It’s St. Patrick’s Day, and even though I’m not Irish, I’m ALL about any holiday that celebrates the sanctity of corned beef. But before I run off and stuff my face full of it…
My friend Kelley has a darling St. Patrick’s Day tradition for her kids that I absolutely have to tell you about.
Kelley and I met in the Pi Phi chapter room 17 years ago when we were supposed to be studying. We talked all night instead, and have basically never stopped.
I do not have words for how much I love her.
(You may remember her from the Rosemary Meyer Lemonade with Vodka post if you were around in the old days of the blog.)
She lives in a fancy suburb outside of Chicago, and I don’t get to see her nearly enough.
ANYWAY, the thing she does for her kids:
She and her husband came up with it a few years ago, and it’s so great I want to steal it for my own kids some day.
The night before St. Patrick’s day, they stage a treasure hunt that looks a lot like a leprechaun invasion. When the kids wake up in the morning, she tells them that leprechauns vandalized the house while they were sleeping, and they have to follow the trail of mayhem looking for clues.
When she told me about it, I made her send me photos because I am bossy.
The first photo arrived with the following caption, “It’s 11:15 here and I am like a lunatic, literally teepeeing my own house. I am a suburban weirdo.”
She is NOT a suburban weirdo; she is an excellent mom who happens to be very creative.
I am so overdue for a weekend visit so we can cook something exquisite together. I digress…
The trail goes all throughout the house with the final clue in the bathroom.
After taking in this year’s mayhem, her six year old son Blake told his sister Audrey, “Leprechauns should be covered by insurance.”
I am not making this up.
See why I love Kelley and her family?
I did not vandalize my own house because my dog seems to do that pretty well on his own, but I did accidentally end up at St. Patrick’s Day mass this afternoon. That is a very long story that belongs on my other blog.
Before I write that story, I’m off pay homage to the saint who sent the snakes away by stuffing my face with corned beef.