When we were young we were given two warnings at the outset of any foray into the outside world: children should be seen and not heard; and if you don't like it, leave it on your plate.

Now, I must qualify this by explaining that the only place we were ever brought was to have Sunday tea at the homes of grandparents, or of elderly aunts of my parents.

And, the funny thing was that, give or take, we usually sat, bored out of our minds, and endured these "drives". The worst thing I can remember happening was my sister and myself locking ourselves in the bathroom of my Great-Aunt Lizzie's house and Sile sobbing (quietly!) until she threw up on the linoleum. Nonetheless, my mother's party-piece for boyfriends who got as far as being invited in for tea was to regale them with tales of how "bold" I was as a child - in the hope of putting them off me, I was always convinced (though she denies this still). And if the relationship survived "And did I tell you about the time she killed all Uncle Patsy's turkey chicks with the hurley?", it looked like the fella in question was serious.

Well, after the day I have put in today, I have almost decided to re-write the parenting manuals. Forget child-centred, self-esteem and all the modern parenting buzz-words. Why?

Well, we set forth en famille to have Sunday lunch in a local restaurant where hubby and I were regulars in the early days of our marriage. We ate back then with baby slumbering in babychair, while ould wans oohed and aahed over him. Well, the oohs and aahs were of a different tone today.

Three baloobahs and two parents were stressed out before soup was served. Aoibhe would, wouldn't, would sit in the high chair and then fell while she tried to climb out of it. Sean wanted roast beef, fine, but when it arrived the gravy wasn't like Gran's gravy - and, as it covered the whole plate, he sat, sulked and refused to touch it.

I cajoled, bribed, threatened and finally, when the messing started, lost all pretence of decorum. Under the table, I kicked the offender who was on his third trip to the toilet to look at the condom machine, and it hurt. He yowled at the top of his voice, something along the lines of "Ma, why did you kick me?"

Aoibhe managed to knock her drink all over my plate and the sight of dessert being delivered to the next table signalled the end for my clan. We were a source of amusement, at best, and pity at worst.

We left the premises and headed for home as the next row about whose turn it was to sit in the middle erupted. I became my mother and it felt good. "Children should be . . ." etc.

Forget their self-esteem, they have to be civilised first.

My Mam was highly amused at all this. "Do you not remember the time we had to leave Michael's christening when you all ran riot at the afters?"

No, I don't, so maybe their memories will selectively delete today too. More than can be hoped-for for mine.