I can trace more than half of my family history back to Ireland. I went to Catholic school. I’ve kissed the Blarney Stone. I have pale skin with freckles, a natural reddish tinge to my hair and green eyes.
At least they were before they turned hazel. And the red in my hair has become hard to spot through all the grey.
But still, I should be able to rally behind a holiday that celebrates
beer my heritage shouldn’t I?
When the kids were toddlers I would buy them the obligatory Old Navy or Children’s Place t-shirts with the Irish sayings on them, and I usually drag out my green hoodie for the occasion, but beyond that…nada. Not a shamrock shake, corn beef & cabbage (gag), nor Irish Soda bread in sight. I don’t even think I have eaten Irish Soda bread before.
Even though I am completely Irish-Canadian on my mother’s side, I wasn’t raised with any real knowledge or celebration of what that meant. Many of the traditions and characteristics that I have grown up with and always just had as a part of me, I have come to learn are things that the Irish are known for. Like the fact that I firmly believe that potatoes should have their very own delicious spot holding up the food pyramid. And my whole family’s fantastic sense of humour. Or the teensy little temper that some people say that I have. (For the record, all of those people are rethinking their answers once they came to understand that
I could have them fired I am a very calm person.)
I also read somewhere that we are known for procrastinating. So that is totally why this post is a month late. To keep it culturally authentic. Are we known for lying too? Because that would help me out a lot.
The stereotype of heavy drinking is completely false in my family though. I have never seen my mother have a drink, and I don’t think anyone in my family really drank a lot. That is if we don’t discuss the Great Grandfather who gambled away the family meat-packing plant due to his drinking. So we won’t. Other than to point out that I could be living in a castle right now, with all the potatoes I desire, if that had all worked out. But that just sounds like more cleaning anyway, so it’s probably for the best.
But back to my point…I think we are known for long and rambling stories too, but I’m too lazy to look that one up…my point in writing this is that I am also too lazy to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day, but for some reason, Molly puts more thought and planning into that holiday than her birthday and Christmas combined. She is convinced that if she builds the right trap she is going to catch a leprechaun. I don’t know what she plans to do with the leprechaun when she catches one, but I don’t think it’s his money that she is after. I’m sure she has plans to put him to work.
She almost caught one last year, but he got away, after dropping a couple of loonies on the deck. This year’s trap was much more complex, and was built right after Valentine’s Day. She NEVER does anything ahead of time, so a project a month ahead shows she means business. She said that the purpose of this year’s trap was to lure him in and “keep him busy until morning,” rather than trying to trap him.
She researched leprechauns on google to find out what they like, and found out they work as shoemakers and like beer, so she placed a help-wanted ad for shoemakers on the box, and provided tools out of her Lego set inside.
|She used the glue gun for the first time, and still has all her fingers|
|The final product.|
|She looks a little too intense here. Do glue gun sticks give off toxic fumes by any chance?|
Didn’t catch him this time, but she did score some more loonies! I probably should have told Nerdguy that she put it on the front porch this year so that he wasn’t staggering around the back deck at the crack of dawn looking for the trap, but what fun would that have been?
We’re just relieved every year that she doesn’t catch a raccoon, because the luck of the Irish seems to have skipped a generation. Or four.