When my siblings and I were little, leprechauns visited us every St. Patrick's Day. They wrecked havoc to our walls with their little green footprints, toppled over our clothes hampers, littered our floors with caramel filled chocolates, and turned our toilet water green.
As far as we could tell, our house was the only one visited by leprechauns. Maybe they came because it was my sister, Erin's, birthday. Perhaps it was because it we also celebrated our uber cool Uncle Pat's birthday. We didn't question the mystery, but rather, assumed we were just extra lucky. The leprechauns weren't chasing gold at the end of a rainbow on St. Paddy's Day, they were bringing candy to us, no traps required.
We questioned none of it, not even the fact that they never bothered to flush their green toilet water. My brother, sisters, and I weren't freaked out by leprechauns skittering around our house while we slept, and we didn't worry that their miniature, green footprints might stain our bedroom walls. All we needed to know was that we were lucky.
And that we had the coolest mom ever.