A Pilargyrist is a lover of money; specifically, a lover of the precious metals that used to make up coins. They don’t like spending money, but instead like the possession of money for its own sake.

Not only do they have run of the mill greediness, which we can see around us in a love of material possessions, but they have a hatred of spending in of itself. Going far more than mere frugality, which these days is a virtue, they hate to see the figures in the bank balance go down for any reason.

I can understand this, to a point. Its nice to have your cake and eat it, too. But as I’ve gotten older, people rather than things have become the important priority in my life (after getting my principles wrong again and again, let me tell you). If I have money now, it is for spending so I and the people I love have experiences worth having. Don’t hold on to it folks; you can’t take it with you and it is later than you think.

In my Mother’s house there was a radio in every room. It was something I grew up with, and didn’t even notice for most of my childhood. It was only as a teenager that I was glad of it; there would be a radio for company while you studied (“Oh stony grey soil…”), while you got ready for going out on a Saturday night (with one of my sisters hammering on the door to get me to hurry up! You look stupid..) or even just reading in the kitchen while people were watching TV in the sitting room. I was so glad as a kid; the one thing you don’t want to be as a troubled yoot is to be aware of your thoughts, man.

There isn’t even silence in the womb; we did a lot of checking of his fetal heartbeat while the kid was growing. Let me tell you, it is noisy in there. The kid as well did a lot of jumping around in there, and so there was a lot of noise and activity in there.

Today sees the bambino at the creche again, this time for two hours. The house is so appallingly quite I can’t take it. I’ve Ray Darcy on for inane noise in the background. Hate this silence!

I am sitting down after coming home with my husband and son from our first visit to his new creche. The place is bright and well light, thought out almost to the point of bureaucracy but not too much, and staff that seem willing to jump through hoops to keep children and parents happy. Still the shock of being removed from my child for eight plus hours a day is a physical one, and I’m trying very hard not to cry.

In the way of things, my strange brain reminded me of the adoptive parents of Baby Ann. They had taken care of her for three years and sought to have the adoption finalised. However, the birth parents of Baby Ann got married, and as the constitution prevents any granting of adoption when the parents are married, she was given up. What on earth was that like? What was that like, that last morning, when they got up, showered, dressed, make up, gathered up her toys and things and left with her? Parents routinely put their children first, so they would have maintained a cheerful facade to her as they gathered up feeding things, beloved toys, car seats, bibs and chairs. How could they get the strength to do that? How could they return to the house, now empty of her, with the reminder of their loss? When there is a death there is the force of society’s sympathy at your door. Where is the help for  parents in such circumstances? The scrap of research I’ve done on this one indicates that the issue of Baby Ann is not straightforward. None the less, the loss felt by the adoptive parents has my sympathies.

There’s a voice at my shoulder that is sneering; how typical of me to take a perfectly normal situation and extend it to something dramatic. Personally I would call it empathy for others, and a healthy ability to make comparisons. As for my little man, he was nervous but able to enjoy his time there.  We’ll be doing it again on Monday for two hours, until he is there for the full time I’m at work. Right now he’s snoozing away, unconcerned by anything; as it should be.

Seriously?

I’ve been awake since six, since he needed a feed then and I couldn’t get back to sleep. I had three minutes to shower and dress and he has been asleep for twenty minutes, which I used to load up the washing machine and power this up. I’m too afraid to empty the dishwasher in case he wakes up.

Aaaannnd he’s awake. So I’m off.

Oh, and all those photos of bad food on ‘What’s Ireland Eating’? Most of them were MINE!!!