Monday, May 16, 2011

Irish New Year

The period of May 9 to May 30 is what we refer to as "Irish New Year" in our house. It marks the time when Daniel and Natalie are both the same age for a few weeks and there is a rise in the number of times someone says, Wow...they ARE close! Almost as if they are in disbelief, like I was making it up the rest of the year.

If you are in preschool and you celebrate a birthday, you get to eat cake three times. The first time is at preschool, where you descend from the heavens with your cupcake tray and hijack snack time, sabotaging the delicate protein-to-carb balance that keeps the children from harming themselves or others before lunchtime.

The next time is after your birthday dinner. Which you can pick anything you want. Even if it's just sausage and corn and no green vegetable as far as the eye can see. It's all you, dude; live it up.

And of course, you do get to open presents in between all the cake eating. If you are nice, you will share your booty with your siblings. Or else I will threaten to take away more cake.

And the third time you get to eat cake is at your birthday party.

(There may or may not have been a fourth time to eat cake had your parents not helped themselves to a fourth meal after you were in bed.)

One must work up an appetite for all this cake eating.

Now time to prime the pump. I'm using disposable plates but reducing my carbon footprint by eliminating napkins. Why the heck did your parents put shirts on you anyway, kids? It's not just for wiping snot.

And as long as you finish your hot dogs and Fritos and Cheetos and everything in the food group ending in -tos, then you may have your cake.

And because I love you, Daniel, I listened to your request and put all the superheroes you asked for, with the exception of Bull. Because no matter how many times Daddy says you're strong like bull, it doesn't make it right.

You can have your cake and eat it, too.

'Cause seriously, why else would you go through all that trouble of making a cake? It's not going to eat itself.


  1. Ah, where I grew up, they were called Irish twins. My brother and I are pretty close. What a wonderfully delicious and fun party you threw! What's not to love? The girl using her shirt to wipe her face is my favorite. I'm 42, and sometimes still use that technique.

  2. We call them that, too. Matt just named it Irish New Year because he was tired of the Chinese getting all the fancy holidays.