My Daughter the Leprechaun - Part I

Written 21 March, 2017 (the day before Socha’s 5th birthday, on the plane back from Paris and Ireland) 

 “If you try that one thousand times, it won’t work nine hundred and ninety-nine times. But maybe ONCE, just once out of a thousand times, once it could work,” I tried to explain some basic probability to her.

 “Could YOU try it daddy?” the four-year-old entreats.

 “Oh no, if I try try it, or if mom tries it, it would probably only work once out of a hundred thousand times, and not work nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand, nine-hundred and ninety-nine times. But you are a cute little girl, and for you, it just might work. Maybe.”

It had been a roller coaster day. Our fifth day since leaving New Jersey on our spring break trip, but the first day where we hadn’t spend most of the day traveling, and the first when we were on our own as a family, hanging out in Galway instead of trying to follow someone else’s schedule.

The first day we’d flown the red-eye to Paris, then spent most of the second day getting to Dublin (Charles de Gaulle airport is larger than some European countries, but could use a few dozen more folks working passport control). The third morning we boarded a coach bus with the Pingry student group and drove clear to the west coast of Ireland, stopping at (among other notable places) the “Barack Obama Visitor Center and Rest Stop” (unexpected) and the beautiful Cliffs of Moher, known to The Princess Bride aficionados as the “Cliffs of Insanity!” The fourth day was a long day trip to Inishmore on the Aran Islands – 820 permanent residents, lots of cows, thousands of miles of stone fences, and Dún Aeonghasa, a Bronze Age hilltop fort built on the edge of some serious seaside cliffs – 300 ft down with no railing to prevent your removal from the gene pool. It had been really fun and interesting, but Shannon and I were looking forward to puttering about town, doing a little shopping, checking out the local playgrounds, and taking in some Irish music in this happening college town where a quarter of the population are college students and a majority of local residents speak Irish (not English) as their mother tongue.

Playing "Can't Catch Me!" in Dublin Castle

At the Barack Obama Visitor Centre in Ireland

Testing the bounciness of the hotel beds, Dublin

Walking the wall, Cliffs of Moher

Family photo, Cliffs of Moher ("Insanity!") Socha is too intrigued by the cliffs to look at the camera.

Cliffs of Moher

Riding the ferry to Inishmore

Harbor on Inishmore at low tide

Traditional house on Inishmore with thatched roof (no longer common). Note the little "leprechaun house" off to the right.

Pondering gravity and a fear of heights, Dún Aonghasa

Family photo at Dún Aonghasa

Exploring the ruins of the "Seven Churches" on Inishmore, dating to the 7th Century AD

Walking the wall to the sea, Inishmore

Exploring the coast, Inishmore

Socha explores the playground in Eyre Square, Galway. Mom watches with anxiety.

Socha had been a trooper, if sometimes a little crabby as we traveled We slept in. We thought this would help Socha recover from jet lag and sleep deprivation. Instead this was our hardest day (by far) of the whole European trip.

As soon as we started casually shopping for souvenirs, the begging and whining started. She had already chosen her one and only souvenir from Ireland (a lovely stuffed sheep she’d named “Ella”), so today was going to be a day for mommy and daddy to shop, and maybe pick up things for friends and family. But she wanted stuff. Some days we can talk reasonably about “needs” versus “wants,” and being appreciative of the trip itself, and looking to find gifts for other people. She can often handle “no.” But not on this day.

This day brought frequent tears, and some tantrums in shops and on the street. She wanted (among other things) jewelry. Real jewelry that cost thousands of dollars. Costume jewelry that cost dozens of dollars (but still too much for a four year old, especially one that had already chosen her souvenir). She wanted shiny things.

“It’s not fair!” she wailed.
“Will I ever get to have a ring?!”

It was a hard day.

One of many times during the day she burst into tears. Yes, we were photographing our daughter crying. We had ample opportunity.

But there were some bright(ish) spots. Some bright(ish) spots that make me wonder if my daughter might actually be a leprechaun.

Evidence for her possible leprechaun-dom:

1. She’s (partly) Irish. Sure, lots of people have some Irish in them (such as Barack O’Bama), but I figure she’s got a least a quarter Irish in her (on my Haughey side and on Shannon’s Savage side). Not sufficient for proving leprechaun status, but probably necessary. 
2. She likes rainbows. I mean, a lot. Anything rainbow-colored is the best. Her 5th birthday party will have a rainbow theme. Her 4th birthday party was officially pony-themed, but all was rainbow colored anyway. Again, love of rainbows may not be so rare among the four-year-old girl crowd, but still probably necessary if not sufficient for proving leprechaun status. 
3. She’s leprechaun-sized. This might change in the future, but we don’t know that for sure. 
4. Pot of Gold? Well, strangers keep giving her treasure. For real, people keep giving her stuff in a way that doesn’t really happen to most people I expect. Maybe she’s magical. 

Read on in My Daughter the Leprechaun, Part II.