This was the day it really sunk in that Ireland is the offseason is not the most welcome place to be.

After the previous night's cozy B&B and lovely hostess, we got off to a nice start when the morning dawned clear (and cold) for the last leg of the Ring of Kerry. We got to see the famous Ladies View -- the fame is well deserved -- and saw sheep wandering on the side of the road. On Maureen's (last night's lovely B&B hostess) recommendation we "hiked" Torc Waterfall in the Killarney National Park, just past Ladies View. Unfortunately by the end of the hike it was raining.

In light of this, we scrapped plans for the Dingle Peninsula and went to Limerick. We felt sure that this would be a lively town, and we wanted to do some shopping. Unfortunately had no coins to pay for parking, no way to get coins, and the guy parking next to us said they did in fact enforce the payment. So we saw King John's Castle (free parking!) and then James wanted to head to our next B&B, which was in the coastal town of Kilkee, where a murderer had been arrested just last night. We weren't sure how long it would take us to get to Kilkee, and we thought (incorrectly, it turned out) that there might be some local shopping. We should have known better, I suppose.

We got to the B&B -- where James had reserved a "special" room as he had told the man on the phone we were on our honeymoon -- and eventually ended up with a seaview room, but only after tonight's hostess (Mary but let's call her Brunhilda) marched us up a steep flight of stairs and through a long passageway around the back somewhere. She said it was the largest room, and it did seem big. I suppose. We went back to the front room with the superb view. Brunhilda informed us that the town was dead and headed back to whatever she'd been doing. We wandered around town for a bit, walked along the water, then looked for places to shop or eat. We found a small grocery and asked the lady inside for suggestions. She said we had one: the Stella Maris, a hotel/restaurant across from our B&B that looked quite a bit more welcoming than our place. Walking back to the Stella Maris, we saw a pub adjacent to the B&B and Brunhilda was behind the bar. That pub had a nice peat fire roaring and probably would have been better than the Stella Maris, upon reflection, but no way we were going to give Brunhilda the satisfaction. It turns out the pub was attached to the B&B. If you look at the website, it all looks wonderful. And maybe it is, in the summer.

At dinner, we discovered that the murderer had in fact stayed in that very hotel and eaten at that very restaurant the night before. After dinner, it was another early night back at the B&B. 

Posted by Molly at 12:01 AM EST

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The proprietor of the B&B (I assume) showed up to cook breakfast, providing a breath of fresh air compared to the woman of the day before. You know, I just looked at the website and we did NOT get either of the lovely looking rooms pictured. I mean, it was an adequate room back in the back of the house but it looked kind of tired. The nice, warm rooms in the picture are apparently not for those on travel vouchers. Hmm. At least I can remain secure in the knowledge that I did not pick badly. I was misled by the pretty pictures of the nice rooms.

Anyway, I had waffles for breakfast and James went with the scrambled eggs. We were not feeling up to the white and black pudding today. The B&B had some cool artwork around the dining rooms, all done by the same guy (whose name I cannot remember and it's driving me a little bit crazy right now), and we admired it as we were leaving. The proprietor asked what we were planning to do, and we told him the Ring of Kerry. He said that was good, that we had planned a whole day for it, because a lot of people tried to do it in a half day, and you certainly could, but...

On the road again! It was overcast and threatening rain. We stopped at a beach on the Dingle Bay and took a few photos. Our guidebook directed us to stop at the Bog Village, but with our luck we weren't sure it would be open and James vetoed the idea.

I think we drove over to Valentia Island...but we couldn't figure out anyplace to stop so we just kept driving. Damn rain. We stopped off at the Skelligs Island Experience, but we had missed the boat that would take us out to the islands (which we knew already, plus it probably would have been miserable on this day) but we thought we'd see if anything was interesting at the visitor's center. It wasn't. They had a video you could pay to watch, and there was a tour bus that arrived just after we did that was watching the video, but we opted out and went to lunch in the little town across the water, which was called Portmagee. The Bridge Bar was mentioned in the handy guidebook and hey! there it was. So we had seafood chowder. It was good, and the bar was nice and there was a peat fire, which I liked, but we were the only people in there and the locals were not exactly welcoming.

We kept driving and eventually came to a parking lot on top of some mountain? hill? (Coomakista Pass) so we pulled in. The wind was brutal and whatever was falling from the sky seemed to be icy. We got out to take a few pictures and nearly got blown off the cliff. Well, not really but the wind was blowing really hard. And whatever was falling made the photography a challenge. There's a random statue in the middle of the parking lot. Wikipedia tells me it's the Virgin Mary.

Coming down the mountain/hill from Coomakista Pass, we saw some beaches that probably would be really cute in the summer. But the rain, it continued. We noticed that we were rapidly coming close to our destination for the evening and it was only 2:00 in the afternoon, so we headed off the beaten path toward the Staigue stone fort. Down winding one-lane roads we went ... only to discover that the fort -- which had a chainlink fence around it -- was closed. So that was that. At least we saw it, I suppose.

We were staying in Sneem, which was apparently a cute and quaint fishing village according to the guidebooks. It technically is still on the Ring of Kerry, which officially ends in the next town, Kenmare. I had grossly overestimated the time we would spend -- or want to spend -- driving the Ring, so we got to Sneem early in the afternoon. It was pouring rain and cold. We almost missed the town, it was so small. We kept thinking there had to be more to it, but alas, there was not. There was a little town circle, but all the shops seemed closed, and there weren't even that many shops to begin with. James suggested we drive on to Kenmare and see if there was anything to do there.

Kenmare was ... much the same as Sneem. But there was a bit of a shopping area and a cafe where we stopped to warm up. We spent a bit of time looking at a sort of general store, where I was tempted by the Aran sweaters but still unable to commit. Everything closed by 4 or 5 so we headed back to Sneem.

James found a hotel in either Sneem or Kenmare that he really wanted to stay at, as they it looked modern and there was a nice fireplace and a restaurant, but we had already pre-paid the B&B so I didn't want to do it. It was such a miserable day, and we weren't having a superfun time, so I probably would have caved in but he didn't push it. 

We headed back to our B&B in Sneem (we had this room), where we were met by a college student from Illinois who was living there while she student-taught for a semester. She gave us tea and a snack and told us how she was having a great time and she could fly to Paris for just 20 euros on Ryan Air and she was going to Germany next week to see the Christmas Markets and that had only cost her 15 euros or something ridiculously low like that.

As we were finishing our snack, Maureen, the proprietor arrived home from some meeting she had had to go to. She said the weather was horrible, even by Irish standards, and she was betting we'd lose power, she was sure of it, they'd already lost power in the next town over ... so we had better go eat now if we were going into town. (She said there'd be no problem with breakfast in the morning if she did lose power, since she cooked with gas.) She recommended Dan Murphys. Actually she said that was pretty much our only option, but it was good and the prices were reasonable. (She noted that most people in Ireland don't eat out -- only the tourists. At least we fit the bill!) We had a lovely dinner in the pub, sitting by the peat fire. I had lamb stew. I find that I don't actually like lamb, or at least not this lamb. It was pretty tough. But the stew was good, it had lots of big bright orange carrots. There was only one lady there, serving behind the bar, and she was putting candles out in case they lost power, but they didn't, at least not while we were there.

We headed back to the B&B after dinner, and were hoping to be invited to sit by the fire, as had been mentioned (though not promised) earlier in the evening, but we didn't see anyone after we let ourselves in, so we just headed to our room. There was satellite TV but because of the weather or some other glitch, we weren't getting very many channels, but we did at least have internet access, so we could play on James's iPad, and I read some more and then we went to bed early again.

Posted by Molly at 12:01 AM EST

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A much better day. We started again with a traditional Irish breakfast for James although I ate his black and white pudding, deciding that I liked the white better.

We drove to Midleton, which was my backup plan if we missed the Jameson tour in Dublin. Midleton is home to the actual distillery. By this time, we were getting the hang of navigation in Ireland, and the signage in Midleton was quite good. On the way from Waterford, we passed some more amazing views and also the town of Dungarvan, which is apparently twinned to Erie, PA, of all places. The distillery tour was fun. There were a decent number of folks on tour with us, including three or four who did not seem to know a word of English, so I'm not sure exactly what all they got out of it, but they did get to do the taste test at the end. The tour guide asked for volunteers and James's hand shot up. And no one else's. But, it being the off-season, everyone got to do the taste test except for me and one other woman who had a small child with her. (And I think we could have joined if we'd wanted.) James got an official taste tester certificate. I smelled the whiskey. I have to admit, the Jameson smelled the best.

Anyway, Cobh was a really cute looking town, but we had to hustle out of there to make it to the Blarney Stone before sundown. By God, I was going to kiss that damn stone. James got us there before dusk and we both kissed it. We actually got there at a really good time, late afternoon, and the sun was shining and there was no one around. The spiral steps up were possibly more nerve wracking than bending over backwards to kiss the stone. There were two guys up there, one to hold onto your pants so you didn't fall and one to take your picture. I was really scared about falling before I got to the castle, but it turns out they put a couple of iron bars across the opening so you'd have to be really special to fall to your death. And then there's the guy hanging onto you. I mean, it still made me nervous to lean back and do it (I went first) but naturally I had built it up in my mind to be worse than it was. But those damn steps. Holy hell.

James got into a conversation with the pants-holder on metal detectors, as apparently treasure hunting is illegal in Ireland, but the dude was going to do it anyway. And James dearly wanted to.

After the Blarney Stone, we contemplated the Blarney Woolen Mills (as I still had not found adequate souvenirs for people and it was starting to get to me), but it looked closed. So we made our way to our stop for the night, Killarney. The lady at the B&B was unfriendly, but I don't think she was the owner, as the guy who made us breakfast the next morning was delightful.

We were fairly close to the town center, so we wandered around and considered a movie, which we ultimately did not see. Then we ate at an Italian restaurant, Salvador's I think it was. James had an awesome calzone. Then we had carrot cake and Italian coffee for dessert. (Hot chocolate for James.) It was totally un-Irish but good. Our waiter asked if we were driving the Ring of Kerry (which we were, the next day), then said he had been here three years and had only just done it last week and was like, "Why haven't I done this before???"

Posted by Molly at 12:01 AM EST

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We started the day with our first real Irish breakfast. (We had had breakfast the day before, yes, but not an "Irish breakfast.") The proprietor had asked the night before what time we wanted breakfast. I think we picked 8. He said something like, "Oh, Mary will cook for you." Mary, apparently, is his wife. When she bustled up with our breakfast at the appointed hour, James and I wondered where she had been last night. Mary made the best scones I have ever had. They were just traditional scones with raisins in them but they were so, so good. (Clinton's Woodview Farmhouse, in case you're in the area.) I had heard about the black and white pudding in a traditional Irish breakfast, and it sounded scary, but I tried it anyway, I mean, you only live once. It wasn't bad. James, predictably, would not eat it. Mary was entranced by James's iPad, which he showed off before we left.

We only had vague plans for the day, but we knew we were staying in Waterford that night, which was about a three-hour drive. There was an emigrant ship on the way that I had originally wanted to tour but it had gone into dry dock the week before, according to the website. So our other options were the Hook Head Lighthouse, which I wanted to do but was pretty far out of the way, or the Waterford Crystal Factory once we arrived in town. I'm not big on Waterford Crystal, but I figured it might be neat. Plus we had one of our BOGOs.

Before we got on the road, however, I wanted to see the beach. Or, more specifically, the Irish Sea. And it was pretty. Someone either at the pub or the B&B, or maybe right there at the harbor, had mentioned Skerries Mills, which are two windmills that sort of dominate the landscape. One was built in the 1500s and the other in the 1800s. And we had a BOGO! Also, they opened at 10, which meant they would be open now, so we headed over to check it out. The little complex had a cafe and a gift store, and we were the only people there to tour (some other people came a bit later to start setting up for a music performance that was being held in the cafe that afternoon) so the guy who was there taking money said he would take us around. But first he and James and the girl working there all went outside for a smoke, and we stood around and bitched about the costs of car ownership. I think James asked if anyone had trucks, because we hadn't seen any, although with the narrow roads, I don't know why you'd want one anyway. The guy said insurance prices were ridiculous. Or he said gas prices were ridiculous. (Which they were.) He said he never liked to travel but his wife and daughter (friend?) went to New York every so often to go shopping, because even once you paid airfare you got better deals.

It was a pretty day, but cold. We could only go up in one of the windmills because the other was closed for maintenance or something. I think we went up in the older one. We also got to go through the mill area and see the waterwheel. They were setting up for a Santa Village that they apparently host so there was foil and presents and snow everywhere. It was cute. After the tour, James got some more hot chocolate, and I was probably going to buy some souvenirs, but the guy who had led our tour asked us to sign the guestbook, so we headed back downstairs to do so and the lady in the store fixed him with a death glare for running off her potential customers. Which he did, as we didn't end up buying anything. The guy was very nice, though, and invited us to stay for the performance they were having, but we had to get on the road.

We drove forever, but the views were incredible. We kept hoping there would be a scenic overlook so we could stop and look around, but we only saw one, which we dutifully stopped at. I incorrectly chose to not tour the lighthouse because I was afraid that it would be closed by the time we got there (after our Newgrange experience) or that we would get lost on the way there or back, and I didn't want to have to be driving/navigating in the dark, which came early. So we went to Waterford Crystal instead, but it was in fact inexplicably closed. It was also unclear as to where we were supposed to go. We drove by it a couple of times, following the signs, but then the signs just stopped. Finally we figured that black building must be it but nothing was going on. There were some other confused looking tourists wandering around, but not many.

We went to eat dinner in the city center, which had a cute little shopping district. We picked O'Briens Sandwich Shop and when I found out they took cash only, I cried. I couldn't help it. I'm not a good traveller and I was upset that I had picked wrong on the lighthouse, and that the crystal factory was closed and that we were already running out of cash, and how can it be SO EXPENSIVE. Anyway, we ate and James was mad that I had cried so we had a very silent drive to the B&B which we found after only having to ask directions once. This B&B, in contrast to our farmhouse lodging of the night before, had a new modern wing was very hotel-like. They had hot tea and snacks when we arrived so things were looking up. I mentioned to Susan, the proprietor, that we were having some trouble navigating the country as we had opted out of the GPS and she responded that she was adamantly against GPS as they melt your brain. She had strong opinions. James didn't like her. I thought she seemed quite fun. I tried some milk in my tea and liked it.

We couldn't figure out anything else to do, not really wanting to venture too far away, and James was still mad at me, so he went to bed early and I took a nice relaxing bath and read my book.

Posted by Molly at 12:01 AM EST

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Do they call them suburbs in Ireland? After breakfast, we took pictures of the Molly Malone statue that we'd seen from the duck tour the day before, and I insisted we go to Starbucks. It tasted just like back home. On the agenda for today was Kilmainham Gaol in Dublin, then Trim Castle a.k.a. The Braveheart Castle, and Newgrange, an ancient burial tomb, which was recommended by my dad's friend Ed who has been to Ireland several times and is an expert in such things. (Plus it seemed cool online, so I probably would have wanted to go anyway.)

After our walk to see Molly Malone and our Starbucks excursion, we navigated to the Kilmainham Gaol without too many missteps. I had thought that it seemed like a good place to visit, but it was mainly for James. I mean, what man wouldn't like touring a prison? Also we had a coupon book that had buy one, get one offers for a lot of the attractions that were perhaps off the beaten path. Like this one. Anyway, it was pretty powerful. The cells were awful, and they had the place where the public executions were carried out, and the most powerful story was probably that of the Easter Rebellion, which I knew nothing about. We saw the spot where James Connolly was executed. James recognized the "New Wing," where several movies have been filmed.

We drove to Trim, located about an hour northeast of Dublin. It was cold and threatening rain, but we perservered. The castle seems like it's in pretty good shape for something built in 1204. We were a bit early for the tour so we had time to walk the grounds a bit, and James tried to help out three fellow tourists trying to get a decent picture in front of the castle. (They were trying to get a shot of all three of them jumping up in the air. James finally got one, but with our camera, and though we exchanged email addresses, I don't think we ever managed to send it to them. Oops.) We got to tour inside and then we got to go up to the top. Our tour guide mentioned that once she had locked someone up there and only noticed as she was walking back across the grounds and saw frantic hand waving. Meanwhile, it had started to rain steadily. Everyone hustled around pretty quick as it was cold and wet, but then I remembered the tour guide had said something about the gates of the castle being directly parallel to the gates of the castle in the next town, so I wanted to go get a picture. Once I did that, I realized I was the only one left up there, and went over to the door...just as the guide was locking it from the inside. Hopefully James would have come to my rescue eventually but luckily she let me in and we finished the tour without further incident.

After the castle tour, I wandered around the grounds some more (in the rain) while James looked at pictures from the Braveheart filming. Then we grabbed some lunch at The Castle Restaurant just across the street, where James had a burger and confused the staff by ordering "fries." We also noticed there was "Southern fried chicken" on the menu, and James asked if that meant Southern Ireland. I don't think they were sad to see us go.

Leaving Trim, James turned the wrong way on the one way street and came upon a police car. Luckily he either recognized our rental car or noticed James waving sheepishly at him. We headed over to Newgrange hurriedly, as I noted that it closed at 4:15 in winter. Unfortunately the website and guidebook neglected to mention that the last tour was at 3:15, which was just too bad since we arrived closer to 4. "You can tour the museum here onsite," the nice lady said. What the hell, we were already there, so we forked over some exorbitant amount of euros to look at the (tiny) museum, the highlight of which was the movie theater that had a replica of how the inner chamber is lit by sunlight at sunrise on the winter solstice. (See, doesn't that sound really cool? I wanted to see that.)

We then headed to our B&B which was in the coastal town of Skerries. We had fairly good directions but we COULD NOT find the place. We located the road it was on and drove down it at least twice. Nothing. Finally we went to a gas station in town and somebody took pity on us and let us follow her. We had been on the right road, but the B&B was just off the road, on a side road, with no signs. We could have driven all night and never found it. Our first Irish B&B was a bit ... odd. It was run by an older couple, and we were the only guests that night. We were met at the door by one son, and led to the kitchen where the owner was watching soccer (football?) with another son. Both sons left but said their dad would want to talk to us. The owner was on oxygen for "a bad chest infection" and kept hacking. It was awkward. He asked where North Carolina was in relation to Connecticut. He seemed like a nice guy but the constant hacking was a bit off-putting. Eventually we asked for dinner recommendations and he named a few places in town.

We ended up at Stoop Your Head pub, which was lively, and sat at the bar since there were no seats in the restaurant proper. James branched out and tried baked salmon but still apple pie for dessert. I had beef stroganoff.

Posted by Molly at 12:01 AM EST

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We were leaving Raleigh at 1:30p.m. on a Thursday, and would get to Dublin, via Atlanta, at 6:50 a.m. on Friday. I was excited but also a nervous wreck, because OMG we were going to crash into the ocean and I was never going to see Patrick again. (I even got my will all in order before the trip. Granted I probably should have done that once he was born, but hey -- motivation!) Also, we had found out on Tuesday that I was pregnant, so I was coming to terms with the fact that I was not going to be able to drink while in Ireland. We dropped Patrick at daycare; they knew we were going and that my parents would be watching Patrick for the next week. We had time to eat at RDU so had Bruegger's for lunch. In Atlanta, I noticed a Caribou Coffee in the Atlanta terminal and thought that I should probably enjoy one last Campfire Mocha, but it had been a long way from our arrival gate, and I was hot so I didn't get it.

The plane disappointingly did not have individual movie screens at each seat and instead had one at each bulkhead (or whatever). I missed the beginning of whatever movie they were showing so there went that. Our in flight meal consisted of barbecue chicken with sweet potatoes which James actually liked and green beans. This was served with a side salad and brown bread with a triple chocolate brownie. I am enough of a dork that I still get a kick out of getting full meals (such as they are) on an airplane. James had hot tea on the plane with two sugars and expressed disbelief that anyone would want to put milk in their tea. (Foreshadowing!)

We did not sleep well on the plane and arrived before dawn in Dublin. I had booked us a duck tour and a tour of the Guinness Storehouse. I wanted to do a tour of Jameson as well but hadn't booked that because I didn't want to overbook us. I noticed an IKEA from the plane. We disembarked and stumbled through customs. The customs guys looked mean but let us through without a second glance. And didn't even stamp my passport. Like, I want my credit for traveling internationally! Then we went to get our bags. I don't know what I was expecting, but I thought the Dublin airport would be much more modern than it was. The baggage claim area smelled strongly of kerosene. We went over to our car rental counter. There was no one there. We called the courtesy phone, and the person on the other end said they would send a bus over, so we were out into the Dublin morning. It was cloudy and cold, but not too cold and not raining! (Rain was my big worry now that we had survived the trip over. That, and the flight back.) Our rental car bus driver was Italian. He said that driving in Dublin was a breeze. He said the only thing you had to worry about were the roundabouts, and if you knew what lane you were supposed to be in, those weren't even hard at all. And don't worry, he said, Dublin and in fact all Irish drivers were polite and never honked. (Foreshadowing!)

We got our car, which was small but adequate, and headed off to find our hotel. We promptly got lost. This was to be a trend, especially for our first few days in Ireland. And there was much honking. The drivers are not polite! They are insane! Clearly we should never drive in Italy. Eventually we made it to Dublin, but we had no idea how to find our hotel. We were basically there, but the hotel, it seemed, was not. Finally, after stopping for directions several times, we located it. It WAS there! (We had planned to rent a GPS along with our car rental, but then James said he could take his own GPS and just download an Ireland map. So I didn't rent the GPS and then it turns out he coudn't just download an Ireland map. Thus we were left relying on a paper map and me. Which was BAD BAD news.) 

We checked into our hotel early then headed toward St Stephen's Green for our Viking Splash tour. We were running late but luckily it was too. So we had coffee at the Red Rose Cafe across the street. The only other people on tour with us were two Chinese guys in town from Limerick to get their visas. (They were studying abroad for a year.) The tour was amusing but a bit long as it turned out to actually be quite cold. (But not raining!) Then we were off to Guinness. In retrospect, we should have taken a cab. It was a very long walk. By the time we got there, we were cold, hungry and tired, so we ate upon arrival in the restaurant then halfheartedly took the self-guided tour. At the top of the building, you get a "free" (after you pay for the tour, so...) pint at the Sky Bar, which has glass all the way around so you get a panoramic view of Dublin. It was pretty cool, but I didn't want to drink more than a couple sips of Guinness (in my "condition") and James hates the stuff anyway. I will note that I prefer U.S. Guinness to the unfiltered Irish stuff. It wasn't much different but it tasted less refined and more bitter. Buying souvenirs took forever, both because I am horrible at deciding what to get people and because the line was slow. I wrote a postcard that supposedly would get airmailed out that evening. My mom got that postcard a few months later, in January. We speculate that it got sent to Durham, England, though I don't know how, since I did remember, even while jetlagged, to write USA in big letters at the bottom.

Then it was back to the hotel. Again, we walked, and it had started to rain by the time we made it back. It was evening by that point, starting to get dark around 5 p.m. Jameson had no chance. James was irritated because my cheapness had not allowed us to get a cab. Upon arriving back at the hotel, we promptly went to bed at 5:30. And slept until 7:30 the next morning. 

Posted by Molly at 12:01 AM EST

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Not too long ago, I had a conversation with a woman at work about the distribution of household labor. I said it felt like I did a heck of a lot more around the house than my dear husband, which would be one thing if I was a stay-at-home-mom but, you know, I'm not. (Still wouldn't be fair, exactly, but it might bother me less?) Anyway, she said there have been studies about this sort of thing, and they found that each partner feels they do way more than the other. So if you added up the percentages that they give themselves, it would be way over 100. I said I was sure that's true ... but I still do more. She laughed.

I remembered this conversation last night as I was trying to go to the bathroom undisturbed by a toddler, with little success. I started thinking about everything I had done at home, compared to everything James had done. Here's my recollection:

We also fit in a bit of time to fight about budgeting/money (because that's what we do).

And then I watched Grey's Anatomy and not the World Series, because I cannot for the life of me get excited about Giants-Rangers. Yawn.

Posted by Molly at 10:40 AM EDT

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After I had sex for the first time, my period was two weeks late. We'd been safe; I wasn't particularly worried. I didn't say anything. And then there was nothing to say. But sometimes I wonder about the what ifs. What if I had gotten pregnant? At the time, I would have told you there's no way he would have asked me to get an abortion, but I later found out he HAD asked that of his high school girlfriend. I wouldn't have. So there would be this little seven-year-old running around. In my mind, it's a boy. But he might have wanted a little girl. I know he had preferred girl names.  

Why do I still think about this eight years later? I don't know. We aren't in touch, we don't talk anymore. His choice. That's probably part of it. And, I mean, it was my first time. It was a big deal (for me). I thought about it a lot before it happened, and I told myself it was okay, it would be okay, even if we didn't, you know, walk off into the sunset together, because we'd been close friends, and we would always be friends. I couldn't see how we wouldn't still be friends, at least. So he would always be a part of my life. As it turns out, he's not a part of my life at all, and maybe that's why I still think of him.

I don't know where this is going. Probably nowhere. Sometimes I just think about it. I don't think about anyone else like this. I mean, they were really a lot of fun and I look back fondly on many things about them, even though one ended quite badly. But they were fun while they lasted. And I don't wonder what if.

Posted by Molly at 10:43 AM EDT

Updated: Fri 03/10/2023 1:07 PM EST

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Last week, you went on a plane trip for the sixth time. We had to fly to Erie for your Great-Grandpa Jack's funeral. (You are totally over flying, and you were unimpressed by Cleveland. I've never really been to the city but given the complete lack of decent coffee in the entire airport, I can't say I blame you.)

Jack was my mom's father. You got to meet him, once, when you were about three months old. Neither of you remembered that, but I think it was a nice moment for me and for your grandma. You never got to meet MY grandma, your Great-Grandma Rose, but she would have loved you, and spoiled you ROTTEN, like she always did me and Kevin and Megan.

When I went to the hospital to have you, one of the things that I worried about the most was getting an IV. (I tend to do this, you see, focus on tiny little things so I don't have to worry about the big things. I don't think it's terribly effective so I don't recommend it.) And I said to the nurse, "I don't really like needles." She was completely dismissive and said, "Most people don't." I suppose it's the same with funerals. But all the same, it was nice to see everyone. Jack's older sister Jeanne was there. She DOES remember when you met Jack and she loved seeing you again. Your grandpa Mike's dad, Great-Grandpa Ed, came, and so did Larry and Andrea and my Aunt Linda. You got to meet your grandpa's best buddy, Ed Hilovsky, and you got to meet your great-grandpa's best buddy, Joe Marshall. Joe and his wife lived across the street from Jack and Rose on West 23rd Street from 1963-2006 when Jack moved out. Joe was the Erie chief of police and once yelled at me for running into his car while I was learning to ride a bike. I've been slightly afraid of him since that day. You let Joe pick you up -- the only one you let do that who wasn't already familiar -- and the next day gave him a high five.

Your grandma spoke at the service, and Chris and Jeff. Chris talked about how Jack loved trains, and how once, when Megan was 11, she stayed home sick one day, and her grandpa stayed with her, and when Chris got home that night, Megan said, "I'm never getting sick again -- Grandpa made me watch train videos all day." Your grandma said that Jack loved Carolina basketball and told the story about how I used to take dance lessons with Dean Smith's daughter. And one day, Jack was waiting to pick me up after dance, and there was Dean Smith, and he walked up and introduced himself, and he was so happy that he got to meet Dean Smith. Jeff said that Jack was the best husband and father that anyone could hope for -- he lived with his mother-in-law, his wife, and his two daughters -- and that he always looked to Jack for guidance on how he should act. Joe stood up and talked about how he went to high school with Jack, but then they lost touch until 1963, when Jack moved in across the street. Later, Joe's daughter said that he wanted to say so much more, but he couldn't; it was too hard.

After the service, we all went to lunch. Jack and Rose always used to drink Manhattans, so we tried them, lots of us for the first time. (They aren't bad, but I don't think I'll continue that tradition.) Jack was buried in a Carolina pullover, and the sky was Carolina blue. It was a beautiful fall day. You, however, weren't interested in eating lunch, though, who knows, you might have wanted to try a Manhattan. In the same row of buildings as the restaurant was a toy store, and you and I wandered over there to try to keep you happy. You had a hunk of bread in your hand, and after a time around the store, you were looking for someplace to put it. You saw a display of little plastic personalized mugs. You picked one up, a blue one, and put it back. Then you picked up an orange one, dropped your bread inside, and walked off with the cup. After you put it down, I went to go pick it up and saw the name on it. You picked the mug that said "Jack."

Posted by Molly at 1:00 AM EDT

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Dear Patrick,

Today you are nineteen months old. Before you were born, I had all these crazy ideas: I was going to do an awesome scrapbook for you. I was going to take a picture of you every day for the first year of your life. I was going to write you monthly letters so you would know what you were like when you were a baby (and so I would remember). Anyway. I hit one of those three goals, which was a total bitch. Hope you like your photo book. The scrapbook thing (and the letter thing) I've rationalized away using the 'But he's a boy, he won't care' reasoning. It's probably true. It's still a rationalization. You'll find that I'm very good at that sort of thing. If I had decided to do this sort of letter writing thing even on an infrequent basis, it would have made much more sense to do it at 12 months, or even 18, but well, here we are. Last week we just had your 18-month doctor visit, although the delay there was the doctor’s fault, not mine. Perhaps that visit is what has sparked this urge to write you a letter. You measured at 50^th percentile for height and weight, and 99^th percentile for head circumference. I got the biggest kick out of that. Your grandparents love to talk about how I was at 5% for weight and 95% for head circumference, so it is nice to know that we have that in common.

Lately you LOVE spending time outside. This is unfortunate since we are having probably the hottest summer ever recorded. You bring me your shoes and put on your little shark hat and grab my finger and pull me to the door. 'Door' and 'outside' are two of your favorite words. (I'm glad that you have these words, because I spent a good portion of your first year worrying about your development. Because you crawled funny. You'll be happy to know that in your second year, I worry less about you and more about me. I don't want to miss anything, and it scares me. Your grandmother tells me that she went to the doctor at least nine times during MY first year of life, convinced that she was dying, so it must be genetic. She said it leveled off around age 2, so here's hoping.) You also like to say 'ball,' normally while you're toddling toward one across the street in the neighbor's yard. Good thing we live in a family neighborhood. You cry when I leave the room, and it's simultaneously annoying and adorable and heart-breaking. And it pisses off your dad, because he thinks you don't do it for him, but you do. Every weekend you boys go off to have breakfast at Bojangles so every morning you ask for Daddy. (You also say 'sweet tea' very frequently, as you pull the jug from the refrigerator. I told your father he is going to take you to your first dentist appointment.) We go for walks every night, and I think you like it, but you no longer are content to be contained. You have to walk, too, or push the stroller yourself, or ride in your Cozy Coupe. You think it's hilarious if your dad or I let you go and run in front of the car. Your laugh is such a wonderful thing; it's so genuine and it’s hard not to laugh with you. You use this to your advantage when you know you're about to be in trouble. The pediatrician says that babies are not manipulative. I'm not sure when toddlers become manipulative, but I'm pretty sure you had a head start. You have been manipulating me from the minute you were born. Even before that.

You hate going to bed. I think it's because you hate being left out. You want to be a part of everything that we're doing. And I usually don't give in but I do cave when you snuggle up next to me and say 'baseball.' You seem to prefer throwing things with your left hand, and this delights me. Apparently kids don't pick a dominant hand until they are 4 or 5, but I think it would be neat if you were a southpaw. This is not a popular opinion; I know of at least two other moms who actively discourage their kids from using the left hand. They say it's too difficult to be a lefty in life. I'm not a lefty, but I disagree.

Your father and I are talking about maybe trying to provide you with a sibling. In case you hate that possible theoretical future sibling, I want to tell you why we are thinking about this. Well, I'll tell you my side. I think your dad has different reasons. My brother, your Uncle Kevin, and I fought A LOT while we were growing up. I don't just mean 'I'm not touching you' kind of fights. I mean hitting, punching, scratching, that sort of thing. We were mean to each other. We always tried to get the other in trouble. Looking into the future when you can read this, he probably is still talking about that time (he claims) I cost him his hearing by smacking him in the ear with a towel at Disney World. He can hear fine. But here's the thing: we have so much fun together now. We have the same sense of humor, we like a lot of the same things, we like to quote Armageddon at inappropriate times. We have a weekly lunch date, and we usually meet for coffee too. We have a shared history, and it's just so awesome. And more than anything, I want that for you. (Also, of course, someone to share the burden with when your parents are old. You know.)

There's a lot more I want to say, but it's going to have to wait until at least 19 months and one day. And let's be realistic: it'll probably be at least several months out. Anyway. I love you, Patrick, and I'm so glad you're here. It's so much fun to watch you grow up. (For now, at least.)

Love,
Mommy

Posted by Molly at 9:41 PM EDT

Updated: Wed 07/21/2010 10:13 AM EDT

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