Saturday mornings are swimming mornings in the House of Paper. We take to the pool in Tullamore and our little girls blow bubbles whilst kicking their legs and telling anyone who will listen what they ate for breakfast.
Simple. Innocent. Fun.
We sit at the side of the pool with all of the other parents/minders and helicopter parent like two stage parents.
After the sport, we eat.
This Saturday we took to the pretty little Jenny’s Kitchen at the back of the shopping mall for our lunch out.
It was here the girls had their religious experience. It wasn’t the food- the food is good but it wasn’t that- no. It was far more holy.
Gigi needed the toilet. Once done, she was washing her hands and announced in a jelly-tot enduced type of excitement, ‘There’s baby Jesus, There’s baby Jesus!’. Having had no jellytots, this was very loud for ordinary hysteria. Thankfully, I am typically stoical in the face of the supernatural/ miraculous so a quick glimpse assured me that it was a statuette of a mother and child on top of the toilet bowl. We weren’t hitting Fatima/ Knock territory here. Could do without that, I can tell you. Enough is enough. The toilet wouldn’t be turned into a shrine anytime soon. The ornament wasn’t even a religious one from what I could tell, more the kind you get for a new parent. Pretty though. I considered the real miracle was the fact no one had stolen it yet but I noticed it had been glued down.
Leaving the bathroom, Gigi announced to the world and its mother that she had seen baby Jesus in the toilet with his mother. His mother was kissing him, she declared. The apparition had suddenly upgraded to Jesus and the Virgin Mary. Not to be outdone in miracle sightings, Betsy had to have a gander.
In she went.
Betsy emerged beaming beatifically. ‘I saw baby Jesus in the toilet! I saw baby Jesus in the toilet with his Mammy!’.
Two apparitions in one day.
All in the the bathroom of Jenny’s Kitchen.
If you ask either child now who they have seen in the restaurant toilet, they will inform you with an emphatic seriousness. ‘Baby Jesus!’.
As a child raised in a predominantly Catholic society, I had heard of all the miracles over and over. Frankly they terrified me. Six year old me was in horror of having a vision. As far as I saw, it never ended well for the person involved. Think Joan of Arc. Bernadette of Lourdes. No thank you.
The girls were quite happy to have seen their statue apparition.
I had my comfort food, lasagne. The girls had their spuds and veg. Mr Paper had a delicious looking minestrone. The staff worked on regardless. Jenny’s Kitchen managed to satisfy us both in nutritional nourishment and with a bit of an injection of spontaneous Christianity albeit a dubious one.
Enough of that seeing visions for one day. Back to normal madness.
So, in summary Jenny’s Kitchen:
Seating- very good
Parking/ accessibility- very good
Value for money- excellent
Religious sightings in the bathroom- very likely.