So, I woke up today with a sad little surprise. 

Sarah, who had not been feeling all that great over the last few days, decided she was down right miserable.  I told her that she should stay home and rest and that I would take the kids somewhere and try to keep them from jumping to their death off a battlement.

I then went downstairs where the kids were playing.  As soon as I walked in the room, Audra told me that she wasn’t feeling well.

I suppose I should have been more sympathetic, but Audra’s a bit of a hypochondriac. 

In my entire school career I bet I went to the school nurse twice.  Audra goes every week or so. 

Her throat hurts, or her ear hurts, or her head hurts, or she feels funny, or she has an odd feeling about the realistic future of Miley Cyrus once she enters adult hood or….

on and on and on.

So, we don’t tend to jump too high whenever Audra tells us she’s not feeling well.

We do tend to jump a little higher when that complaint about not feeling well is followed by vomiting… which is what she did. 

My poor baby went to the bathroom and hurled up all the Tony the Tiger “Frosties” that she had just eaten (really?  “Frosties?”  Are the Irish so turned off by the phrase “Frosted Flakes” that they had to call them “Frosties?”  Is nothing sacred?  We invented the darn stuff for Pete’s Sake!  Why are we giving in to their every whim?)

Well, with my wife ill upstairs and my daughter vomiting downstairs, there was only one thing to do:

Get the hell out of the house!

I put some orange juice by Sarah’s bed.  Put on a video for Audra and gave her a bucket to sit with and then I loaded up the boys and hit the road.

I know this seems cruel, but, honestly, the last thing you want when you’re ill is two little brothers running around screaming and pulling your braids (It’s all so little house on the prairie)

So, Asher, Micah and I loaded into the mighty Renault Scenic (think Ford Fiesta) and headed to Killarney.

The only thing I knew about Killarney is that Bing Crosby sings this song about “Christmas in Killarney”, so truly, all I know is that it is not a town of complete heathens (actually I read a statistic that 90% of the Irish attend Mass…. Well, not so much the Northern Irish, but the rest of them love the Pope big time.)

We arrived in Killarney and headed to the Information Center. 

In most European cities there are information offices funded by the state which direct tourists to various activities and answer questions.  In the U.S. we tend to just put a rack of brochures at the entrance to the Denny’s and call it good.

I talked to the guy at the info center and asked if there were any castles.

Well, of course there were.  It’s Ireland!

(side note, while I’m writing this, Audra and Asher are playing dolls in the next room.  I just heard this exchange.  Audra: “So your mom and Dad have just died, so I’m going to be your babysitter forever.  Does that sound like fun?”  Asher: “Yeah!”)

The Info guy said that Ross Castle was very nice and right on the lake with lovely views and that you could just follow this path and walk there and…

“You can walk there?” I asked.  I was surprised, because I had seen it on the map and it seemed kind of far away.

“Oh, yes sir.  It’s only about five kilometres to the….”

Five kilometres!?!

In the U.S., that’s a race! 

We train for that! 

In the U.S. it’s not considered “walkable” unless it’s shorter than the distance from the parking lot to the Old Country Buffet!

Sheesh.

Well, if we were going to go on that kind of long distance trekking, we were going to need some sustenance.  So we wandered around downtown Killarney looking for somewhere to eat.

Ok, I have a confession to make.  We ate at McDonalds.

I know!  I know!

Now before everyone gets on there all high and mighty “oh, you sad American” soapboxes let me explain.

First of all, the Irish seem to have missed the concept of a cheap lunch.  I found almost nothing for less than £10 ($14).  I’m not whining about a lack of fast food, but they seem to have nothing in the category of the half decent but cheap lunch.  Where is the Chipotle or Potbelly or sandwich shop of Ireland?  It doesn’t exist.  Sure you can get a nasty old egg salad sandwich at the gas station, but that’s just gross.

So, as a single dad with two boys, McDonalds was a pretty good solution economically.

Secondly, did I mention that I was in Ireland?  I mean, I understand that you are worthy of ridicule if you go to France and eat at Applebees, but come on, it’s Ireland!  Their main food delicacies are fried fish and hamburger meat with mashed potatoes on top!  I’m not exactly passing up a culinary masterpiece here.

And thirdly (and this is where the shame comes in).  I always crave to go to McDonalds in Europe, because they still have the real fried apple pie.

Do you remember that?  Back in the 80s before we Americans got all health conscious (I know!) and MickeyDs switched from fried pies to those nasty cardboard baked pies?  Remember?

Oh, I loved those fried apple pies with their flaky crust and hot filling.  Mmmmmm.

Well, guess what!  They still have them outside of the US!  So, I specifically sought out a McDonalds just so I could once again savor that crunchy sweet taste of my youth!

Plus, it’s the only restuarant in the country that puts ice in the cokes.  It truly is a magical place.

Anyway,

After lunch I loaded the boys in the stroller and started strolling toward the castle.  It really was a lovely walk.  There were fields and a little stream and horse drawn carts passing us.  It was kind of nice that there were no cars, even if this was a long frickin path.

It was nice to talk to the boys as we walked and to see their excitement whenever they heard the clip clop clopping of hooves behind us.  And after an hour or so of walking, we finally arrived at the castle. 

It was beautiful, standing there across a little bridge, looking strong and foreboding against the lake, right across from the …. CAR PARK?!?

You mean we could have driven!?! 

You know, I feel like that’s the kind of thing the information guy could have mentioned.  I mean, I’m standing there in the info center trying to wrangle a three year old and a one year old.  I don’t think it would have been out of line for the guy to mention that in addition to the “lovely five kilometre walk” I could also have driven there in a couple of minutes.

(sigh)

So, we parked the stroller and went in to the castle and bought a ticket for the tour.  This was a fancy castle with a guide and everything, not like one of those sad neglected heaps out in the bog.

As it turns out, though, guided tours aren’t so great for small children, because they include lots of times where soft spoken thirty year olds working on their post doc in history wax philosophically about the various processes of feces removal and dispersal from a fifteenth century castle and the ….

Whatever. 

I was just trying to keep the boys from squeezing through the stone windows or wearing the 800 year old tapestries as capes and running around the castle yelling “Superman!”

But we managed to get through the tour and the boys did pretty well and none of us broke a leg on the tiny stone circular staircases (Did you know that these medieval castles were built with “trip stairs?”  The stairs were crafted at varying heights so that if invading Vikings were charging up the stairs to slaughter everyone they would trip and hurt their knee….. This turns out to still be a very effective design feature.  It’s a good thing that the invading vikings never had to try to attack while holding a squirmy 1 year old on their hip.  It’s very tricky.)

After the castle tour we went out and began the long walk home.  As I was leaving, it started to sprinkle and I thought about the 5 kilometer walk back to our car.  I looked over and saw all of the old horse carts lined up.  I went over and asked how much to get a ride back to town and this crusty old guy came up and said, “Ay, for you and the wee ones it’ll be twenty euro.”

I said, “Well, for that much, I think I’ll just walk.” And I left.

I really meant it.  I wasn’t trying to bargain, I jus thought that seemed a little steep.  But then, behind me I hear, “Uh, sir!  Sir!  How about 15?”

Honestly, I was thinking more like 10, but that just seemed rude, so we loaded everyone up and began trot trotting back into town.

Unfortunately, by this time, Micah and Asher were both exhausted.  Asher just sat in his seat looking shell shocked and Micah just clung to me for dear life as we bounced up and down.  I, however, thoroughly enjoyed the trip.  This was truly how people would have travelled back in the seventies or whenever before cars were introduced to the Irish.  How quaint.  I figured I would ask the driver about the area and hear tales of suffering and woe and dancing and drink, all delivered in his thick, Guinness soaked brogue.

And then, from somewhere, I heard the theme song to Hawaii 5-0 and the next thing I knew my cart driver was talking on his cell phone.

Somehow the mystery was gone.

But we got to the car before the rain really started to fall and a few minutes later we were hurtling home on the 5 foot wide roads, dodging tractors and animals like an old pro.

I arrived home to find that neither of my patients was significantly better, so I made the boys sandwiches, and put them to bed.  Then I hooked up the Wii that was at the house and raced little go-carts with Audra for a while and then put her to bed. 

Then I ate a plate of leftover spaghetti and watched an episode of survivor dubbed in Gaelic. 

Not a bad end to not a bad day.  The only thing that would have made it better was a pint of Guinness ….. and maybe a fried apple pie.