The Wild Rovers

There is something absolutely right about having dinner with two four year old girls on St. Patrick's Day, it is in so many ways just like eating with two wild rovers, two green beer drinking celebrants who have been imbibing for hours. They interrupt you, each other, the waiter, themselves. They shout out oddly inappropriate comments with no regard to place or time, Kate: "Woops! I tooted! Did you hear that?". From time to time they fall off their chairs, at least once per child per meal. Generally someone spills something, hopefully water, occasionally milk, once, my beer. They serenade the dining room, this being St. Patrick's Day we were treated to Whiskey in the Jar and the Wild Rover, loudly, the same verse repeated over and over and over again, all at the same decibel. They chatter incessantly, telling the very busy waiter all about their never ending love for good fish and chips, their grandmother's recent death and Eleanor Roosevelt's current bout with digestional issues, and the mess that ensued. They slur, they giggle, they need to use the restroom at least twice per meal, they are drunk four year olds, giddy and silly, celebrating this holiday just as they should, with wild abandon and a good sense of fun. Maybe next year we should make the milk green.