Happy St. Patrick's Day Everyone!

There were six men in Birmingham;
In Guildford there's four;
That were picked up and tortured;
And framed by the law;
And the filth got promotion;
But they're still doing time;
For being Irish in the wrong place;
And at the wrong time.

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Our best (unintentional) mug shots:







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The Irish haven't been looked upon kindly in history. I sometimes call my sons "The Fighting Irish" and they certainly have the look – and the fighting skills with each other at least – to make it an appropriate title. They can also pull off a mean thug look with their dollar store tattoos, but I'm eternally glad they were born in the right place and at the right time. 150 years ago they would have been hoping to escape on a ship (and I'm forever thankful some did).

The truth is my sons are probably not more than 20% Irish if I added up all the Irish on every side of our family, but we always celebrate St. Patrick's Day.

My mom (AKA Gamma Rita) who is 100% non-Irish taught me about the fun in it while I was growing up, and in turn we started decorating with shamrocks last week. The fun in it is the celebration and you don't have to be any part Irish to appreciate that. We celebrate things whenever possible in whatever way we can because that is what you do whether your circumstances are great or otherwise.

Today we enjoyed green daisies, wore our best green shirts, ate a dessert that was shamrock shaped, danced a jig or two to The Pogues ("I like that fast song, Mommy!") and are looking forward to Mommy's "traditional" green pudding after supper.




- A flower for ye, lass...
– She loves me, she loves me not...




– Hello? Hello?... Hello?




"Peeking out"




OK, I'll admit there was a small side dish of green glop after lunch since I won't be taking any more pictures today and it's not St. Patrick's Day without the green glop. The chocolate goodies were provided by Grandma Leslie.




And just when we thought it was gone FOREVER...**

- L.

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* It's the grossest looking dessert, and they still love it!

** Nate came home with an injury yesterday from getting a little too hands-on with the glass front on a gas fireplace. He's OK and fairly proud of his blister, but it only occurred to me this morning that it was, once again, The Touching Finger at work. *touch* *touch* *touch* *OUCH!*

The Watchmen

Gamma Rita wrote out a blessing for each of her grandsons the day they were born.

"Be a watchman over your brother all the days of his life. Be a friend to your brother and don't allow anyone to come between you. Enjoy the difference in one another – know that you will be different because you have been created that way by God for His divine purpose. You will each have things to learn from the other. Love one another all the days of your lives."

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I said that Seth was his brother's keeper, but Nate is a watchman too.

Seth is eating breakfast in nothing more than a pair of underpants. I sent him to his room this morning for being "rude" to Mommy and he was very upset about that. He ended up taking off all his clothes and showed up for breakfast in his altogether*. I insisted on a minimum of underpants at the breakfast table, and so he put some on.

Nate didn't take his hand off his brother the entire time they were eating – through a fruit plate and blueberry muffins his hand was there the entire time, watching.

- L.

*At age 4 Seth thinks that a fitting punishment for me when he's mad.