You know the old nursery rhyme, that says March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb. Just to be true to form we have a big old storm that arrived mid-day, just when we'd finally chipped away the ice from last week's event. About now, we are all ready to think of spring and all that offers us. In fact today my 6 year old grandson Isaac, said he wanted it to be springtime, and that he was sick of winter. I second that!
We have decided to have a little St. Patty's day fun in two weeks with a kids party for the three wee ones. I'll bet we'll have some cupcakes festooned (that must be a good Irish word), with green frosting and green sprinkles and of course the magic green milk.
That reminds me of a great story. When my kids were little I would always be excited for St. Patrick's Day to arrive, for no other reason than to have a little fun after yet another long winter. I would always make sure to "treat" the milk the night before to insure the desired results. We would once again be surprised and amazed that the Leprechaun had visited while we were all sleeping and magically made our milk green.
It was a tradition easy to carry on, with the exception of one year that we had baked lots of Christmas cookies and had used up all of the green food coloring. Even though I was sure my youngest child had long ago figured out who was at the root of the green milk, I still wanted to perpetuate the charade. I scoured the cupboards in high hopes that maybe there was a little bottle of green food coloring stuck somewhere it didn't belong with no luck. The only thing left was a half bottle of green sprinkles. With fingers crossed, I sprinkled and sprinkled until I had used all that was in the bottle and only had a tint of green in the milk.
The next morning, my daughter went to the kitchen, poured herself a bowl of cereal and proceeded to cover it with milk. Very soon she yelled, "Mom, there's something really wrong with the milk - it has little green specs in it and I think it's moldy." Oh dear, the jig was up. I had to fess up to my misdeeds and admit I had caused this issue in the milk, and assure her that it was fit to use. No matter what I said, there was no convincing an already fussy eater that I was the cause of the green spotted milk, and thus ended a generation of green St. Patty's Day milk.
I am proud to say that the tradition has been carried on and now at least three of my grandkids have the thrill of a visit from St. Patty each March 17th. By the way, the picture at the top is of Ross Castle in Ireland. Sláinte!