Holy Holy Moly.

It's official.

Zuzu is legit.

(In the eyes of Christianity, anyhow, and not in the whole She Doesn't Look Like Anyone Except For Maybe P.J.'s Best Friend Neil A Tad When The Light Makes Her Hair Slightly Reddish- But I Swear She's A Schoeny, Have You Seen Her Mouth kinda way.)

P.J.'s awfully excited.

We had a small baptism yesterday for our secondborn buttercup...and I'm not kidding you, she was an incredibly good baby. Which is no surprise. But it's still really nice when it occurs publicly.

When Father Bevin poured the water over her head (three times), she barely flinched. Although she did give a Look that seemed to say- Oh, please stop that. Soon-ish. Whenever, really. Oh, forget it- you're fine.

She didn't even mind when Nora "blessed" her forehead rather roughly. (To make sure it stuck, I imagine.)

Her godfather Nat (one of my oldest pals) and her godmother Dorrie (P.J.'s sis) did a really good job of a) getting Susannah to smile, and b) making sure the baptismal candle didn't tip/light anyone aflame.

"I saw Goody Proctor with the devil!"

Zu wore the Schoeny fam christening gown (which, when Nora wore it, inspired my sister Rachel to blurt out "I saw Goody Proctor with the devil!) It is rather eyelet lacy. And there was no hope of getting the bonnet on Susannah's head.

Let's just say that we waited so long to baptism this kiddo that there was a very real chance she would answer all of the priest's questions herself.

But she looked absolutely sweet and wonderful. And her after party dress (obvie) was a sailor dress.

Because nothing says I Now Know Jesus like an embroidered anchor.

Our families did an awful lot of work. (I think my Mom got off the tarmac and already had two things on the stovetop and hummus in the Cuisinart. And no one complained.)

Monkey bread, a.k.a. Eating A Bowl Of Sugar.

P.J.'s mother washed everything in the kitchen twice. (Because it got dirty repeatedly. Not because she thinks my house it filthy. Although- man, does she think my house is filthy?)

Two of my sisters came to play- which is always super fun- and I repaid the favor by making them sleep on the couch/on a half-inflated air mattress.

My gal (both gals, really) were spoiled rotten by family and our smallish group of pals. And I've already consumed my caloric intake for the month.

Which means...nothing, really.

Because I'm still about go do some damage to leftover Baptismal Quiche.

Can someone superimpose Rachel's head in here? 

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.