The Jman had his christening yesterday. Coolest priest ever.
At the preparation evening, the first thing Father Kev talked about was Monty python’s Life of Brian. The second thing he did was whip out the guitar and play a song.
Yesterday at jensen’s baptism, father kev said his intro, then broke out a tune on the piano. He referred to his niece’s kids as “her ferals”, gave everyone a few laughs, whilst looking like Santa Claus mets Papa smurf. This is the kind of bloke that doesn’t put people off religion.
There were two other kids being baptised. One, a pretty little half Chinese girl, took quite a liking to Jensen and kept trying to grab his toes, arm, hair, anything. Then she blew raspberries all though the prayers. Very Funny. Her mother was really lovely and could not believe how well jman went.
“Godzilla’s” daughter was also baptised. Godzilla, the mum, was seen SCREAMING into her mobile five minutes before the service started, standing in the middle of the road outside the church. At the preparation evening, She told us in no uncertain terms that her family would do the bible reading. Sure, love! No fights for that here!
Godzilla’s Baby had a HUGE frock, I’d say four foot long? Her candle was almost as big as her, lots of shiny shiny letters, and the official photographer they brought along? Woah! They took photos outside with her sitting on the grass, her giant dress foofed around her like a mountain range.
- The Godfather, the fairy godmother, hub-in-boots, Jensen Angus and moi!
Each baby’s name and baptism date is embroidered on the petticoat…mostly by me. (It was a crafty few days, as I made him his baptismal candle too, in between his naps….).
I was concerned he’d look like the Incredible Hulk in a small white frock, but all we needed to do was leave the top button undone, and he did quite the impersonation of an angel. Looks can be deceiving!
He’s the sixth grand kid to wear it. I sat here squinting and embroidering on Friday night for several hours…sewing white on white is never easy…. Whilst hub-in-boots was out on the turps with the boys. What a party girl I am.
So yesterday jman stressed me out a bit. I was thinking, ok, we have to ensure he doesn’t crap all over the white frock. So I planned his feed time at 10:30 at home, begging him to take a dump (he only ever craps when he feeds. Sure to pose interesting issues in later life….).! I thought the mission had failed, and it had been two days so I knew we were facing certain Poonami.
But, to his credit, when I popped him on the change table he had delivered, we cleaned him up, stuck him in is white singlet and bloomers, popped him in the car, and right on schedule dressed him at the church.
I said to hub-in-boots apart from the Poonami, the next worst thing would be for him to fall asleep during the service, because he would be woken at the wrong time, and would be scary grumpy. And, right on cue, he nodded off in the first few minutes. Agh!
The sense of foreboding built as the service went on; I was visualising him screwing up his face, screaming red faced at the priest, and drowning out the congregation for the rest of the service with his wails.
Anointed with oil?
And then came the baptismal font.
“Oh dear” said the priest, looking on his blissed out sleeping face, “are you ready for this?” he whispered to me.
“Yep” I said.
He took the jug of water, I leaned jman over the font, and….
…jman opened one eye, looked at me, looked at the priest….and went back to sleep.
I often use olive oil to anoint his flaky forehead though, and we’ve been doing water-poured-on-head practice in the bath for a few weeks. So jman took it all in his stride, and had a lovely time catching zzz’s. What a dude.
The after party at our place was a bit chaotic. Windy in the yard, and breast feeding whilst attempting to organise feeding guests is just a stupid stupid idea. Stressy. Everyone seemed to have fun though. Me, not so much. The glass of rosé was a definite highlight. After most of the guests had left, hub-in-boots put some work into cleaning up the leftover beers with a mate. Oh dear. They staggered up, incoherent, offering to help bath Jensen (worst idea in the history of the world # 187), and proceeded to have a few more.
The subsequent drunken washing up & cleaning saved him from certain death. It is really hard to find yourself in a situation where you would ordinarily be laughing it up, sinking a few wines, catching up with friends and relos, and instead you have this whole other identity to manage. The Mum.
Being The Mum is occasionally a pain in the ass. Being The Dad, you still get to be The Person You Were, to some extent. Being The Mum, well it kind of subsumes everything else. Which occasionally grates on you. I also have moments in things like this, believe it or not, and this is horrible to admit, where I forget I have a child . Usually when family are around, and I let the mummy radar go off air for a few minutes, and I actually forget I have a child. which gives me the mother of all guilt trips when I remember..
There’s little else I can say about this. It’s weird.
We had a Crazy good cake, made by my very talented niece and jensen’s cousin/ fairy godmother, Bec. Surprise colour layering inside was pretty darn special.
The GODFATHER, Greg, has brought jman into the family, by delivering a pocket knife/ Leatherman tool, a copy of Catcher in the Rye, a teddy bear, and a great bottle of Penfolds Bin 389 red for his 18th birthday. A stages of life present, if you will. I’m thinking it goes teddy now, Leatherman, teenage angst book, coming of age wine, but I guess it depends whether he is the kind of 10 year old you’d trust with a screwdriver…
So Jensen has many varied and complex reasons for being Jensen. Our boy was always going to be called Evan. Then we were thinking up middle names, and figured he should be named after a race car driver, because he always measured ahead on his scans. Mark didn’t go, we can’t stand Sebastian vettel, Alonso sounds a bit mad, Lewis was kind of cool, Jensen (actually a Jenson), sounded awesome.
There was also some aside joking about a sbs reporter we love called Tuipoloa Evan Charlton, believe it or not. We joked we’d call him Tuipoloa Evan, with a silent Tuipoloa. Then we tried to make it ridiculous ( I think wine was involved), and it was Tuipoloa Evan Jensen SuperGrover, with a silent Tuipoloa, of course.
At some point, we got tired of Evan, and the Jensen started to sound better and better.
When I was 10 weeks pregnant, and ended up in emergency, thinking we were in the midst of miscarriage, we had been there three hours and I was about to be sent for a curette. They called for the ultrasound guy, told us what we might see, and turned the screen away from me.
I said “when we get home, I’m having a giant scotch and a packet of Twisties”. I had run out of tears. I turned my head away, but in my peripheral vision I saw hub-in-boots clamp his hand over his mouth and his eyes open wide wide wide. The ultrasound guy’s mouth fell open. The doctor’s mouth fell open, Because there was “gumby”, arms waving, appearing to give the thumbs up.
“You’re not getting that scotch babe. He’s got a good engine this kid. A v8 like a Jensen interceptor. He’s just going along oblivious.”. They turned on the Doppler, and I heard the Jensen engine beating away for the first time, that day.
Sadly, Jensen interceptors are quite prone to breakdowns..and there were more! But they’re a great car.
Jensen also has echoes in my dads family, as two of his sisters married twins, Alan and teddy Jensen.
J.A.E. are also the initials of jman’s paternal grandma.
One of my first boyfriends had a Jensen interceptor. I loved that car.
And the Angus comes from a friend, who was very kind during all of our dramas, and really helped us get ready for the big arrival. A friend we are honoured to honour.
We’re kind of slack ass Catholics. Catholic schooled, Christmas and Easter churchgoers, but most sundays we just sleep in….Jensen can choose whatever spiritual path he likes in his later life…I just think it’s nice to belong somewhere. If he wants to be a Buddhist, or go to ethics classes, or meditate in an ashram, he’s got it. I think it’s important to have a value system….I don’t think it matters so much what it is labelled as…..
So we had our dunking, Jensen Angus. We had our party. We had our cake. Hub-In-boots had his beers. I occasionally forgot I had a baby. Jman screamed for quite a few hours, overtired, overwrought and teething, and then we all slept.
Enough memorable moments for one weekend? Yeah, I think so.