No More "Pagan Baby"!

Kryptonite, along with four other babies, was Baptized on Sunday, June 7. I would have posted this sooner, but I was knocked for a bit of a loop over finding poor old Peake that Monday. (Edited to add: Then I got distracted, and this post was left in limbo until now.)

Two days prior to this first sacrament, The Oracle and I were in the throes of last-minute preparations for Kryptonite's big day. Those close to me know how frantic that can be. You know I'm disorganized and flaky, but the depths of those traits can't easily be explained without actually being witnessed. If you haven't seen it for yourself, be thankful.

It's bad. Really bad.

I spent most of Saturday doing my favorite work in the kitchen. Our menu was simple: Florentine layers (pasta dish), hot roast beef, and chicken salad. Sides included cole slaw, cucumber salad (a first for me), fresh fruit, chips, pretzels, and onion dip. Pineapple upside-down cake and a chocolate cake for dessert.

The downside to all of this is the non-stop use of the oven. The "secret" to the chicken salad is roasting the skin-on chicken breasts rather than boiling them, plus I had to roast the two eye roasts and bake two cakes. The kitchen was as hot as hell and I was quite crabby because of it. I hate perspiring. I am a priss. My dislike for it is a post all its own. BUT I was cooking, and that's something I love to do. You can't cook without heat.

On the brighter side, the roasting meats, bubbling gravy, and the sweet smells of dessert made the house smell divine.

The Oracle got stuck with the icky work, like clearing the dining room table of its mountain of clutter and dusting all the stuff that hadn't been dusted since the last time company came to visit. Have I ever mentioned that he scrubs the bathroom and the floors? I clearly got lucky in the man department.

Saturday night was an all-nighter. It was tough. The kids' corner in the living room was an unmitigated disaster, and I was inches away from tossing it all instead of sorting it out. For instance, they have a bookcase for their books, but the books are rarely on it. On any given day, at least 50% of them are scattered about the house. I don't understand it. When I tipped up the loveseat (yes, you read that. Tipping it forward is easier than dragging it about) to clean beneath it, I found no fewer than two dozen books crammed beneath it. Now, I don't believe they were shoved there intentionally, but the careless way my children treat the books they claim to love is downright criminal. Oh, they don't write on the pages or intentionally tear them up, but they rarely put the things in a safe place, never mind returning them to the shelf. It is so frustrating.

I won't describe how much dog hair was under that couch, but I will say it rivaled the volume of the books. That's why I call her a German Shedder.

On the Big Day, after a brief two-hour nap, the only remaining work was assembling the Florentine, slicing roast beef, bathing, and ironing Kryptonite's gown.

I've made Florentine enough that I pretty much have it down to a science, and the beef was quickly sliced thanks to this little gem. Mine is a much older model my mother purchased around 1995 or so, and it's still one of my favorite specialty appliances.

It's a good thing I had that slicer, because ironing the christening gown was a horrid affair. Had I known how awful it would be, I would have done it much sooner. It's 100% cotton. Washing it was super easy, just a gentle-cycle wash, shake it out, and hang dry. "Iron while slightly damp." Huh? Okay. I set to work with a spray bottle of water and my iron, and I swear it seemed like the iron was sticking to the fabric. That dress contains what seems like eyards and yards of fabric. Just when I thought I figured out a technique, I pressed in yet another unwanted crease. Ironing it took almost forty minutes.

I hate ironing. My sister, Jennifer, loved to iron. She found it relaxing. In my opinion, the notion of ironing clothes came from the devil himself.

The only bummer was my cousin not showing up. Granted, it was kind of a last-minute invitation, but they sounded positive on coming. I hadn't seen them in ages, and having them there would have been really nice. Aside from that, if they'd told me they weren't coming, I would have had room to invite E and her family. I really need to see E. It's been weeks and weeks. I haven't seen M or S lately either. I suspect this may be why I feel like I'm losing my mind.

My brother-in-law, AKA Kryptonite's godfather, supplied me with these pics, since we ran late and forgot the camera when we left for the church.

From left to right: Godparents Uncle R. and Aunt J., Fr. Rob, Kryptonite, me, and The Oracle.

I'm so happy my older two love their baby sister. They really are very good with her.

And, man, look at the size of this baby, will you? I was worried that the gown wouldn't fit (it did). At her checkup this Friday she tipped the scales at 17.5 pounds and stretched to nearly 25 inches in length.