St. Patrick’s Day is a huge day for the city of Cleveland. There are A LOT of Irish here. So celebrating St. Patrick’s Day is a thing. A BIG THING.
Though my heritage is not particularly Irish, I grew up in a household with a three-day stretch of celebration – my brother’s birthday, St. Pat’s and my birthday. It was glorious. Celebrating was fun. Definitely something I miss now that I’m a responsible adult in the real world. (Watching drunk people clad in green out your office window isn’t quite as exciting as partaking in the festivities.)
Last year, my little dude was 6 months. His very first St. Patrick’s Day. I prepared for the holiday in advance and got him a cute little onesie to dress him in for daycare to show his St. Paddy’s pride. Granted, the onesie may or may not have been for a girl… debatable… but at least it was themed so check it off the list. Done and done!
This year? Not so much. Two of the three of us left the house yesterday, the 16th, with green on. My husband had a green tie and little dude had a green thermal shirt. Today, the 17th, one of the three of us left the house in green. I have on green pants.
We literally didn’t have a thing to scrounge up for the little guy to wear this morning. Barely a stitch of clean laundry in his current size and none of it had a hint of green. Worse still is that we didn’t even have a save, like sticker or anything to throw on his shirt. (I made the parenting decision that an 18 month old is still too young to responsibly wear Mardi Gras beads, especially ones adorned with little green beer mugs). The closest we could have come, if we would have thought of it, was some green self adherent wrap tape from his hospital stay that we could have wrapped around his wrist as a bracelet. (He does love a good accessory). But no dice.
Sorry kid, you’re our only one (for now) and just 18 months old but we don’t have our act together enough to get you out the door in anything festive. We promise to do better next year.