Our only tradition around here for St. Patty’s day (besides being forced to eat corned beef and cabbage by my Irish husband) is that Pat the mischievous leprechaun turns our milk green every year. This is really the best we can do being the somewhat lazy, non-Pinteresty parents that we are. And the green milk is usually the result of a frantic “oh shit, it’s St. Patrick’s day” and Robb or I flying downstairs in the morning and quickly throwing some green food coloring in the milk carton at the very last moment before Gray comes stumbling up the stairs, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and we guiltily hide our green fingertips behind our back, and we both try to wait for a few minutes to not be SO obvious, and then one of us will nonchalantly ask….

“Would you like some milk this morning, Gray?” Robb and I are both so excited at this point, we are like 11 year-old girls, practically giggling behind our hands.

And then Gray will pour the milk and be surprised and so excited and probably totally humoring us because that is what he does.

Nora was not too sure about her own milk being green, but like every good future despot second child dove right in when her minion brother didn’t keel over dead after tasting it.


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