Thursday, March 18, 2010

falling short

I found the following pictures on the evening of our somewhat disappointing St. Patricks Day.

Compared to her last visit, it seems the leprechaun wasn't quite so fun this year. When we poured the milk, it wasn't an acceptable shade of green. In fact, Dads milk was almost entirely white. "What?" I suggested that the leprechaun was possibly just a bit afraid of Daddy, therefore leaving his glass alone.

That went over like a ton of bricks.

To top it off, the bread, which was sooo festive last year, went untouched. The waffles were also unfortunately pale in color.

And for dinner? Papa Murphy's didn't quite pull off the shamrock pizza I had envisioned. (And, I tell you, it took quite a bit of convincing to make it happen in the first place.) Unfortunately, after we cooked the poor thing, it just plain looked like we got ripped off.

That leprechaun. Someone should get after her. (Crazy me, but I'm just wondering if she had a busy day. You know, doing frivolous things such as carpooling, feeding, and basically keeping her posterity afloat.)

So anyway (excuse me while I take a deep breath), when I uploaded these pictures of our recent Valentine's Day celebration, I was once again reminded of the dismal state of yet another holiday.

Turns out, Cupid wasn't so great either. She did much better last year.

The breakfast meal fell short of charming. The decorations seemed far too. . . undecorated. In fact, in a desperate attempt to save the day, I may or may not have made the girls close their eyes while I quickly hung some hearts on their doors. There. . ."surprise! Ta Da!" (It wasn't quite the same.) Oh, and the traditional update to their Valentines Day books? Replaced by a hurried love note.

All in all, Miss Cupid fell far short of the girl's expectations.

There was only one thing to do. Considering the extreme state of holiday disaster we had found ourselves in, the girls decided they had better take things into their own hands. Armed with paper, markers, and ribbon, they headed to the playhouse.

If we were lucky, we'd get invited.

Turns out, they took pity on us.

Mom and Dad, in all our pathetic holiday unsplendor, were invited to the playhouse for tea.

It turned out nicely. But here's what I'm thinking . . .

I'm thinking Mr. Easter Bunny better get his game on.

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