Normally after her bath, I will wrap Claire up in a towel and let her get all warm and dry while she sits on my lap for a couple of minutes. Tonight we did the usual drill, except it was late so I cut it just a little short. After about a minute, I motioned towards her pajamas.

“Can we just sit and think for a minute?” said Claire.
“Okay, let’s just sit and think,” I replied.

A few seconds went by before Claire broke the silence.

“I’m thinking about zebras, Daddy. What are you thinking about?”
“Kids,” I replied.

Another few seconds went by.

“What are you thinking about now, Daddy?”
“Dogs,” I said, spotting some of Muffin’s hair on the floor. “What are you thinking about?”
“Monkies,” said Claire.

Then Claire said that she had done enough thinking for the night and wanted to get dressed for bed. The next night, she wanted to sit and think again. The topic this time was “opposites”.

Green Is Not My Best Color

Driving home from today’s swim lesson, traffic slowed to a crawl as police closed lanes and directed traffic. Just as I started to become irritated, the sight of a lady walking down the sidewalk with a crazy green hat and green-and-white striped stockings changed my mood. It was a Saint Patrick’s Day parade! Crowds of green-clad pedestrians were funneling their way down Greenville Avenue towards the apparent parade site. I started daydreaming about going to the parade. The parade route past the old brick cottages of Lower Greenville, coupled with the cool damp weather, seemed perfect for an Irish celebration.

Then Claire chimed in her thoughts…

She wondered why everyone was wearing silly green hats. I explained that it was for Saint Patrick’s Day. She should wear green to school on Tuesday, since everyone was going to be wearing green for Saint Patrick’s day. She took some exception to this idea. “Green is not my best color. I like pink! Pink is my favorite color! I don’t like green,” she explained. I told her she could wear green and pink. “No! I want to wear pink. That’s the only way to do it.” I said that’s alright, and just in case she was confused, I went on to explain that Saint Patrick was not me, her dad. He was a guy in Ireland a long time ago. Yep, old Saint Patrick drove all the snakes out of Ireland. What a guy. They like to celebrate him every year. Claire was not impressed, replying, “I do not want to wear green, and I do not want to go Patricking!” I loved that, the idea of “going Patricking.”

Anyways, I guess Saint Patrick’s Day is not really for three-year-olds (not even for rather Irish ones).