Erin Go get your Bragh on.

My apologies for the brief blog post hiatus.

But here’s the deal.

In 2011, I married into an extremely Irish family. The Killorans. The only way that name could get more Irish would be if it began with O’.

Anyway. For the Killorans, it’s now St. Patrick’s Month.

Sure, March 17 is St. Patrick’s Day.

And maybe most people just celebrate that one day, but my husband’s family drinks a Guinness every hour of every day during this month and throws a corned beef and cabbage sammy down the gullet three times a day.

Corned beef and Guinness, even for breakfast? YES. All 31 days of March.

Everyone in the family takes the entire month off of work to eat and drink and wear head-to-toe green and Irish jig to bagpipes and belch whole conversations to each other. It’s a beautiful family tradition.

That’s a bit of an exaggeration.

But only a bit. You can see the picture I’m painting here, right? You can now begin to understand why blogging during this lovely month of wilting shamrocks and stumbling drunk leprechauns might be low on my priority list as a Killoran. My entries may be a little spotty at times. Especially on the weekends, when I’m expected to double down and pick up the pace, eating and drinking Irish every 30 mins instead of hourly. What was I thinking marrying into this? My liver’s as green as a four leaf clover. And about as flimsy as one, too. Nothin’ lucky about that. Ask my doctor.

Despite all of that, at the end of the [drunken] day, I’m quite ok with celebrating St. Patrick’s Month. Next month is my Birthday Month, after all. Fettucine Alfredo and Confetti Cake all around, every night of the week, every day of the month.

Ooops! The timer just went off. Corned beef. Cabbage. Guinness. Repeat.


St. Patrick’s Parade Day 2012. Little Bean was reeeally little. He was exempt from the Killoran eating and drinking requirement.

St. Patrick's Parade Day 2013. Kellan's a year old and ripe for his first Guinness. Kidding. I'm not THAT bad of a parent.

St. Patrick’s Parade Day 2013. Kellan’s a year old and ripe for his first Guinness. Kidding. I’m not THAT bad of a parent.

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