The Hound Of Ulster

Shocking.
 

A reflective moment for James before meeting with his adoring fans for the first time.

The aforementioned fans, adoring.
 
 

Look what I found!

Sean is smitten…

…and starts planning all the mischief they’ll be getting in to. Soon.

Mark is very, very excited.

And also cute.

David is a bit unsure at first…
 

…and then a major fan…
 

…and now, he’s not even sure he wants anyone else to hold him.

James, however, is unmoved.
 

He looks worried.

He shouldn’t, though.  Everything went wonderfully smoothly.  Sarah got a full night’s rest, chased me out of the shower this morning with an “Um…I think I need you to hurry up,” and we arrived at the hospital at 7:45.

James arrived two hours later, all eight pounds and 12 ounces of him.  (Oh, and 21.5 inches.)

Thanks be to God!

(Awesome pictures of his older brothers meeting him for the first time to follow shortly/eventually.)
 

I’m incredibly blessed.

(And yeah, I know it looks like Sean’s staring out into the surface of the sun.  Could have used a little “bounce” there, I suppose.  But it was “point-and-shoot.”  Oh, and click for a large version.)
 

A little Ash Wednesday story, courtesy of Mrs. B.:

Today during the Gospel, Sean caught the part about not letting your left hand know what your right hand is doing.

In his customary stage whisper, he asked me if this (holding up left fist) is his left hand.

When I said yes, he shoved it down below the pew, while simultaneously performing flamboyant and complicated maneuvers with his right…above his head.

Father Drew said the Tridentine Mass today, which provided an opportunity for a number of interesting exchanges.  (Unfortunately, most of the exchanges were conducted in what could mostly kindly be described as “stage whispers.”  In Sean’s case, it would be much less kind - but also much more accurate - to call it yelling.)

Dominic: Papa?  Is the priest going to face that way for the whole Mass?

Papa: Yes.

Dominic: Oh, cool!

More promising than this, to be sure:

Sean: Mama?  Why is Father Drew talking in Spanish?

Mama: That’s Latin, Sean.

Sean: Oh.

…

Sean: When Father Randy says Mass, he uses REAL words.

As Mass went on, things started to deteriorate on the Dominic front, as well.

Dominic (speaking to himself): Why isn’t Father saying anything?

Dr. Mortensen, selected as altar server by virtue of his familiarity with the Rite, was busily performing his “serverly” duties. This included moving the book from one side of the altar to the other.

Dominic: Papa? Why does Dr. Mortensen keep moving back and forth all the time?

(In fairness to Dominic, Fr. Bob said that he often wonders the same thing.)

But now for the pièce de résistance:

Dominic: Papa?

Papa: Yes?

Dominic: If this were a REAL Mass, would we be standing right now?

Teaching opportunities abound.
 

Dominic has reached Thomas Edison in history, which means that Sean and Mark have gotten their teeth into it, as well.  Sarah related an interesting exchange on the matter.  This particular lesson included a link to the original Edison video - “The Sneeze.”  After an initial viewing, Dominic had a thought.

Dominic: “There’s something wrong with the sound.”

Sarah explains that there wasn’t any sound in these early film clips.

Mark: “Well, THAT’S not a very good invention.”

Moving right along, Sarah asked them what the world was like before Edison.

Sean: “Dark.”

Mark: “Quiet.”

Dominic: “With nothing to do on Friday’s.”

(Friday is movie night at the Father B. household.  Apparently, the guys are unimpressed with Edison.  Might be time to introduce them to Nikola Tesla.)
 

I took Dominic to the rink again today.  (Perhaps it would be more accurate to say “the little league field that the town floods with water every December, producing a large, outdoor ice skating surface,” but that seems so legalistic.  And Sean’s the one that’s into precision, remember?)

There’s something strange (and almost sad) about skating slowly past the visitor’s dugout, rounding the home plate area, and then heading out towards the right-field foul pole.  (I am not prepared to say if the “slowly” was a result of my mood or my ability.  And I have no comment on the whole “wobbly” claim.  Unfounded, I tell you; completely unfounded.)

Dominic wasn’t sad, though.  He really went to work today.  They’ve given him one of those metal frames that you push along in front of yourself until the “wobbles” - again, unfounded - have subsided.  Rather than being shy or embarrassed about the device, he buckled right now and turned out an hour of non-stop “practice.”  Bu the end, he was moving along at a robust pace, and even ventured away from the safety of his support a number of time.

…

He is, I am happy to say, not in the least afraid of falling down.

He is, however, somewhat anxious to learn when exactly he can start playing hockey.  I told him that we’d have to wait until he can skate, which lead to more buckling down.  It’s not going to be long.

Oh, and the post title refers to a poem I learned when I was young(er):

     Little Willie
     Pair of Skates
     Hole in Ice
     Pearly Gates

The sense of humor is my dad’s fault.

Sean is very precise in his speech.

At least when he’s using speech, that is.  Nearly every day over the last couple of weeks, he’s gone through a 15-30 minute period - usually around the time he wakes up from his nap - when he refuses to communicate in anything other than grunts and hand gestures.  Course, I do that myself for the first 15-30 minutes after I get up in the morning.

Those few relapses notwithstanding, he is very precise.  And he enjoyes/encourages/demands precision in speech from pretty much everyone around him, as well.  (He even uses words like “precisely.”  How much more precise can you get?)

The fact that he is so precise in his speech made this particular incident a bit more disconcerting than it might otherwise have been.

Sean, Mark and David are playing together happily in the basement - an excellent situation, even if a somewhat rare one.  However, the “keen” “mind” of the attending parent (yours truly) recognizes that the equation ”Sean+Mark=eventual turmoil” holds true no matter how peaceful things may sound at the moment.  So, the keen ear of the attending parent continues to monitor the situation fairly closely.

Eventually, the unavoidable sounds of discontent begin to waft their gentle way upstairs.  The keen-minded and keen-eared parent pounces: “Sean?”

“Yes?”

“What’s the matter?”

…

“Mark hit me with David.”