Friday afternoon the two older boys came home and told Charisa that the Pope died. Sister had announced it over the intercom. That set off third grade flashbacks for me, because we had three Popes in less than four months. I can remember when they told us that JP I had died. I would have thought they were kidding if I had thought nuns had a sense of humor.
So, Friday night when I get home, we've got the news on, and it's been on ever since. I've been listening to Fox news trot out every Catholic they can find. Unfortunately, the only Catholics that appear regularly on TV are either some sort of militant, or just super abrasive. I think the best commentary I heard was from Fred Barnes, not a Catholic, who smacked down Mort Kondracke, also not a Catholic, for teeing off on the women as priest deal. Old Fred made the tradition point better than any priest I've ever heard. We need to assimilate that man. One of Us. . .One of Us. . . .
We told Hayden the other day that he'd get a star for every paper he brought home with a grade over 90%. If he got 10 stars, I'd take him to Roger's Corner for a malt. Yesterday was "brown folder day", the day when the kids bring all of their papers home from the last week. Every grade was above 90%. Got a malt. Have to do some thinking about this. Looks like it worked, but 10 in one week?
I start a new job on Monday, but I'm still working at the old one and they haven't sent out any sort of notification that I'm leaving. Normally, I wouldn't mind, but people are still assigning me to projects and dumping tickets in my bucket. It takes longer to get rid of all this work than it does to actually do it, so I haven't had a hell of a lot of time to get my act together so I can leave gracefully. So today, I'm sending out my own notification. I mean, hell, I gave two weeks.
Saturday night Hayden's class were the readers at Mass. He did the best job as far as I'm concerned. But, now I remember why I don't go to Saturday night mass. Between Gavin and Eoin it was like sitting in a pew wrestling a live tuna. Exausting. Charisa and I'd switch off every five minute or so, but damn! Well, at least we provide some entertainment for the people. Every Sunday, as we emerge wrinkled and vomit covered from the side door of the church, some older couple tells us how wonderful our children are, and how they remember when their kids were young. I usually let Charisa do the talking because my glasses are usually bent in half and crammed in my ear, someone's pulling my pants down to my ankles and I'm holding the baby over a storm drain to drain excess fluid.
Beautiful day today, storms tonight, blooms are coming out on the trees. Pictures of downtown maybe later.