I seriously might pinch you till you bleed if you’re not wearing any green.

St. Patrick’s Day!  As I mentioned before, you can’t be in a family with three people who look obviously Irish without the 17th of March being kind of a big deal.

So, as usual, we had a whole day of St. Patrick’s Day shenanigans planned.  I found out a few weeks ago that the Irish pub that serves as hang out spot for us and our friends, Tim Finnegan’s, was opening early in the morning and serving breakfast so meeting up with our friends Rachel, Mico, and Carmen there was the first stop on our day of adventures.

After that we made our way to another local Irish pub, Padre Murphy’s, to meet up with David’s brother Chris.

Padre Murphy’s has a massive St. Patrick’s Day thing ever year.  There’s a giant tent outside encompassing most of their parking lot with a stage and dance floor and the whole day is a fabulous string of local Irish bands and tons of performances by step dance troops.

I have a not-so-secret wish that Verona will want to learn step dance when she’s older.  Partly because I just think it’s awesome, and partly because being adopted gives you a bizarre fixation on heritage and tradition since you’re completely cut off from your own.  I have to stop myself from shoving her into every Irish or Mennonite related activity while screaming “THIS IS YOUR HERITAGE!  APPRECIATE IT!”

The point of that completely non sequitor tagent was that I try to get her to step dance preformances when I can in the hope that she’ll grow up thinking it’s awesome and want to do it in a few years.  Sorry for all the rambling it took to get there.

The kids had a lot of fun hanging around the bar too.  Mostly because they look Irish enough, especially little Finnegan with his ginger-ness and uber Irish name, that everyone who walks by falls in love with them and wants to play or hold them.  Sober people do it too, but I’ve definitely noticed a correlation between the “everybody loves a red headed baby on St. Patrick’s Day” phenomenon and people’s level of intoxication.

I’ve been lucky enough to have kids who will sleep where ever they are when they get tired… possibly one of the most convenient traits a child could have… so eventually, since we were there over their usual nap time, Finn passed out in his carseat under a table and Verona asked me to put her in the sling…

… where she promptly passed out as well.

Afterwards we all (with the exception of Verona who went to a rodeo with her grandparents) went back to our place to keep the Irish party rocking going.  Which is code for, David made corned beef and cabbage and everyone wanted in on that.

St. Patrick’s Day fact: Irish Car Bombs are only fun in the states, in Ireland an Irish car bomb isn’t a fun a tasty beverage you enjoy with your friends at parties, it’s what killed the bartender’s sister.  And that’s just a buzz kill.

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