Confession: I don't do St. Patrick's Day.
My mom did it. Every. Single. Year.
We woke up to a treasure hunt with clues left on shamrocks all throughout the house, which led to a chocolate pot of chocolate coins. I have no idea where my mother found a chocolate pot, but there it was, every year.
I console myself with the thought that my mother only had two kids, whereas I have six, but then I remember that she also worked full time and that makes me feel like a failure.
I did dye the milk green one year. That was a standby growing up. The leprechaun would dye the milk green while leaving the shamrocks. Well, I dyed the milk green and then left to run errands. My ever conscientious seven year old daughter thought that there was something seriously wrong with it and dumped it right down the drain before I got home. Served that leprechaun right for not leaving clues.
Here's the thing, though. I probably could pull off a leprechaun treasure hunt. And two thirds of my children are still young enough to appreciate it. I just really don't want to. I have so much on my to do list already that adding that one unnecessary thing just weighs me down. More than it should. And I can't really figure out why.
Maybe it's because I had four kids in five years, and when I was really right in the thick of it, trying to put together a leprechaun hunt really would have killed me. Maybe it's because I'm worried that my oldest two will feel like they missed out on something because I never did it when they were kids. Maybe it's just straight up laziness. Maybe it's just one more thing to do and it will not determine the life or death of my children. Or, maybe I'm just not as good of a mother as my own was.
Whatever the reason, my mom guilt makes me feel it every. single. year. And every single year, I ignore it, make green smoothies and green scrambled eggs, make sure everyone is at the very least wearing green so they don't get pinched at school and call it good. And, who knows, maybe that's enough after all.