Non-heathen baby? Check.

Nora Jane was baptized yesterday and she was kinda okay with it.

Kinda.

Actually she was superb during the processional (yep, she got to proCESS) and great through the readings and the homily.

And then she woke up.

To be fair, she couldn't have been the comfiest of gals. She wore the Schoeny family lace christening gown, complete with Puritanical eyelet bonnet (as my sister Rachel exclaimed- "I saw Goody Proctor with the devil!") and there were more than a few itchy, constricting layers. And turns out, she does NOT care to have water splashed on her head, nor oily crosses traced on her forehead. She expressed this displeasure by screeching and sobbing for the rest of mass. My mother said it was the Holy Spirit entering her. My mother is kind.

The service was nice and it was a delight to see everyone who came to watch. (I realize that 'delight' is rather a rather dusty term, but that's what it was. Delightful.) I had a good time watching my sister Kate (and Nora's godmother) pretend to be cool with a Catholic ceremony- my family's Protestant- and as she put it, "fake her way." God didn't strike anyone down, so I think everyone was easy like Sunday morning with it. (See what I did there?)

I did, however, express joy at seeing someone in the congregation by making the 'rock on' sign at them. You know, the ol' devil horns? (Again, nothing happened- we must be cool.)

Another moment etched into my memory will be the image of P.J.'s ol' roomie Nick (and former groomsman- it's pretty much the same cast of characters, like a Christopher Guest movie) taking photos on the altar after the ceremony. With the priest. Directing the priest. Repeatedly. ("Father, I need you to step down and go beside Keely. No, can you scoot over more?")

Again, no Heavenly displeasure was shown.

When we got home (you know, to the after party?) I changed Nora into her party gown- a silk kimono, of course. Why, what did YOU wear to celebrate your baptism? It was a hand-me-down, but still uber fancy. Basically we went from Kelly McGillis in 'Witness' straight to "Memoirs of a Geisha."

And Nora got some sweet loot from the party! (Had I but known what a cash cow the "christening" could be...) Among them were items of bling that I'm "keeping safe" for her, enough puffy bibles and children's stories to open our own Vatican library...and a mammoth-sized giraffe. Yes. Not exactly life-sized, but closer to an actual giraffe than any standard stuffed animal size. We've decided to keep it in the front window. That way, any crazies on our street (and oh, WILL THEY EVER be emerging from hibernation shortly) will think that a) someone is doing a spiffy neighborhood watch or b) the Loch Ness monster is alive and well and in the Midwest.

That was the second Loch Ness post I've ever made on this blog. This is at once funny and sad. We can do better.

And now, if I may, a little commentary on the Olympics' closing ceremony?

What the heck happened?

It was all well and good until Shatner decided to be all, well, Shatner about his speech- and I'm sorry, light comedy does NOT play well in ice arena. They might be laughing...but you'd never know it! (And they weren't laughing.)

And Michael Buble. Which, at first, we didn't realize WAS Michael Buble. Except for the voice. As Rachel said (she was highly quotable this weekend) "That's either a very talented Mountie, or Michael Buble is wearing a stupid outfit." The latter! Suddenly it was a stereotypical 1940's Canadian radio hour. You know, the kind that Canada made famous.

And then...then...a kind of poor man's Macy's parade/Chutes n' Ladders/acid trip where what may have been actual Mounties "performed." (Rachel- "If they start dancing, they're not real Mounties."/"No, they must be real Mounties- if they were performers they'd be dancing better.") And the giant moose and beaver! They had sweet faces, sure, but I did not get it. I think Canada just spent the entirety of their tourism revenue on this IceCapade rave.

We also decided that whatever the heck going on with the gigantic butterfly/Little Mermaid/pod people redheads suspended 400 feet above the ice were SCARY (and the one with the crazy close-ups was clearing dating a cameraman) and we all feared for the kid dressed as a giant hockey puck.

And whatever was supposed to happen with the end of Michael J. Fox's routine DID NOT happen. C'mon, A/V Club! Fail. Alex P. Keaton is being charming and Canadian! You let us ALL down.

And pretty much, that's what happened with the Olympics. I think. Although I don't believe that watching a half hour of the closing ceremony makes me an athletic expert. Or even an athletic supporter. (Ha- see what I did there?)

Now I'm off to shove all the glittery plastic flatware back into the dining room, wash n' dry a small mountain of infant party outfits, eat a second cheddar chive scone (my current raison de bread) that was leftover from the party...and nap with my holiest of holy daughters.

Happy four month birthday, Nora Janie! We love you to the moon and back...even without the slick duds and rockin' ragers.

That's what parents do.

It's kinda like camping.

Shameless self-promotion: the 'Snapshots' festival that 20% Theatre Chicago produces every year is this weekend! One of my better one-acts is featured, as are two pieces that P.J. gets to rock. Come play! Thursday through Saturday at 8pm, Sunday at 7pm. Strawdog Theatre, 3829 N. Broadway, Chicago. Email at twentypercentchicago@yahoo.com for reservations (and a good time.)

Business done? Yes? (Not even remotely.)

Yes, we have a new house. Yes, I'm wildly pregnant. But no, I don't feel like blogging about the movers who spoke only Spanish, the boxspring stuck in the door, the sectional couch stuck in the hallway, the more nights we've been away than present in the new place or my ever-expanding belly button shelf. At least not right now.

I AM intrigued, however, by opinions. Strong ones. Ones that people have had since childhood and cannot be swayed by other opinions, science, medical facts or divine intervention. For example (and this is just an example): The truthful OPINION that Nessie, the Loch Ness Monster, is a dinosaur. I used to think that she was a Brontosaurus, but since that's no longer a valid dinosaur (another OPINION, like the demotion of Pluto), I'll jive with Apatosaurus, Paleosaurus or whatever the going long-necked variety is now called. No one in the universe could convince me otherwise...and I won't even entertain statements to the contrary. Unless you're suggesting a different dinosaur that Nessie could possibly be. Then that's just fun conversation.

Do you have an opinion so strongly rooted that the absence of mere "facts" doesn't even register? I bet you do. I asked my sister Kate for her strongest held opinion...and waited. And waited. Finally, I heard the intake of breath that meant an OPINION was about to be offered. (Hah. That's a joke. No one ever "offers" opinions. Opinions are thrust! And demanded to be taken! And if not, something else is taken: offense.) Anyway, the payoff opinion was this:

"I think tamales are overrated."

That's it? That's your 'take it or leave it' view of the universe? There's only one noun in that statement! When I showed displeasure in her opinion (unfair, I realize), she amended it to use stronger words. It was still about tamales, however. I'll give her some more time.

And now back to the delightful slice of life I call "going to work and collecting a paycheck." (I'm enjoying a brief respite from doing something along the lines of gluing colorful things to other colorful things and also sanitizing rooms smeared with poo. This respite comes in the form of a savior I like to call "Sesame Street.")

Wednesday already?

I barely know where I live anymore.

(But it's easily identifiable by the large furnishings stuck in small spaces. Come visit sometime! Seating will be hilarious.)