The Princess was confirmed yesterday. It all went reasonably well. My aunt, my brother and sister came from Cork. My aunt stayed in the B&B around the corner. It looks lovely from the outside but after she arrived I went to check her bedroom with her and, regrettably, it was vile. Absolutely tiny and utterly unappealing in every way. It was also pretty pricy so that was definitely a minus. However, my aunt nobly assured us that it was fine and said that she slept like a log. My aunt fills me with hope for our old age. She will be 86 next month and she is well in every way. She joined a swimming club recently and told them that she was 75 in case they didn’t want her due to her age and they totally believed her. Utterly reasonably. She is in fantastic shape. She attributes her good health to a lifetime of inertia and overeating so I feel my chances for a healthy old age are good also.
The morning of the ceremony was a bit frantic. I had underestimated how long it would take to ferry two carloads of people to the church. The first carload arrived at 10.40 instead of the required 10.30 and the second carload containing the Princess’s sponsor (my brother), her brothers and her mother arrived well after the 11 scheduled start time. We were nearly later because as my brother and I were talking about the marriage referendum, Daniel was inspired to make his position clear and wrote in large letters in highlighter on his arm, “Vote YES”. While I applauded this at one level (“I thought you would be happy,” said he), it didn’t add to his allure as he headed off to his sister’s confirmation in his short sleeved shirt. Spit and rubbing ameliorated the situation but he looked distinctly orange.
When we arrived, the service had already started and while the boys could sit at the back of the church with other relatives, parents and sponsors were right up the front. Herself was at the lectern about to begin her second reading. Mercifully I didn’t miss her. And she was terrific, I was very proud though somewhat mortified by my late entrance. As Mr. Waffle tactlessly said later to Herself, “I presume you saw your mother coming in, you could hardly have missed her, arriving late and coming up the aisle in her red dress as you were about to do your reading.” Sigh.
Lunch went well and then we deposited various relatives to buses, trains and their homes. Then, I went out to vote with the children in attendance and collapsed. I developed a spectacular migraine and I still feel a little delicate. It is to this, the Confirmation excitement generally and Mr. Waffle’s recent hectic travel schedule that I attribute a severe oversight this morning. We are normally very reliable as a family, if you want reliability, look to the Waffles. As I was driving Danny home from a GAA match in North County Dublin (a massacre, thanks for asking) I noticed a church car park full to overflowing, “There must be a communion on,” I remarked to him. Then it hit me, Herself was supposed to be singing in the school choir for the First Communion that morning. We frantically rang home. Had they by any chance remembered? They had not. Was the Communion service now over? It was. Did she have a solo? Several. Am I looking forward to going into school on Monday morning and grovelling before the choir director? I am not.
