July 16, 2007
We had to be there for 1215 which meant leaving by 1115. In typical Angus style, at 1115 he still hadn't showered and was outside painting the fence and chatting with the neighbor. When he finally came in I was climbing the ceiling, dressed up in my black silk dress that showed a prominent baby bulge, and he tried to chat to me while cleaning the paintbrush.
"You're really winding me up. Go. Shower. Now." I said through clenched teeth. If you men are unfamiliar with the clenched teeth routine, lemme just say this: It means if you don't cooperate with me, you're looking at a return to the bachelor day tradition of eating your meals by the kitchen sink until we forgive you. Message received, Angus made his way to the shower. We left with just enough time to get there.
As he was driving, I thought about it.
"So like, say Jesus gets into a smiting mode while we are at the Christening," I start. We play what-if games a lot, usually instigated by over-active imagination me. "I'd totally be safe while the rest of you are going to hell."
"How's that?" he asks.
"Because we're in a Catholic Church and I'm pregnant. If that's not a get out of jail free card from Jesus then I don't know what is."
"Oh right. You mean you're pregnant in a Catholic church with our little bastard children that are going to hell? That kind of pregnant?" he asks.
He might have a point - I'm not exactly pure as the driven snow or anything. The divorces alone would be enough to get me a "Go to Excommunication. go directly to Excommunication. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200.". I consider this, then come up with an ok counter-argument. "Well they're not born yet so they can't be judged yet. Even Adam would admit they'd be spared."
Ah, Adam. The one I've started to call The Reverend in my head. "Reverend" as I think of him as the new Moral Majority now that the old leader of the Moral Majority has gone to hell himself. I was ready to face the Reverend until Angus told me he was off on some sponsored walk for charity, so I'd have to save my fight for another day.
And damn I'd been looking forward to one, too.
We get to the church, where I find out one of the other guests is pregnant, too. I tug on Angus' shirt. "Her too. She'd be smite free like I would. The rest of you, well, I think you're screwed, but that's just me."
We go into the church and sit down. The entire rest of the family is there along with a half-dozen Fillipina women, all of whom come rushing over to touch my stomach. I can't really explain why but I didn't mind them all touching me despite my current "Get your fucking hands off me" crusade. Maybe it's because I know it's cultural for them, the women there all have several kids of their own and take turns passing babies around at the many barbecues Sam and Jane have.
The priest comes out and we couldn't believe it...he was wearing Jesus sandals. The priest was wearing Jesus sandals. Angus' mother was aghast (I can't see a church of England minister pulling off the same stunt) but I liked the guy, especially when he went up to Angus' Mum and told her that her segment of the reading should be accompanied by a tap dance, it was up to her to improvise it. A priest with a sense of humor, then-not something I'd ever come across before in my Catholic days. The Lemonheads - who had been quiet all morning - liked him, too, because as soon as he started talking they started moving.
The service was short, luckily - as I'm getting larger that whole "Please be seated/please stand up" bit is getting harder and harder. The service was overwhelmingly Catholic and every other word was "Jesus", which I guess is the case in a baptism (I haven't been to many of them but am assuming there's a general pattern.) Angus had to do a reading too, of Psalm 23 ("The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want"). I'd dared him to go up there and start it and then after "I shall not want" to look up at the congregation and say "Ah, screw it-ya'll know this one, let's skip to the next bit."
He declined.
I then dared him to read it like that rap song - "Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death" - the one from that movie with Michelle Pfeiffer, who played the teacher with too much eyeliner on. He wasn't familiar with either the movie or the rap song, and he declined that one, too. But he did look very serious and officious during his part.
(Not seen in the picture: The Jesus sandals.)
I also started to work the over-active imagination on that "Do you renounce Satan and all his works?" part. I started wondering what kind of works Satan would do. Maybe he was more into acryclics than performance art, and who are we to judge his interpretations?
The service over we head over to Sam and Jane's for a barbecue. Their barbecues are famous for incredible quantites of food that come out at weird times. Last year they had spring rolls, noodles, and every variety of dead animal that can possibly be thrown onto a barbecue grill (Sam has three grills, all of which he keeps going at the same time). Then came 6 desserts. And then, because they'd timed things wrong, out came a massive mound of Bombay Potato, which is just what you want after 13 pork chops, 2 helpings of cake and untold quantities of alcohol. But their get-togethers are a load of fun and they are great hosts, so we were looking forward to it.
Usually the group splits into three - Sam's friends from university all huddle together. Angus' family huddles together. The Fillipinas are in the living room on the karaoke machine together (they always try to get others to join, but my singing voice is not great so out of consideration for the other guests, I always decline.) At this barbecue the Fillipinas skipped the karaoke, but they were my favorite women there because they kept beaming, rubbing my stomach and telling me how small I was for 6 months with twins.
We all change out of our nice dresses and suits and then get down to the business of barbecue. The newly baptized baby gets passed around a lot and he's a cute cheeky little thing and always welcome. He graces Angus' lap for a long time and it tugs at my heart. Gorby is trotting around the garden - there are children around and he loves kids. Even more, he loves kids who eat because they always drop things, which he happily vacuums up.
Angus' mum starts in early.
"Helen, has Angus told the ex about the babies yet?" she asks directly.
I freeze.
Oh God.
"No, Angus and the kids are managing it. She'll be told while they're here next week," I say politely.
"Oh dear, I do think that's awful. She'll be on her own then," Angus' Mum tuts.
"Yes she will. The children felt that would help her have some time to think things through, lest she try to take things out on them. She's done that before, you know." I say. I don't like being in this position at all.
"Yes, but she'll have no one to comfort her, it's such a shame," murmurs Angus' Mum.
Sweet Mary Fuck. While I'm sorry that she'll feel bad - actually I honestly am, I don't like her to feel bad because feeling bad sucks, and also because she'll just dump it on Angus' family and kids - I could really, really do without being made to feel bad about the Lemonheads again.
I sigh heavily. I wonder why Angus' Mum feels I am someone to share the ex's burdens with. I remember once Jeff was flying over to see us on the unaccompanied minor service. Angus was unreachable and the flight was delayed so instead of phoning me, Angus' ex phoned his mum. Mum called me. She explained that the poor ex, she couldn't just hang around the airport with her then 9 year-old son, she had a birthday party to go to! It was so sad for her to be late for a birthday party! The poor woman!
I was aghast. As far as I'm concerned, if a flight is late you fucking wait with your kid. You can be late for a birthday party in order to be with your kid. Hell, you crawl across frozen tundra for your kid if the situation dictates it. I'm sure the phone receiver iced up in her hand as his mum realized that I was the last person in the world to have sympathy for the ex on this one - Angus and I have waited loads of times with the kids for flights running late, it's what you do. His mum got off the phone then.
I look up at Angus, who's watching his mum and I. I raise an eyebrow. He makes a slashing motion to his mum, the international signal for "enough". She sees the motion and purses her lips together, but changes the subject.
She gets right on my nerves twice more.
Once was when she was playing Jenga and I accidentally jogged the table. "Do you mind?" she asked frostily. I apologized - it was an accident, honest - but I could've done without her tone. I suppose by then I'd really fucked her off, though. She'd had one other go at us before then.
"Wasn't the Christening lovely?" she'd asked.
Sure. Jesus sandals, bathing a kid's head, and a whole lot of prayin'. It was ok as Christenings go. "Yes, it was all right," I replied.
"Now you can use both Jilly's Christening outfit and the new baby's outfit for your Christening," she says. Oh this path again. I know this path.
"We're not having a Christening," Angus states firmly.
If anything, today further convinced us. The very, very religious ceremony was just honestly not our kind of thing. Why would we have our family and friends join round for something that is not important to us? It's important to them, and I understand that, but in my mind Angus and I arranging a baptism is like a hypocrisy, to me it mocks the seriousness and gravity with which those in our family place in the ceremony. I think it's rude for Angus and I - two non-religions people - to go impose ourselves on a tradition we don't believe in.
"But shouldn't you be thinking about the well-being of the children?" she asks.
Believe me. It's all we think about.
"We do. And we believe it should be their choice. If they want to be baptised when they're older they can be. We will support them fully at any juncture. But we don't believe this should be imposed on them, the choice should be theirs." I state calmly.
"It's important that the children have a name," she counters. Ah yes. That whole "the child actually gets named at the baptism, not on the birth certificate" shtick. As far as we are concerned, the name that goes on the birth certificate is the name. To us a baptism is just a religious hedging of the bets.
There is more commotion over this one. Angus finally draws a line under it. I feel really worn out, and the babies aren't even born yet. I can't wait to see what parenting lectures I'm going to get.
I realize that the Reverend may be away but there's a sub for him anytime he needs it.
It's clear to me. I'm the heathen who's corrupting his son and his two upcoming babies while not being sympathetic enough to the needs of his ex. I drive us home, Angus having enjoyed one-third of a bottle of good Polish vodka with his brother and a Polish guest and Gorby, passed clean out in the back of the car, snoring, with a full stomach and dreams of children running around. It had been a long day.
Still, I have my get out of jail free card. It's signed by Jesus. That's got to be worth something.
Posted by: Everydaystranger at
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