One of the upsides to having a fantasy author for a mother (and believe me, you need them to counteract the downsides: a parent who is always halfway in another world or developing a character other than those of her children) is that we tend to have rather
overactive imaginations. Also? My family is of strong Irish descent. In fact, according to my grandmother we could trace our family roots all the way back to Brian Boru. As could, she conceded, half of Ireland. For Saint Patrick’s Day, that translated into a small family tradition we called the Leprechaun Trap.
Every March 16th, just before bedtime, we’d put out two small cups full of milk we’d tinted just the right shade of green and set them someplace where the dog or cat wouldn’t get at them in the hopes of catching one of the wee folk. Alas, in the morning there was no leprechaun. Instead, the milk would be gone and in its place a small pile of chocolate gold coins–rewards for the children who remembered and honored “the old ways”.
Sometimes, when I wasn’t time-crunched under a deadline, there were even little footprints leading to the nearest window or door…