When did Saint Patrick’s Day become the new Easter?
What happened to a good ol’ St. Patrick’s Day of fear and anxiety- a day kids had to wear green or face bruises from some maple-syrup scented, pinch-happy, booger muncher named Rory? When did Ireland’s eco-terror celebration of serpentine holocaust morph from wake up, wear green, eat Lucky Charms and receive a parental toss into the cold kid world of Pinchtown to a joyous day of Leprechaun break-ins and loot drops?
One minute March 17th is a dull heap of repressed memories, the next Little Dude’s talking about making “Leprechaun Traps” for mini-Irishmen who sloppily leave footprints when they’re stealing gold and leaving delightful surprises. Despite the fact that somewhere along the line someone spilled Irish in my ancestry, I’m American, man. I celebrate a fattastic burger, the midnight release of the next marketing driven pop culture phenom of the day and new Wal-Mart Super Centers. Dead snakes are for the birds.
Until I realized St. Patrick’s Day 2.0 was an excuse to buy Little Dude toys. Specifically, a green Star Wars guy.
Suddenly, Saint Patrick’s Day was THE BOMB.COM.
Using the whole leprechaun footprint idea, I grabbed a Star Wars guy, glopped green finger paint on his feet and made a set of little footprints from the back door, over a chair and onto the kitchen table where I placed the green “Commander Gree” in Little Dude’s cereal bowl. Logistically, it made no sense. But who cared, the kid’s four.
Either way, this morning Little Dude bounded into the bedroom gasping through a wide-mouthed smile, flabbergasted a leprechaun “came into our house!!” The rest of the day, questions… all based, incidentally, on sloppy logistics.
“Can Leprechauns jump? How come there aren’t any footprints on the wall?”
“How big are leprechauns?”
“How’d he get paint on his feet?”
“How’d he fit through that hole?”
“How come Little Sis didn’t get anything?”
“How come he didn’t get trapped in our house?”
“How’d he get Commander Gree in my bowl?”
“How come there aren’t footprints on the deck?”
Still, lying to get your kids the toys they want? Awesome.
This morning I woke up to Little Dude tapping me on the leg:
