When we picked her up from school the next day I saw that she doesn't even talk to her teacher.
Then I meet Sean. Oh, Sean. He is nine and also beautiful. He comes darting into the kitchen and is already saying my name, "Hi Bryn," he smiles. Sean is autistic. He spends all day running in and out of the house taping pieces of paper to rakes and poles stuck in the ground in the backyard. They're his "flags." I look outside and the yard is littered with paper from his flags that get inevitably blown over by the Irish wind. I admire his persistence.
Then as though it was planned, I meet the next eldest, Aileen. She left my bedroom
One of the girls has an adorable smile and giggles a lot. She has a turned up nose and dirty blonde hair like Gemma, and bright brown eyes like Sean. The other one has thick, shiny black hair tied in two braids. She has an absolutely striking face with the look of sheer defiance written all over it. Think Wednesday Adams only prettier.
"I thought you said she was blonde,"she says to Natasha.
Yes. This one is their daughter.
The welcome sign on my door
Within hours of my arrival Natasha and Daniel have left me alone with the kids. I go into the kitchen and find Sean "making cupcakes." I'm finally starting to feel the half a valium I took almost 12 hours ago as I walk over and see he has a bowl filled with what looks like 5 pounds of flour. He is anxiously awaiting his next instruction and I have no idea what to do. "Chocolate cupcakes!" he says. He found the hot cocoa mix and has poured it into the flour. Great. He certainly is resourceful. He grabs pink food coloring out of the cabinet and drops some in. Resourceful and creative?
Now it is my turn. The kitchen is stocked with literally ten food items and I've no idea where to find a single one. I open the fridge. The only things in it are a half gallon of milk and a huge brick of butter. Done. I try to salvage what I can of the floury concoction: 2 eggs (not nearly proportionate to the amount of flour in that bowl), a bit of butter, some milk, sugar, baking powder, salt, and prayer. Then in walks Liam.
At fifteen Liam is the oldest child. He looks like your average Irish guy- skinny, fair and freckled. He sees our bowled catastrophe and tries to lend us a hand. He manages to form the clumpy mixture into something that at least resembles cake batter.
Mission accomplished? Sure. Until Aileen walks in, gives me the look of death and says, "What did you do? Don't you know how to make cupcakes?"
Liam puts the cupcakes in the oven that I have no clue how to work and then we talked a bit. He's only fifteen but it's as close as I'm getting to having company that's even close to my age so I am wholly grateful for his engaging me. He's nice... but I find it unsettling how completely untroubled he is for a fifteen year old boy. Now what does that say about me?
After we talked and took out the doomed cupcakes for which Aileen was quick to offer her critiques, "They just taste like flour. And why are they pink?" I finally went into my room and took a long overdue nap. I awoke around dinner time. Natasha was making lasagna bolognese.
Fuck.
Still feeling delirious and quite hungry I joined them for dinner and had my piece of lasagna. There was also a "salad" set on the table. It was a bowl of roughly chopped iceberg lettuce next to a spray bottle of vinegar.
Double fuck.
When dinner was finished the family went upstairs to watch a movie and Natasha put me to work clearing the table and washing the dishes. Aileen had steamrolled all of the meat sauce out of her lasagna and while my first instinct was to clear the plate into the trash, Natasha told me to save it in tupperware. I know, I am a wasteful American. Then I went to bed and tried to fall back asleep while the kids ransacked the house extra nice for the morning. Oh joy.
Summary for my first day:
I made pink floury cupcakes, took a nap, ate a slice of lasagna (and survived), cleaned the kitchen, went back to bed.
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