Day 2: Dublin Back to College!

After a quick breakfast at a cafe, Day 2 started at Trinity College. The guidebooks warned of dreadfully long tour lines, but happily, we only waited 10 minutes. 

 Our guide was a delightful young Irish woman who'd just graduated Trinity. She pointed out all sorts of wonderful things about the campus, such as the elaborate dining hall re-built four times because it kept sinking into the boggy land. (They finally shored it up on the last re-build.) She pointed out the two enormous oak trees in the quad, imported from Oregon, and asked if we knew why they grew so large here.

"Rain?" someone asked.

"Yes, Dublin does get a lot of rain, and the trees love all that rain," she answered, which made me think she didn't know much about Oregon's environment.

But the real answer was dead monks. 

"There are 400 monks buried here in the quad," she told us. "Which makes for very rich soil." 

The quad used to be a cemetery for the monks, but in Ireland, you can reclaim the land after 400 years. (Makes sense on a small island with a constant population.) Which is how the monk cemetery became the campus' main quad, complete with "Keep off the grass" signs.

That kind of freaked us out a bit, but explained the signs. (I was okay once I found out they were out of respect, and not just a snarky way to keep students from enjoying the beautiful grounds.)

The guide also described the dorms behind the quad, and how unlucky it was to live there. 

"There's no heat in that building," she said, as we all gasped, because that seems downright cruel during an Irish winter! (We had on fleece jackets in mid-summer--I could only imagine how cold winter is!) She also pointed out a bright blue exterior door. 

"And that's the bathroom," she explained. "Accessible only from outside the building. That's right, if you want to shower, you must leave the building and enter the bathroom from outside." 

That also seemed cruel on a cold, wintry night! (Or any night, actually.)

There was one last reason to live elsewhere--the building was haunted. Apparently, a curmudgeonly professor had once lived in the building, frequently yelling at students being loud outside (the original grumpy old man yelling at kids to get off his lawn!). In response, a couple inebriated students returned with shotguns to scare the professor, but wound up shooting and killing him instead. They were sons of wealthy men, so they didn't go to prison, although they were kicked out of school for breaking the window with the shotgun. The professor's spirit remained, haunting students to this day.

But ghosts and dead monks aside, there are some cool benefits of attending Trinity. If you pass all your second-year finals, tuition is free the last two years. They also have an amazing art loan program. As a student, you can borrow any piece of art that Trinity owns. Our guide told us of her friend who received a small Van Gogh, which hung inconspicuously on her dorm room wall for the school year. Way better than an unframed music poster, if you ask me!

Trinity College is also home to the Book of Kells and the Old Library. The Book of Kells, an illuminated manuscript, contains the Four Gospels, and was illustrated by monks in painstaking detail. It's the most famous artifact in Ireland and is quite beautiful.

It's also the reason so many tourists visit Trinity College. So after our tour ended, we dutifully stood in line to see the Book. This line was longer, but moved fairly quickly, and there was some good people-watching opportunities while we waited.

Just inside the building was a very detailed exhibit explaining the Book, and its illustrations. I'm sure there was lots of great info, but there were also lots of people, so Amber and I made an executive decision, and skipped right past it all.

The Book was displayed in a big cabinet. You walk up to it, wait your turn/jostle your way in, and then look down on it. The pages were adorned with gilded pages and fancy writing with very detailed illustrations. However, it was a very tiny space filled with lots of people, so we took a good look, and moved on. 

We followed the signs to the next exhibit, the Old Library. The Book of Kells was cool, but the Old Library...man, that took my breath away! Literally. 

The Library was a long, narrow room with high ceilings and floor-to-wall windows that lit the room in a soft, dusky light. The walls, railings, and ceiling were carved of rich dark wood, and bookshelves lined every possible space. Ladders rested against the shelves, to reach the books at the very tippy-top. It all felt regal, mysterious, commanding quiet respect and hushed voices. It felt like we'd just stepped inside the Hogwarts library. 

The room was massive, yet warm and inviting, comforting; I wanted to live there, among the books and ethereal light, and spend the rest of my days reading. 

Amber and I spent a long time in there, slowly moving forward from the back of the library. We sat on the benches, pondering the room, and all the books. At the very front, on the second floor, we could see a man at a desk hard at work under a bright lamp. He was restoring the old books, cleaning their covers and preserving the pages. He worked at a furious pace, completely oblivious to the crowds below him.

Honestly, we could've stayed there all day, but we had a full schedule and only a few days to see it all. Reluctantly, we bid the library farewell, and went on to the next activity. 

Which was...ice cream! And not just any old ice cream, but Murphy's ice cream! My friend Mary Ann insisted we go to as many Murphy's as we could (there are three), and swore we'd thank her forever after. We certainly did.

One of the other Trinity guides directed us toward Murphy's and told us to try a really unusual flavor--salt! He said it paired amazingly well with other traditional flavors, such as chocolate or caramel. We didn't get that creative, opting instead to go with our adorable server's suggestion--a Caramel Mingle, with honeycomb and butterscotch ice cream, butterscotch sauce, and a salted caramel cream.

Un. Be. Lieve. Able!!!! And soooooo good. Mary Ann definitely steered us in the right on Murphy's!

With a good sugar buzz going, Amber and I walked toward Dublin Castle and the Chester Beatty Library (yes, it was a library kind of day). We wandered around the giant maze on the lawn, and photographed the gorgeous garden.

Chester Beatty is on the castle grounds, so we started there. All the guidebooks said it is an amazing museum, possibly the best in all of Europe. We climbed the stairs to the second floor, and as we approached, the double doors slid open automatically, giving us quite a grand entrance.

"Ahhhhhhhh!" I sang, arms wide open, waiting for angels to appear. Yeah, it was that kind of moment!

A lady sitting on a nearby bench giggled at us. 

"It's spectacular," she said, nodding toward the exhibit. "You're going to LOVE it. It will change your life." 

And so we entered, all big expectations and excitement. But what we found was a little disappointing. I mean, the artwork was great and all, but it was our second day in Ireland, and we were falling seriously in love with everything Irish--the people, the music, the ice cream, the brogues, the sights. And then suddenly--180 degree turn--we're smack dab in the middle of a whole museum filled with Asian art. Which was very nice, even downright gorgeous, but...our mindset was stuck on Ireland right then, not Asia or the Middle East.

"I'm okay leaving after this," Amber whispered to me 15 minutes in.

"Me too," I said, gratefully. "Except...we have to make sure that lady is gone first!" 

This exhibit changed her life...we couldn't possible exit past her so quickly! Luckily, when we peeked out the door, she was gone.

We ambled over to Dublin Castle next, stopping to take about a trillion photos of the chapel. Just as we were walking past the front door, a tour appeared. The guide unlocked the door, ushering them in, and I nudged Amber.

"Let's go!" I said, curious to see inside.

It was equally gorgeous on the inside. We sat in the back, admiring the ornate pews and fancy ceilings, as the guide told us all about the chapel. The tourists all around us spoke German, so I was just thankful the guide did not. 

We left with the tour group, and headed up toward the castle courtyard and front entrance. It was jammed with people. Amber and I decided to skip the tour and focus on something more important--lunch at the Hairy Lemon. It was every bit as good as the name was silly. 

Then it was back to sightseeing! We boarded our personal limo (the HOHO bus) and returned to the Guinness Storehouse. We'd only made it through the first two floors yesterday, so we started on the third floor, which had a great exhibit of Guinness ads. We took a million goofy photos, except in the digital photo booth--we were too short for the camera! (Apparently, everything in Ireland was built by tall men with no regard for short women. We found this with all the bar tables, bathroom mirrors, sinks, etc. I was too short to reach anything--including the floor from my bar stools!--in Ireland.)

Each trip to the Storehouse comes with a free pint, which we sampled yesterday in the Gravity Bar. Today, we worked for our beer. Amber and I attended the Guinness Academy, where we learned to pull the perfect pint. So if you ever have a party (and a keg of Guinness), you should definitely invite Amber and I, as we're certified in the art of pulling pints. 

We spent so much time at the Storehouse that we had to cab it back to the hotel for our next activity--dinner with Amber's Irish friend Eimear! 

Eimear was great. She and Amber hadn't seen each other since college, but fell easily into catching up. We strolled the streets of Dublin in search of dinner, and Eimear was clearly feeling a lot of pressure to pick just the right place.  

"Where would you go with your friends?" Amber asked. "If you all met up for dinner, where would you eat?"

That immediately took the pressure off. "Oh!" Eimear said. "This place is really good."

And that's how we ended up in an Italian restaurant for dinner. With an Irish girl. Who ordered a hamburger. ;-) (They also had fish and chips on the menu!)

"I don't like Irish food," Eimear admitted later. "Or Guinness."

"What!" Amber and I cried. But hey, I'm half Mexican and don't like Mexican food, so who am I to judge? I realized I'd found my European counterpart!

Dinner was great. We quizzed Eimear on everything Irish, and she was a good sport about it. Afterward, we strolled the streets of Dublin, walking Eimear to her bus stop. She told us stories about all the different shops and streets, and about Irish life. It was great to spend time with a local person, and learn about the country through her perspective.

We left Eimear at her stop, and walked toward our hotel. It was late, around 10:30, and we'd had a busy, busy day. We were a bit tired, but not sure we were ready for bed just yet. What I love about Amber is that, like me, she hates to miss out an anything. She doesn't want to miss a party, a sight, any place that seems interesting. It's why we had so much fun on our trip, and why we came back absolutely exhausted. Sometimes you need a person who says, "Enough! We need to rest!" 

However, Amber and I are NOT those people! We only had one more day in Dublin, and we weren't going to miss anything. So we turned back into Temple Bar, found a pub with live music, and drank beer until they closed around midnight. 

We'd only been in town about 36 hours, but man, we'd already seen a lot! And we still had more (much more!) to see...

Ice cream, you scream

Mark and his buddy Sean came running home after school yesterday. Out of breath and jumping around, they excitedly asked if they could make ice cream. They'd learned how in their after-school math and science class. 

"But we only ate one bite," Mark told me. "I got a big chunk of salt in mine, so it was gross."

"It's super easy," Sean said. "All we need is milk, sugar, and vanilla. Oh, and ice and salt."

"And bags," Mark added. "LOTS of bags. I'm double-bagging mine so the salt doesn't get in!"

"OK," I said. "Let's do it! I wanna see how you make it."

"You just mix all those ingredients and shake it," Sean said. "Mark knows the recipe."

Which was not entirely true...

"We need half a cup of milk each," Mark said. "And half a cup of sugar. And three tablespoons of vanilla." He paused for a moment, then asked Sean, "Or was it teaspoons? "

"Teaspoons," Sean answered. "But it needed more."

"Um, half a cup of sugar sounds like a lot," I interjected. 

"Oh, wait, it was two tablespoons of sugar and three teaspoons of vanilla," Sean corrected. "And half a cup of milk."

I smiled--that sounded like a much better recipe.

"And it has to be kosher salt," Mark added.

"It doesn't have to be kosher salt," Sean said. "It just has to be that big kind of salt." (Which I'm pretty sure is kosher salt.)

The boys poured and measured, adding extra sugar and vanilla. They double-bagged the ingredients, filled a gallon bag with ice and salt, and they were ready to go.

"We have to shake it for 10 minutes," Sean said. "It's like making butter--but better!"

"Let's shake it outside," Mark said. "In case the ice makes holes in the bags." 

"Good idea," I said. 

They were enthusiastic shakers for the first three minutes. Then, they lost interest--well, they shifted their interest from shaking to basketball. Which wasn't really losing interest, they reasoned--it was actually better, because the bags were still shaking as they ran around the backyard. I just laughed and watched.

Sean's dad picked him up about 20 minutes later, before the ice cream was done (even with all that shaking). As soon as he left, Mark really did lose interest in shaking and just put his ice cream in the freezer.

He forgot about it until this morning. When I checked, it was frozen, and much browner than I expected. It was a funny shape, too, so it looked like a piece of frozen chicken. I almost tossed it into the crock pot for dinner accidentally. 

I was curious about it, though. I gently opened the bag, and scraped a piece off. It tastes like...vanilla extract. Frozen vanilla extract. With a lot of sugar in it.

It wasn't exactly ice cream, unless you're 13 and deprived of all treats all of the time (as a certain coupla 13-year-olds believe themselves to be). I'm sure it will be gone when I get home, but I'm not sure if it will be gone down the hatch, or down the sink. 

I don't care either way--the best part of the whole experiment was watching them make it. That alone was worth a cup of milk, three cups of sugar and 14 tablespoons of vanilla extract. (Or whatever the final recipe was...)

Long live the red and white striped vests!

When I was a little kid, my family spent every birthday or special event at an ice cream parlor called Farrell's. Farrell's was the most awesome place in the world, because of the following reasons:

• It was an ice cream parlor. (Yum, ice cream sundaes!)
• The exit was a candy store. (Yum, sugar!)
• There was a piano that played songs--on its own! It used scrolls, but no pianist.
• It was loud.

Let me explain that last bullet. You might think loud as in, "My, there are a lot of families here, and their children are excitable and speaking in loud voices." No, that is not the kind of loud I mean. I'm talking about sirens blaring and the chaos that ensued after they started wailing.

Every kid who grew up in Southern California knew what those sirens meant. We knew that as soon as the sirens started, we'd better put down our spoons, and pull our feet out of the aisles. Because momentarily, the place would be filled with running waiters.

The waiters dashed through the restaurant, over booths, through the different rooms. One waiter carried a big bass drum, pounding it violently, and two other waiters carried a stretcher on their shoulders. The stretcher held a gigantic bowl of ice cream (30 scoops!), and every kind of topping you could imagine. It was also filled with little plastic choking hazards--er, animals. And every kid from Southern California knows what this delicious monstrosity was called--the Zoo.



We never got the Zoo. I witnessed it descending on other families, and wished more than anything to be invited to a party where some lucky birthday boy or girl celebrated with a Zoo. But it never happened. What did happen was that I grew up, and Farrell's went out of business. My dream died a quiet little death as the last player-piano stopped playing, and the siren was silenced forever...

Until...this past weekend!!! A friend mentioned Farrell's, and that one had returned to Southern California. I couldn't get my smartphone to work fast enough. And then I found it, an hour away, but still in the state. Farrell's lives! And so did my Zoo dream.

I immediately texted my brother Smed, who shared my dream. He was equally excited beyond belief.

And so, this past weekend, we made it happen. We loaded the car with our family and friends, and drove an hour to relive our youth. And yes, my friends, we got the Zoo!!!




We got there early, to avoid the Saturday night crowd we imagined would fill the place. We looked over the menu, and my brother pointed out one menu item which was not part of our childhood memories--beer! Yes, you can order beer at Farrell's--the day kept getting better and better.



Everyone but Mark and I ordered dinner, a choice I knew they would regret.

"You aren't eating dinner?" my cousin Kathleen asked me.

"I'm having THE ZOO for dinner!" I answered.

"But you aren't eating dinner first?" my friend Edra asked. Obviously, they were unclear on the whole reason for coming here!

"I'm eating THE ZOO for dinner!" I yelled. (It really is loud in there!)

"What about Mark?" our friend Shanda asked.

"He's eating the Zoo, too!" I said. Seriously, people, we didn't come for the food--we came for the ice cream!

But then the guilt set in, and I kinda felt like a bad mom feeding Mark only ice cream. I made him order an appetizer we could split, and he chose mozzarella sticks. So yes, I had beer, fried cheese and ice cream for dinner.

Luckily, we got a waiter who was happy to fulfill our Zoo dreams.

"Are there any ice cream flavors you don't want?" he asked helpfully, taking our order.

"No!" Smed and I both shouted.

"Any toppings you don't want? We have pineapple, cherry, chocolate--"

Smed and I cut him off. "We want it all!" Smed answered. I smiled at him--we were both thinking the same exact thing--we wanted everything the Zoos of our childhood contained, whether we liked it or not! If it was on the Zoo then, it better be on our Zoo now!

Our awesome waiter conned the staff into not one, but two, laps around the restaurant with our Zoo. He screamed a whole story about Christopher Columbus sailing the ocean with ice cream, or some other nonsense, but I couldn't focus on his words. The minute that siren went off, Smed and I jumped out of our seats, cameras ready.

Our Zoo! I waited a long time for this...

They made it a lot harder to choke on the plastic animals.

Childhood dreams fulfilled!! Oh yeah, and our kids liked it, too.

The aftermath, aka Sometimes childhood dreams kick your butt.
I told them not to order dinner!!

It turned out to be the coolest night. I joked about how old we were now, that a big Saturday night out was whooping it up in an ice cream parlor, instead of a bar.

The kids were all jacked up on a sugar high. Corban and Johnny were running all over the place, and Corban's dad took turns spinning both little boys around in circles. They were laughing wildly, until suddenly, Corban was vomiting instead. Yup, right there in the middle of the restaurant, he upchucked all his sundae. Turns out our grown-up Saturday night ended the same way as many of our bar-going Saturday nights after all!

We made a quick exit after that. We were full, and completely overstimulated by all the screaming waiters, sirens, and drums. But we were also happy beyond belief.

An unexpected bout of trouble

In a rare culinary-inspired moment, I decided to make dinner. I used Kelley's fab recipe (the unkosher version) to bake a chicken pot pie.

I thought Mark might enjoy a home cooked meal, but once again I was wrong. He actually slumped down in his chair when he heard the menu. I'm pretending his response was to a non-traditional dinner (coming out of the oven instead of out of a take-out bag) and not my cooking.

But nothing inspires me more than a challenge (I will cook, and you will like it!), so away to the oven I went.

The pot pie came out really good, although I miscalculated the vegetables-to-other-food ratio for a 10-year-old-boy. Their ratio is officially "less is more," with "none" being the best. So I often sneak veggies in when I can. But it's such a fine line -- you can grate up carrots and zucchini and mix them easily into meat loaf. But I went a little veggie crazy with the pot pie, and Mark balked.

"I want MEAT!" he complained, so I reminded the meal was called chicken pot pie. Then I relented, and gave him more meat.

But it was still slow going. He quickly downed the chicken and puff pastry, then pushed the veggies around on his plate. I cajoled, I threatened, and when those didn't work, I finally bribed him.

"Finish your veg," I told him, "And I'll give you a little cup of ice cream."

That did the trick. He didn't exactly dig into them, but he pushed them around a little slower.

I dished out the ice cream and sat it in front of him. "You can have it if you finish dinner before it melts," I told him.

He stalled a bit longer, and when I finished my ice cream, I jokingly reached for his.

"Look what I found!" I laughed.

But Mark didn't laugh with me. Instead, he squinted at me, put his hand over mine, and said in low, serious voice, "You don't touch a man's ice cream."

For a minute, I thought I was in a John Wayne movie, and the sheriff was threatening horse rustlers. I was about to laugh out loud when I saw he was quite serious. I backed off.

"I didn't know," I answered, after a long silence. "My apologies."

And with that, the serious "man" turned back into my goofy little boy. "Did I eat enough?" he asked eagerly. "Can I have my ice cream now?"

"You can," I answered, keeping my hands far, far away from his dessert.

And now I know that Cookies n' Cream is no laughing matter. At least not to the tiny new sheriff in town.

Party time!

If you heard a loud, joyous noise earlier today, fear not. It was not a thundering stampede or even the wild cries of dogs wailing at the sky while fireworks rain down. Yes, the cries belonged to wild beings, but they were not beasts; rather, they were 15 9-year-old boys (and two girls) set free in a room full of inflatable bounce structures.

That's right, it was Mark's birthday party today, and I have to say, it was pretty darn fun. We went to Pump It Up, a private warehouse full of inflatables. They had a bounce house for the little kids, a bigger one for the bigger kids, an obstacle course, and my favorite, a giant slide.

The boys arrived full of energy and ready to bounce. First they watched a video explaining all the rules, including what to do when the whistle blows (stop), what to wear at all times (socks), and if it was okay to push five kids down the slide at once (no). Of course, each time the video asked these questions, the kids yelled the opposite answers back at the T.V. My 2-year-old nephew Johnny didn't like the rules at all, and jumped up to smack the T.V., to the delight of the 9-year-olds. Johnny fit in really well with the big kids!

Then it was time to let loose. The door opened, and the screaming kids ran into the room, scattering. They climbed the obstacle course, they bounded up, then down, the slide, they raced across the obstacle course until they were sweaty and red in the face. Then they raced across it again, flinging themselves down the slide at the end.

It was sheer madness! There were kids flying past me in every direction. I saw Mark zip past with a couple friends, and then saw him perched at the top of the slide, ready to descend. He let out a whoop, and flew to the bottom. He was quickly followed by three other boys.

Mark had a blast, tumbling down the slide and boxing giant inflatable punching bags. But he was never in one place for long, and people kept asking me where he was. (The answer was always the same -- a vague hand wave in the distance, and the phrase, "He's over there -- I think...")

He had such a good time, he bounced himself a little low. I fed him granola bars before we got there, trying to boost his blood sugar so he wouldn't go low from all the jumping. It almost worked, until at one point, I found him lying alone in the bounce house, not moving much.

"You okay, buddy?" I asked. "You feel low?"

"No," he answered. "I'm just tired."

Which is a low blood sugar symptom. I insisted on checking him -- but he refused to come out, so I finally just tested the finger he shoved out the bounce house entrance. He was 73, and lunch was still half an hour away. So I juiced him up, fed him another granola bar, and sent him on his way. Poor kid, diabetes wouldn't even let him celebrate his birthday without feeling sick.

I followed Mark to the giant slide, just in time to see these three jokesters come down:

They were laughing their heads off, and I couldn't help laughing, too.

"Come on, Heather, you've gotta try it!" Kathleen shouted. So the next thing I know, I was climbing up the slide, and then zipping down at an alarming speed. There was a speed bump at the bottom of it, which I completely rolled right over. When I reached the bottom, I couldn't even get up, I was laughing so hard.

It was hilarious! And fun! I tried it a whole bunch more times; once with baby Carver, once with Kathleen, once with Vic, and a couple times by myself. And as only I could do, I managed to hurt myself -- I scraped my arms along the inseam, and gave myself a road rash down my whole arm! I loved that my grownup friends had just as much fun as Mark's friends. I loved seeing a third-grader fly down the slide, immediately followed by one of my laughing grown friends.

After 90 minutes of jumping, the kids were exhausted and hungry. However, they managed to pose for this very nice group shot before running off to lunch:

As soon as we said go, they were running off to the lunch room, where many pizzas awaited. The kids wolfed it down faster than we could replace it! Jonah told me he ate five pieces, and Kyle walked by with pieces 8 and 9. Mark told me Kyle was trying to break his previous record of seven pieces!

"Don't throw up, Kyle!" I warned. I was thankful the jumping part was over!

They also scarfed down strawberries, grapes and lemonade. I turned around at one point to see five boys in a circle lifting their shirts and rubbing their swollen bellies. "My stomach's soooo FULL!" said one boy, patting it lovingly.

But they weren't too full for cake! Back to the tables they went, to demolish a mint chocolate chip ice cream cake. I still can't believe they had any room left...

When they were all good and sugared up, it was time to leave. I gave Scott a box of goodie bags to hand out, and the kids clamored around him, hands out.

"Me, me!" they shouted. "I want a bag!"

"Let me hear you bark like a dog!" Scott told them, and suddenly, the room was filled with barking. "No, bark like a BIG dog!" Scott said, and the barks got much bigger. He rewarded them each with a bag.

It was an awesome day. Mark had a great time with all his friends, and it was just as much fun watching him run rampant with them. He was in heaven -- things to bounce on, climb on, and slide down. I'd worried that he and his friends were too old for a bunch of bounce houses, but they proved me wrong. They loved every minute of it, even trying to sneak back in after lunch.

He was equally excited about his gifts, which included plenty of Star Wars Legos, a few Nerf guns, and other cool stuff. He also got some gift cards and even a semi-inappropriate birthday card. He was thrilled with it all, and spent the afternoon building Legos and shooting Nerf arrows at us.

I'm sad to see my little guy growing up so fast. But if it means watching him enjoy a day like today, among his friends, eating pizza and ice cream, and running wild, then I guess it's a small price to pay. I loved every minute of it, hanging out with my friends and family, watching my boy have so much fun. I loved watching him jump and play, blow out his candles, rip open his presents. And I loved being able to say, "Yep, it's my son's birthday" for the fourth year in a row.