This morning I told Callie that St. Patrick was the missionary who took Christianity to Ireland. I have no idea if that’s entirely true, and I didn’t have four hours to spend on Wikipedia, not that it would take that long to look up, but when you add in the seventeen other things I need to know, it would be dinner time and this was a breakfast conversation.
Callie: “So . . . St. Patrick was a leprechaun? and green was his favorite color?”
I put green food coloring in the whipped cream for our pancakes. Lucy: “So our food won’t get pinched?” And as a hint, mint is not the best flavor for whipped cream, no matter the temptation. It’s too toothpastey. Better stick with mapleine or almond if vanilla is getting old, not that we eat whipped cream every single day so we feel the need to branch out.
Tara served us corned beef and cabbage a few years ago and ever since then I’ve thought that that would be a great idea, usually at about 5 pm on March 17th. So it hasn’t happened. But today I’ve got this crockpot version cooking away, with apple juice instead of water — reviewers call for beer but I’m out, and real carrots instead of baby-cut. And I made Irish soda bread, with a handful of craisins.
If this sounds like a lot, please note that it’s the first time I’ve done anything for St. Patrick’s Day ever, and my kids also have no idea I love them because I didn’t give them Valentines. If it seems like a little (where’s the pot of gold place cards and shamrock centerpieces?), well forget you, it’s not a competition. (is it?)