My mom is of Irish and German ancestry and my dad is full-blooded Italian-American. Mom wanted her children–all six of us–to appreciate our Irish heritage. So on St. Patrick’s day, she had a good luck tradition: putting green food coloring in the milk for our morning cereal.
Although the surprise wore off after a few years as I got older, I loved it. It made the whole day special. School was more fun. Even math was tolerable. The morning ritual put excitement in the air like a brewing snowstorm gave me hope for a snow day.
When I had my own children, I chose to carry on the tradition.
The good luck continued.
The night before St. Patrick’s Day, I waited until my two boys were in bed. Then I snuck into the kitchen and gathered my supplies: green food coloring, disposable latex gloves, and a half-gallon of milk in a cardboard carton. (Plastic milk cartons don’t work–you can see the green milk, which completely ruins the surprise.) And don’t skip the gloves. Nothing screams “mom playing leprechaun” more than green-stained fingers.
After I did the dirty deed, I went to bed smug with the satisfaction of being a fun mom.
In the morning, I hurried down in the kitchen before my kids. When they were, say, four and nine, as they sat down to eat and the milk splashed onto their Wheat Chex, the drama would unfold like this:
Sons: Ewww. Green milk.
Me: Oh no! Green milk? Really? Lemme see.
Sons: Haha! Oh yeah, it’s St. Patrick’s Day.
Me: The leprechauns must have been here! Happy St. Patrick’s Day!
Sons: You’re the best mom ever!
(My memory may be a little fuzzy on that last line.)
When my boys were more like 12 and 17, as they poured the green milk over their Lucky Charms (I got lax on my healthy cereal rules), the tradition would unfold like this:
Sons, eyes rolling: [Cue sound of crickets chirping.]
Me: “Hey, is that green milk? Wow, the leprechauns must have been here! Happy St. Patrick’s Day, guys!
Sons, eyes rolling: [Cue sound of crunching.]
Maybe they didn’t care. Maybe they forgot all about it as they went to school. Maybe they told their friends about their wacky mom and the gross milk.
But maybe, deep inside, they drank in the love their mom put in that green milk. Maybe they got a taste of how simple and yet how important it is to make a day special, how important traditions are–good luck and otherwise.
Maybe they knew it was less about luck and all about love.
If I accomplished only that, I’m a wee bit more magical than a leprechaun.
Now 25 and 30, my sons are adults. They eat breakfast in their own kitchens, so I can’t sneak in to color their milk or monitor their cereal choice. They have no kids of their own and none on the horizon. When they visit, they don’t roll their eyes, even when I may deserve it.
Through the lens of time and the miles between us, I see that the good luck tradition has sprouted some pretty beautiful growth. Just like it did in me so many years ago.
Some people are always chasing after the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow, but the best in life is not that elusive. It’s within us, waiting to be discovered and celebrated.
Just like green milk on St. Patrick’s Day. (THIS is totally cheating!)
Many blessings and the luck o’ the Irish to you today, no matter your heritage.