I was feeling pretty immune to St. Patrick's all day at work, but my attitude was corrected upon returning home when I was confronted by a husband insisting a pint of Guinness in my hand, a baby sawing logs in her car seat anyway, and the reminder that I have green eye shadow somewhere that deserves a chance. It ended up being a great evening. It’s not tricky to improvise St. Patrick’s Day at our house. BJ has always assumed I'm Irish since I have naturally auburn hair and freckles, I think it gives me points and encourages his wannabe Irish-ness. (I've never confirmed nor denied it due to receiving hazy answers from my parent’s each time I questioned my lineage in the past). And we esteem the stereotype of Irish people -- the tickling charm and down-to-earth wisdom of them; a holiday that heartens abandon is alright by me. I'm pretty sure they've had it right all along. I made the best fajitas on earth (off topic) and listened to good music and drank from the Guinness pints that are in routine play in our house holiday or not (one of the few wedding presents that have survived us for 2 1/2 years, which makes them even more amazing). Zoe slept through most of our hushed celebration due to “playing hard all day with the boys”, she was asleep in Ivia’s arms when I picked her up and might have slept all night had I permitted it. When I woke her, she was not tolerating the life of being cognizant (see: sepia photo above). We danced a little and I tried to get some photos of her in her green skirt, but it was mostly a lost cause. We took a bath and all 3 gave into our drowsiness by ten o' clock. There are few greater things in life than bed time, anyway.