The Christmas countdown

The holiday spirit has spread from our Christmas-tune caroling iPod to the garland swathed fireplace to the bedecked halls and facade of our home. It's as if little elves have taken over our home and our minds.

Jamie wakes up excited exclaiming, "Christmas tree!" before the sleep is even brushed from his eyes. I heave myself wearily down the hall, and am soon pleasantly nudged awake by the scent of balsam needles in the air.

Patrick is the St. Nick behind our December delight. The maestro of the festivus for the rest of us. Last Sunday, he, much like Clark Griswold, spent a joyous four-hours decorating and checking every bulb on our lights, only to find the faulty light at the very end of the string. The irony of the situation was not lost on him.

With the exterioir of the house bright and beaming for the masses, P turned his attentions to the centerpiece of our celebration: the tree. We planted six-feet of prickly pine on top of our car to journey the non-snowy 1/2 mile home from the non-woody tree lot.

Jamie was slightly concerned that a piece of nature was balanced precariously on top of our car, but soon got over his uncertainty when the tree was twinkling before his eyes in the center of our living room.

As our holiday spirit grows by leaps and bounds, so does baby ???. Only four weeks to go and this kid is determined to put as much weight on it - and, incidentally me - as humanly possible before s/he sets eyes on the outside world. This, despite rejecting all the foods I dearly love. (Goodbye fried foods, chocolate and pop. I'll see you again in a month!)

My outsides would welcome a break in the break-neck pace that this kid seems to be growing recently. Friends and family members' kind murmurs of "you look great" have swiftly morphed into "wow, you're really starting to show!" and "your belly has definitely gotten bigger in the last week!"

Just keep your eyes on the belly, people, and I'll try to keep mine off the evil scale. I'm sure it's only reflecting healthy baby weight gain, anyway, right? That's my story and I'm sticking to it. :)

Say hello to my little friend

What's so scary about little children? Movies like The Shining, The Good Son, Firestarter and Children of the Corn (more than 20 years later, I still get the chills at the very mention of that evil flick) all provide many valid reasons to seek out a child-free lifestyle.

Fake children are, apparently, even more frightening. Take, for example, the not-so-lovable doll Chucky in Child's Play. He's a doll with the heart of a murderer. And has red hair. What could be scarier?

How about a convincing toddler-sized doll that innocently appears to be playing peek-a-boo in the corner, until you turn it around and realize it has no face? Or arms? Preeeety scary. You can take my word for it.

On Thanksgiving, my mother brought "Little Jamie" - as the wee man has dubbed him - into our lives. And he's been scaring the socks off of unsuspecting victims ever since.

Patrick's initial reaction to Jamie's new little friend? "If you don't take him home with you, Mary, he's going out in the alley the moment you leave this house. I'm not kidding!" Jamie, however, likes the little guy. And so, he stays, blankly facing the corner for a little while longer.

I'm still waiting for him to leap out one morning and say "Wanna play?"

Zoo light up my life

Wanted: 2 cool dudes in shades who know the ins and outs of the Chicago public transit system.

These two hipster tourist guides took me north on Saturday to see how the suburbanites live in the super-far-distant Chicago suburb of Evanston. Our red line train chugged through the north side's shabby El stations and, after a quick connection at Howard, to the pristine purple line palaces masquerading as El stops. I guess everything is just a little bit better in the 'burbs. :)

A snotty Jamie snoozed as P and me looked for the perfect spot for lunch. We found it in Potbelly's. Not the most creative choice, but the oatmeal chocolate chip cookie was calling my name.

What's a suburban outing without a little shopping? We hit up World Market and relieved them of many of their over-priced Irish delicacies. Christmas ornaments rounded out the goodies we plunked down on the checkout counter. While we failed in our mission to purchase gifts for others, we succeed in selfishly purchasing for ourselves.

That evening, our "act like a tourist" adventure continued at Lincoln Park Zoo. Through the New Year, the normally low-key zoo was dolled up to the 9s in lights of every color. If Jamie was excited to simply visit the zoo at night, he was jump-out-of-his-stroller ecstatic about the rainbow of Zoo Lights that travelled up every tree and even included dancing Christmas trees in the sea lion stands.

Silly lights alone were not the highlight of the evening, however, dear reader. With the first notes of the merry-go-round's carnival music, Thomas Edison and his trivial invention were a thing of the past. In addition to the organ music, during our 20 minute wait in line, we were entertained by Jamie's chorus of "Jamie's turn!" and "Jamie, get in there!"

The ride was well worth the wait. The video below doesn't even begin to capture J's wide-eyed awe and jubilation as his elephant pumped up and down and spun around and around.



Patrick summed Jamie's life up well: Everyday is a new adventure. I hope we can keep it that way for as long as possible.

In just five weeks, we'll see how "fun" he finds having a sibling to share all of his adventures with. I'm betting that he's going to love every second of it. :)

Peking turkey, anyone?

How do you explain Thanksgiving to a 22 month old, who doesn't want to trade in his Halloween "Boo!" for a "gobble gobble?"

I changed the words from "Happy birthday" to "Happy Thanksgiving" but even that enlightened move failed to fuel the wee man's anticipation for his second Turkey Day.

The arrival of my parents - Mar and Pat - on Thursday afternoon, however, tipped him off that it was no ordinary day. Grandma even brought a "life-sized" gift along for Jamie. But, the gift is so .... special ... that it deserves its own future post. (Anticipation will surely only make the story better!)

When my brothers showed up with pint-sized people , though, Jamie knew the party was on.

Faced with the impossibility of cooking on the inadequate appliances of our hodge-podge kitchen, Patrick, with my pop in tow, slaved away over an off-site commercial stove. For my paltry part, I made guacamole and fruit salad, while P crisped up roasted potatoes, carrots and parsnips, glazed ham and stuffing.

P did, however, get a little help from his friends for the main event: A deep-fried turkey pre-ordered from a local Chinese - yes, Chinese - restaurant. A name mix-up, additional hour wait and a sliver of two of raw meat made the dish even more delightful. Even with these slight issues, Patrick says next year he's not only ordering the turkey from Sun Wah, but all the side dishes and fixins', too.

There's a lot to be said about someone else doing the work for you...especially if you spent a mere 10 hours ensuring your wife and her family had food to be thankful for on Thanksgiving.

A thousand thanks to you, P. No. And, now, a Chinese proverb to nicely sum up this post:

(yī)人(rén)吃(chī)饱(bǎo)，全(quán)家(jiā)不(bù)饥(jī)
If a single member of a family eats, the whole family will not feel hungry.

Pat-a-cake

Growing up, didn't you think the hand-clapping rhyme you and your pals played ad nauseum was:

Patty cake, patty cake, baker's man;
Bake me a cake as fast as you can.
Roll it and pat it and mark it with a B
And put it in the over for baby and me!

According to the experts (several children's books now adorning my shelves, one of which has its own attached piano keyboard) you and I were so wrong. It's "pat-a-cake" and you're supposed to "pat it and prick it" prior to plunking it into the over for you and your babe.

Now that I've given it 20 more seconds of thought, patty cake makes no sense. But, really. Pat-a-cake? What are you patting and pricking before putting it in the oven? A gooey globby mass of batter? Gross. And that's not even close to how you make a cake.

I now know that nursery rhymes are just another way for adults to mess with a child's fragile mind, and make her question herself well into adulthood. :)

Tonight, I assigned myself the mission of showing baby J (he's still the babe for a few more weeks!) the proper way to make a cake. And then swiftly devour in one sitting more calories than are recommended for an 8 ft tall adult male.

Here's the recipe:

1. Take one 3-ft tall boy, fill him with anticipation and impatience and then tell him he has to wait an hour to eat the chocolate he can so plainly see right in front of his freckled nose. Feed him chocolate chips to keep him quiet.

2. Open box of mix and place in the $300 mixer that you received as a wedding gift and pretend that you are cooking something from scratch that is truly worthy of said mixer. Hey, those eggs don't break themselves!

3. Open computer and, as you do with everything else in life, proceed to make this "mix and bake" recipe much more difficult than it needs to be.

4. Find recipe for raspberry filling and because you don't have two of the five ingredients, just wing it (again...as you do with many other things in life.)

5. Browse 10 recipes for chocolate frosting until you find the one that calls for ingredients that can be scrounged from your paltry pantry. Pretend that you would've picked that recipe even if you had all the fancy-dancy ingredients.

6. Check clock and see that you've already been at this for an hour, and your son has been staring up at the stove repeating, "cake, done now?" for at least 10 minutes.

7. Realize that your stellar raspberry filling and chocolate frosting won't be cooled until long after your ever-so-patient son has laid his weary head to rest. Reward him for his pat-a-cake "help" by slicing the uneven top off of a cake and dousing it with a generous helping of frosting.

8. Revel in watching the wee man take his first bite, and letting out an appreciative grunt/giggle. The sound of pure pleasure.

9. Pretend the jagged edges, oozing filling and uneven frosting only add to the cake's homemade deliciousness.

10. Wake your over-worked husband with the sound of a fork ringing off a cake plate. Know you've got a good thing when he let's out the same appreciate grunt/giggle you heard from your son an hour before. :)

The greatest show on Earth

When was the last time you saw motorcycles flying above your head on a wire? Or a woman touch her backside to the top of her head? Seen elephants playing the drums recently? Or 14 women swing through the air to Beyonce's Halo? Never? Well, then Jamie is officially more worldly than you. :)


This past Thursday, we left the humdrum world of the everyday behind and entered the magical sphere known as the circus.

Jamie was gob-smacked from his fist glimpse of larger-than-life elephants obediently carrying paying passengers around the ring as children's newly purchased light-up wands flashed rainbows on every surface.

Armed with an armful of fried food, we settled into our seats for the start of the Chicago Circus Spectacular, held at the UIC pavilion. The lackluster enthusiasm of the crowd in the quarter-filled arena at first filled my minds with doubts about the "spectacular" aspect of the circus. I reflected on the cost of our $9 "preview" night (aka practice night) tickets, however, and resigned myself to have a good time.

The tiger cage act failed to impress, with its bored felines and David Lee Roth look-a-like "tamer" but the aerialists who swung from the ceiling, tethered only by their hooked feet, resorted my faith.

The non-stop clown, dog, and pony show left Jamie in open-mouthed awe for the better part of three hours. He was thrilled to be able to visit the kind-eyed elephants during intermission and watch the ponies dutifully carry glee-filled children around the ring. Thankfully, he had no idea that a few dollars could have purchased him the same pleasure.

Patrick was impressed as well by at least some of the "talent." I think the ladies' outfits might have actually impressed him a bit more than their skills.. ;) He claims, however, that two men in the tandem human hamster wheel were his highlight of the show. Their blindfolded, security-lineless antics kept my palms sweaty the entire performance.

The show came to a close, complete with a 67-year-old man being shot out of a cannon. Jamie recalls the entire experience fondly. Me? Patrick and Jamie are all the sideshow I need. :)

View from the top: 33 wks

One of the most common human laments is: Where has the time gone?

Childhood? Gone before you can even think "you don't know what you have until it's gone." The party years? Yeah, I remember a few of those... Every weekend? Are they really two days long? Cause they feel way shorter.

The same is very true of our children's precious early years. They grow up long before you're ready for them to. I can hardly believe that Jamie is pushing 2 and newbie will be here with the new year. All this, and I somehow remain a youthful and vibrant 26. Amazing, really.

I've noticed that recent photos of me have been taken at long distance or shown a well-camouflaged belly. Just so newbie does not feel as though s/he didn't get the air time coming to A or C (still struggling with the name thing), I offer you the belly in all its glory.

I'm 33 weeks into this pregnancy and still do a double-take when I pass a mirror. Denial is a beautiful thing.

Newbie updates:

• At the 32 week checkup, the doc tracked a heart rate of 156. According to those old wives and their tales, this is an indication that the babe is an A and not a C.
• Over the weekend, I woke to a strange rhythmic thumping in my belly. It took the deduction skills of a keen Irishman to point out the obvious: Hiccups. Jamie had them all the time...and is still prone to move from a giggle fit to hiccup hilarity. I'm glad to see the siblings already have something in common.
• If you're speaking to me and I seem distracted, it's likely because a 5-6 pound being is making itself more comfortable, and me less so. How many positions can a baby achieve in such tight quarters? This one is more than willing to try them all out...and then some.
• Mama coughing? Certain foods and mass transit systems seem to disagree with newbie. Jamie has been very helpful, though patting my back and attempting to wash my hands as I "cough." :)

Another where has the time gone: Nov. 19 marks the 11-year anniversary of Patrick and I first setting eyes upon one another. Appropriately, across a smoky bar. Feels like yesterday. OK, maybe more like last weekend. :)

Looking through emerald-colored glasses

Always a lover of a good conclusion, following are some observations from our recent trip back to the old country. I know you want to see all the photos, too. Check them out - in all their tedious detail - on Flickr!

Tiny toilets: No, this is not a landmark. Rather, it is a revelation! The "family" bathrooms in Dublin feature tiny toddler-sized flushing toilets. Not that the wee man used them, but I appreciated the fact that they were there.

Bikes: Bike-riding commuters are everywhere in Dublin. I even saw a few office workers clad in their suits as they peddled past me. The strange part? The majority of bikers wear neon yellow safety vests. When I mentioned this fact to my aunt she casually commented, "you'd have to, if you didn't want to get killed on the roads." Lovely.

It's a whole new world: During my childhood trips to Ireland, I recall 20p candy bars, pints of stout for 1 pound 51 and a peaceful, relatively crime-free country. The fierce Celtic Tiger of the 90s changed all that, it seems. Even with the recession, a Double-Decker still cost me almost a euro and pints were pushing 5 euro.

Shockingly to me, in the short time we were visiting, there was a bank heist where criminals forcing the bank manager to do the robbing, while they held the employee's family captive. It even has a name "Tiger kidnapping." I'm officially one of those people who can say "I remember when..."

The more things change, the more they stay the same: The calming smell of peat-burning fireplaces, clicking diesel cars, the rolling Irish brogue, the gift of gab, the glistening green of the land, the kindness of the people, the relaxed pace of life, RTE's 6 o'clock Angelus, tea, tea and more tea.

Irish wit: Best shop name ever: Knobs and knockers, a store that sells, well, knobs and knockers (for doors, you filthy-minded people!). Cheeky and 100% reflective of Irish humor.

Toddlers can travel internationally: For all my fears, Jamie was a travelling star. He did have the worst tantrums I've ever seen scream out of his larger-than-life lips, but he has since returned to normal, so I can only assume it was a result of being around strange people in a strange place and 6 hours off his normal schedule while doing so. Other than those few episodes, he knew and loved his family as if by instinct and has asked for an airline lounge subscription for Christmas. A man of refined taste already!

Say my name, say my name

There are your Apples, Suris and Harlows. And your Emmas, Sophias and Ellas. Whether they're celebrity trendy or run-of-the-mill popular, girl names are simply more appealing than boy names.

Perhaps it's because we women, who were once girls, fantasied about being a particular princess or childhood chum during our formative years. We didn't want to be within 10 feet of a rough and smelly boy, let alone consider how he came to be called Drew, Jimmy or Raymond.

But, faced with the possibility of bringing a member of the opposite sex into the world, we have no choice. So, what's a girl to do? In my case, I chose a name for my son that, in the U.S., is more commonly bestowed upon a girl.

With newbie's impending birth (only 7 or so weeks away!) I am once again faced with this seemingly insurmountable dilemma: What if the baby is a boy?

Last month, Patrick and I dove deep into the big book of baby names and quickly jotted down a list of possibilities. Just as quickly as the names made the list, however, they were struck off. First by us, then by our brutal family.

There are still a few contenders out there, but none speak to me just yet. Maybe my indecision is the baby telling me that a boy's name is not necessary this time around. Or, more likely, the sneaky little devil is already messing with my mind. :)

Lollipops, people!

Our Irish adventure came to a close on Oct. 31. We may have had an 8 hour and 45 minute plane ride home against 225 mph headwinds, travelled across six time zones and were facing our second daylight savings time change in a week, but I was not about to let my boy miss Halloween!

Last year, he made his Halloween debut as a frog, a hand-me-down from my sis. This year, I continued the tradition of taking whatever costume my family thew my way and dolled the boy up as a scarecrow.

I may have sat on this particular costume a year too long, however, since it was designed for "infants" 25 lbs and less. Ever the mother of thrift and invention, I dug out some colorful pants from his drawer, pretended his shirt collar didn't look just a little too snug on his 30 lb frame and plopped the hat on his head. Viola! A super cute scarecrow.


While I was applying his nose and freckles, he asked "mama, nose too?" Just like that, we became mama and baby scarecrow. I forgot how fun playing dress up can be.

The wee non-scary scarecrow had only slept one hour in the past fifteen, but you couldn't tell from his enthusiastic shouts of "lollipops, people!" as we dished out 1,000 pieces of candy to the hungry masses.

The monsters, angels and "just a dead bride" first frightened, but then thrilled our fearless lollipop sucker. He was of course, in an enviable position underneath a furry blanket on his mama's lap. And, right next to more candy than he'd ever seen.

After his sugar high, Jamie collapsed into a well-deserved slumber. But, not before showing that while scarecrows may not be too brainy, they sure can bust a move.

Eire: One man's perspective!

As you know we all headed back to the old sod. As I've recently being telling anyone that will listen, I've been gone about half my life now. This trip was particularly exciting for me as I was bringing my sprogs back to the homeland. The blood and emotions started to flow when we got off the plane. Let's just say I had a touch of nostalgia going on. You can't blame me!

However, as time passed on, I realized Jamie could have been on the moon or in Tipperary, for all he knew. It was a bit like when I went in the chunnel to Paris for the first time and it went pitch black. For some reason I thought I was entering the Sea World Aquarium. If you could have only saw my face and the disgust. Priceless. For some reason I thought I was going to see the below. Muppet!

And as for newbie, well let's face it, (s)he's living in tight quarters right now with little views. While (s)he did not get the views, she did get the taste and sounds of the mother land, much like her/his mother did back in the 70's! If you did not catch it below. Sheila was in her mothers tummy outside a church on St. Stephens Green in 1975. That Church is where our gracious hosts, my sister Liza and her hubby also go married in the 80's. In 1975 I had just turned three and the wife to be was a yank in Dublin, in her Mams tummy, probably just 10 miles away. Crazy. I'm sure I was looking all smooth in my 70's rig out...sideburns and all.

Well Jamie was not in the country 12 hours when he stopped in for his first sip of the cream, on the other side of the pond! He was guilty of such pleasures on this side a while back. Now I probably would not have chosen the pub Thomas Read but newbie and Mommy needed a break and who am I to get in the way. This was a proud moment for Papa and the view of Dublin Castle lit up by the lights at night was not bad either. Jamie was a little hesitant at first, but he got it down him. In hindsight, I probably should have got him a pint instead of a half.


The Zoo was our Day Two trip which was cool because there was a huge expansion (double in size) since my last visit there. It really is a beautiful place just to walk. Let's just say I was happy!





Besides the views, Sheila shared a little insight into my personality. She said "Hey look, just replace "animal" with "Patrick!" Sadly, I could only laugh and agree.

We just like to be clear on such matters. There can be no misunderstanding.

Looking back at the pictures, birds where a theme in Dublin.

The Zoo

St. Stephen's Green

The Canal Talent all around Dublin...did I mention the weather was mild? (Editor's note from Sheila: I had to give Patrick some creative license with his blog post...maybe too much ;)

Jamie was a big fan of the birds, he got up close and personal. Unfortunately for him, it was not the last bird above but the birds in St. Stephen's green that got him. As we fed the swans, pigeons etc. in the green, out of the corner of my eye I saw what appeared to be something dropping out of the sky and by Jamie's head. I quickly turned my head to see that luckily he had avoided such disaster.

Well we proceeded on our merry way down Grafton street and about 20 mins later I noticed Jamie had crap (literally) all over his face. At this point I'm rubbing it saying "what is this?" Well the pigeon got him on this jacket and while the wee lad was turning his head left and right to the sights and sounds of Dublin, he was also getting the smells and touch under his chin! My niece Ava Lee found this hilarious, as did we all, especially when he started to freak out and go "birdie poo poo, birdie poo poo, birdie poo poo" When he relized what happend to him, he could not help but laugh himself.

No trip is complete without some Dublin bay prawns. These things are fluffy and melt in your mouth. Really good just plain with some salt and butter or some garlic butter with shallots. So anyway, we headed out to Howth (first picture above) to get some whitening fish for Rio and some Dublin Bay prawns and mussels for P. What a feast. Here is a sample of some of the goodies at Wrights at the harbor.

Molly Malone (Dublin's unofficial anthem and ambassador) would have been proud. Speaking of which, I find it amusing how Sheila is always apalled by the endowment of Ms. Malone, but if Sheila did a little research, she might understand why the tribute is the way it is. There is more to the story than meets the eye! See and read for yourself.



On our way back from Howth, we stopped off at the Stand Beach. Now there was a few things I had not seen before. It was all about perspective for me that day. I was trying to give everyone the sights and views of Dublin but my memory and the weather were not complying. On this particular day, Sheila and Eva Lee decided to stay in the car and admire the views from there.

While they saw...



and this...

I saw...

and...

Sometimes when the weather is not working out for you, you just need to use a little imagination! It's all about perspective people.

Well the primary purpose for this trip was to bid farewell to our "Italian stallion" to marriage and Georgina. Who knew Karlo would eventually fall. Anyway, a good woman has tamed him and trained him...he's now more of an ass than a stallion! Georgiana, is kind enough to put him to pasture and not send him to the glue factory. Just remember Karl, "yes dear...yes dear," learn to love it.

The following day in the morning we went to Mondello Park and Jamie loved the motor bikes. Then Daddy went drinking for the rest of the afternoon/evening for the post wedding party. The venue was beautiful and we had some craic.

After burying the dead we headed back to Dublin.



Has anyone seen She (Kill-a-shee....)?

The rest of the trip we visited our friends and family on both sides. We covered Howth Head in the north of Dublin bay to Bray Head on the south of Dublin bay and everything in between. Our shoes and guts got a good work out. It was great to catch up with everyone.

Outside the doors of Dublin on Fitzwilliam St.

In the shadow of the Art Museum...

Oh look! Is that the Lord Mayor of Dublin sitting on the steps of the Mansion House? Local celeb! Shemo wouldn't put the camera away. I was so embarrassed given himself and all.

On the way home I watched Angels and Demons on the plane. Would rent that one again.

Slainte

Out for the day by Dublin's Bay

The beauty of Ireland is unquestionable. Rain often daily - if only for a moment or two - gives the Emerald Isle her bright green sheen. And when the drizzle dries up, it is replaced by shafts of sunlight slicing through rainbow colored clouds.

Dublin Bay offers a unique perspective of Ireland's rugged rocky shoreline, rolling mountains and lush landscape. Last Tuesday, Patrick, Eva Lee, Jamie and me hit the road to explore the bay and get a taste the salt air in Howth.

Situated on the north end of the bay, Howth is a small seaside town, famous for three things: fish, fish and fish. Patrick, eager to give us an eye-popping view of the ocean and surrounding bay, drove us up into the hills to two viewing points. The first had no view, except, oddly, of recycling bins and trails that led to nowhere. The second offered panoramic views, which were marred only by the dismal weather, low clouds and blanket of hair covering my face due to the 100 mph winds. God loves a trier. ;)

The famous Wrights of Howth fulfilled our fishy dreams, however. The small shop was brimming with scales of every color. Even a non-fish eater like me had to appreciate the variety and freshness of fish. Patrick and Jamie were in heaven. P was already dreaming up dinner while J struck up a lovely conversation with a lobster.

After a tantrum - at the playground no less - that resulted in two out of three buttons getting kicked off my only jacket (thank you, son) we braved the wind to admire the sea view from the pier. Jamie was soothed by the sounds of the accordion player. He showed his appreciation by dropping a few coins into his hat.

The Dublin Bay tour continued on Wednesday when we visited my aunt Eileen and uncle Jimmy at the south end of the bay in Bray. Lovers of adventure, we ditched the car and zipped along the coastline in the DART, Dublin's commuter train.

During our journey, Patrick quizzed me on the pronunciation of town names and pointed out the abodes of the rich and famous nestled in the hills of Dalkey (Bono, I know you were there in spirit).

Eileen and Jimmy treated us to a delicious lunch of Irish stew followed by my favorite HB vanilla ice cream with sugar wafers. My inner child lept for joy (an interesting play on words, considering my present condition ;).

After Jamie took Jimmy's motorbike for a spin (well, he sat on it), we visited Dublin's only Catholic church that is open for prayer 24/7. Eileen lit a candle for newbie and Jamie sang happy birthday (the candles...).

We strolled along Bray's seaside promenade, visited the swans and admired the view across the bay to Howth. Our seaside adventure had come full circle.

Granny knows best

When was the last time you had a conversation with a woman who has graced the earth for 94 youthful years? I had the pleasure last week when Patrick's "granny" Molly visited with us for a few days.

Don't let her age fool you. Molly's mind is sharp as a tack and her tongue can be even sharper. One of her favorite sayings is "throwing an elbow", meaning get away from me.

Coincidentally, Jamie actually displays his wish to be left along by throwing elbows. They were fast friends.

Molly, a true diva, does not travel alone. She was joined by P's aunt Annette: a woman with a heart of gold and Rio's (P's mom) partner in crime.

Patrick's bro Derek and his wife Bridget joined the party last Monday night and Sadie, P's dad's sister, rounded out our motley crew who enjoyed a drink or two.

And, "that one" was there too. Jamie knows and loves our niece Eva Lee, but often forgot her name and would simply point at and say "that one." It was sweet, if not a little ego-busting.

Unfortunately, however, our gracious hostess and host were missing from the family reunion.

While we were staying at P's sister Liza's lovely Georgian row home (complete with a newly red front door) she and her hubbie were basking under the Spanish sun. At least we now know where we stand. ;)

After the night winded down last Monday, Molly shared with me that the world is full of too many "Imeantos." Molly, I'll do my best to not add to the list of unfulfilled promises and dreams. And, I'll force your grandson Patrick to do the same. He owes you for addicting him to bread. :)

It's a Naas day for a white wedding

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. ;)