Yesterday was Tyler's christening. It was a lovely, symbolic service. The priest had everyone bless the baby and explained all of the rituals in detail. It was all superstitious in a way that only Catholics and voodoo practitioners can properly exhibit and I enjoyed it thoroughly.
John is Steve's godfather and I look like I should be representing the lollipop guild in this picture. One has nothing to do with the other. John's dad was Lithuanian and they're notoriously tall people.
Afterwards, Mike took us all out to eat and Kendall provided the entertainment by waving hi and bye at everyone and displaying all around general cuteness.
Today, we've been invited to a cook-out and I'm currently in the process of making this:
Death By Chocolate
I plan on drinking beer and trying to stay awake. I went to bed at 6:30 last night, woke up at nine to drag my sorry ass to the couch where I promptly fell back to sleep. John woke me up at eleven and made me go back into the bedroom, where I stayed until 7:30am. I'm trying to make up for Friday nights cluster-fuck of excruciatingly pain-filled sleep. How bad did I hurt? Real effin' bad. Like, crying and waking up John to have him rub my back and shoulders bad. All that night I moved from the bed to the floor to the divan back to the bed back to the divan where Ernie sat on my face and kneaded my crotch. Guess what cat? It ain't that kind of party. He's been very kind through all of this. John, not Ernie. A real sport, that giant goober of mine is.