Kiss My Blarney Stone

does eating a big bowl of green pesto satisfy today's requirements?

So, as he blearily blinked himself awake this morning at 30 minutes before leave-for-school-time, Mr. C calmly asked, "Is it Saint Patrick's Day?"

It has been at least 20 years since I've put any thought into this particular holiday, so I was a little unprepared.  I actually had to go get our calendar to discover that today was, indeed, March 17th.


"I need to wear green on St. Patrick's Day," Mr. C announced from his prone position once informed of today's date.

And I became irrationally irked with the school system.  I suddenly felt that they OWED me a take-home letter last Friday to remind me that Monday is a quasi-holiday from a tiny country half a world-away.  The school should have WARNED me -- since I've long-forgotten -- that it is customary for people to wear their greenery.  They PARTICULARLY owed me a reminder because I'm a FIRST-TIME KINDERGARTEN PARENT, for God's sake, and therefore haven't had any practice with quasi-holidays for years.  Geeze, it's a miracle I remembered to make cards for Valentine's; what were they thinking?!

Because of the school's shocking assumption that I could be a responsible parent, this morning found me frantically digging through the dregs of Mr. C's clothes in search of something, ANYTHING, green. 

Unfortunately (due to that lazy school focusing more on academics than babysitting parents), I had neglected to get Mr. C's laundry done this weekend, and therefore had to send him to school in a barely-passable pistachio-green long-sleeved shirt and a grey sweater with a little green along the edges. 

Pathetically-enough, I actually found myself worrying all day about these clothing choices, since the green-trimmed grey sweater was ALSO trimmed in red.  And, if I recall correctly from third grade, to wear any red on St. Patrick's Day is a slap in the face and requires swift and repeated retribution in the form of pinches.  (This was particularly troubling for me since, at the time, I had adorable -- but very RED -- strawberries permanently adorning the sides of my glasses.  I remember routinely starting St. Patrick's on the bus ride to school by whining, "My glasses don't count, OK guys?  OK??").

Anyway, after all my very-important worrying today, Mr. C came home and announced that it was pretty much like "a regular day".  He wasn't even as impressed as I was by the plethora of green-wearers at school drop-off.  I liked that part, though, and Mr. C seemed interested-enough this morning in participating (after all, he mentioned it with no prompting from me), so I have resolved to continue helping Mr. C celebrate the plethora of inane holidays our society sees fit to acknowledge.