Don't Smile, Daddy!

I cut myself shaving today.  Right on the lip, the worst possible spot if you want it to ever stop bleeding.  It was a small cut, but based on the amount of blood, it looked life threatening.  Gruesome.  For twenty minutes I walked around tissue on it, waiting for the bleeding to stop before going out for the day.  Because one's lips tend to move a lot during the course of living, no such luck.  Jess suggested not smiling to avoid spreading the cut and starting the bleeding again.  The kids would police this for the day, yelling "Don't smile, Daddy!"

It was hard not to smile.  Every time that we get on the elevator, there's a monotone woman's voice with an accent that says "doors closing" and "first floor."  And every time he hears it, Daniel squeals with laughter.   In fact, it's every time that he hears anyone with an accent.  When anyone speaks in another language, he also squeals and ends his laugh with "Silly guy."

It was hard not to smile when walking along River Liffey and seeing the original Windmill Lane Studios.  Some incredible recordings were made in that building, now covered in graffiti from fans.  U2, REM, Rolling Stones, Elvis Costello, Van Morrison - the list goes on and on.

The original Windmill Lane Studios

It's hard not to smile when you're at an amazing pub in Temple Bar eating Bangers and Mash with a pint of Guinness.

That's right, Bangers and Mash is really good

When eating pizza at an Italian restaurant, where apparently only Italians go and there wasn't an Irishman in sight, the kids went completely berserk.  Everyone was appalled at the behavior of these American children, none more than their parents.  Although, at the table across from us was a nice, respectable Italian family with a one-year old daughter.  They were picture perfect, eating their pizza with fork and knife with a quiet, happy child.  They were the von Trapps to our Buckmans.  They were probably more appalled than us.  And then it was hard not to smile when their child threw a fit too.