I attended my first Irish wedding in utero. Eight months pregnant, my mom, with doctor's note in hand, I'm sure, flew to Ireland with my dad and four sibs to witness her brother Michael John's nuptials to my aunt Jackie. Want proof?

Your wish is my command. From the photo above, you can see that my mom hid her pregnancies even better than yours truly. (She's the one in emerald green with the barely noticeable bump...)
Jamie's first Irish wedding -with his pregnant mama - took place on 10/24 in Castleknock. Before 170 friends and family, P's childhood chum Karl traded "I do's" with his lovely bride Georgina (such an underused name!). Patrick stifled his tears, but I knew they were there.
The vows were followed by a reception at Killishee House in Naas (Nace). Less than an hour outside of Dublin, the boarding school turned hotel was a maze of huge reception rooms, guest suites and picturesque landscaped grounds.
Our boy Jamie, running purely on party adrenaline, made the rounds at the cocktail reception: flirting with the ladies and giving the guys "knuckles."
I then foolishly tried to walk the hotel halls to get the little guy to sleep. When I stopped to check on his sleep status, he perkily said "mama, more walking?" Silly mama. Tricks are for kids. ;)
The speeches did succeed where I failed, however, allowing us to childlessly chat our way through the delish meat and potato meal.

By 10 pm, we were both pooped and headed back to the room, but P kept the party going for us. At 2 am, he too called it a night, and was labeled a party pooper by those who were still going strong at 6:30 am. God love them.

Gale-force winds and rain set the scene for the majority of the wedding weekend. What better weather, then, to visit the ghosts of Patrick's racing past? Mondello. The site of P's neck-breaking crash and many a happy childhood memory. It was a must on the P. No's trek down memory lane.
Luckily, more than an empty race track awaited us at Mondello. A motorbike race was on, and P and J were all in. Even the drizzle whipping in our faces couldn't remove the smiles from the boys' lips.
The rainy conditions did, however, lead to two crashes in less than 15 minutes. And, unfortunately, an abrupt end to our trip down memory lane.

P was still able to give us a first-hand tour of the garages and track. Something money can't buy. That and Jamie's subsequent "motorcycles! zooooom!" Oh, and Patrick surviving - and thriving after - that crash way back when. :)
During our two-day stay at Killishee, P and I took many walks with Jamie: Up the stairs...and down again. Down the hall. Through the "farting" door (J still loves that one). To the bar and out to the ivy-encapsulated patio where people "check the weather" (and bring along their cigarettes to do so ;).
But, the best walk by far was our exploration of the hotel's manicured garden on Monday morning.
Jamie had been staring at the fountain for days and couldn't wait to chuck rocks into it. I basked in the 60-degree weather and forgotten feeling of sunshine on my skin.
Patrick? We managed to disentangle him from brunch with the bride and groom long enough to see the nun's cemetery and -strangely - an 1980s Dublin commuter train on blocks.
Sadly, we had to bid Killishee - and it's farting door - adieu and head back to "town" where P's family eagerly awaited our arrival. More on that next post.

(You think you're tired of reading? I stopped paying attention to what I was typing an hour ago. ;)