Awkward Mom vs. Leprechaun Traps

I had never heard of Leprechaun Traps until this year. They have probably been a thing for years and they just popped onto my radar now; this is usually how very popular mom things get to me, a couple years late, so they can stir up the angst of being late to the party as well as having no idea how this new thing/theory/terror works. WikiHow has a full page on them, if you are a late bloomer, like me. Here. Check it out, I'll wait.

What fresh hell is this?!

That was my first thought. Cute crafty time-involved nonsense that Perfect Mom cooked up in her diabolical lab and then sent out, via her Pinterest clones, to torment all of the normal moms with the knowledge that we aren't good enough and stuffing our children's brief childhood with enough magical delights. Ugh.

And of course, Super 1st (being cute, crafty, and time-involved himself) was all over this idea. His requests to do something "leprechauny" for St. Patrick's Day started towards to end of February, along with my panic and shame and complete disbelief that 7-years into this whole mom thing, I still don't know what I am doing.

I went through all the stages:

1. Research.

2. Disbelief that this whole leprechaun-trap thing is a thing. And a thing so big and with so many steps. (Similar to step 2 of my Elf-on-the-Shelf panic, my attempt at a baby foot print flowerpot, and the great Christmas explosion of 2013.)

3. Conviction that it must be a joke of some kind and that I am missing the point.

4. Frantic search for "the Onion" listed anywhere in the links.

5. Realization that it is not a joke, but that I turn everything into a joke in order to deal with my total lack of real mom-abilities and crafting skills.

6. Existential crisis about my role in the universe that winds up requiring massive amounts of chocolate to get through.

7.  Stern self-talk to "Woman-up!" and just do the silly thing. Women have been giving birth and raising children and basically running the world for eons. Surely I can handle some cardboard and glitter.

8. Burst into tears when bested by the glitter glue.

9. Decide that I am going to be morally against leprechaun-traps because they detract from the religious nature of the holiday.

10. Express this to Awkward Dad and deal with his, rather excessive, laughter.

11. Cry. Again.

12. Admit defeat and tell Super 1st. that I have no idea how to build a leprechaun-trap, despite 3 weeks of research and study.

13. Listen to Super 1st say, "That's OK. I just want to give them some gold anyway. Trapping them seems kinda mean. Where should I put the gold so they will find it?"

14. Cry some more.

Since Babcia is here 

(and she is crafty),

the leprechaun took the gold and left behind a note,

tucked into a little handmade box,

that wished us all good luck this year.

We all know that I need good luck,

so thanks, Leprechauns!