Wrath of the Leprechauns on Casa Panini?

My old Irish Aunt, who would have turned 87 on Monday, taught me as a child to leave food for the little people the week leading up to St. Patrick's Day. We had special little pottery pieces from Ireland, a little cauldron, plate, and a tiny leprechaun, and we would carefully lay out food from our nightly meal. Old Aunt said they came to town for the party and, having travelled long distances, needed our hospitality, lest they create mischief. My belief in the little people faltered. Over the years I came to believe that the food was simply tossed out or consumed by an obliging family dog. I recalled the quaint little tradition this year, but failed to feed the little people, perhaps to my family's peril.

The last week has been just silly. My Mom was diagnosed with Pneumonia, then her cough seemed to improve, on the day of our St. Patrick's Day party, Mom started to vomit. Poor Mom, her friends were over, we had corned beef, colcannon, soda bread, homemade chocolate cake, and all she could do was hide in her room and barf. My oldest son J.J. started acting up Sunday night and woke up Monday morning with no voice and a fever. That day I had to take Mom back to the doctor. After three days of Mom barfing, the doctor informed me that either had to control the vomiting or hospitalize her for IV fluids on Tuesday. Happily we were able to get the vomiting under control with prescription meds. Sadly, as Mom's situation was improving, my four-year-old Ben also developed a high fever. Actually, everything up to this point was pretty much standard sandwich generation fare. What made me suspect the Leprechauns was the mystery poop.

That's right, poop. Like cow pies. On my bathroom floor.

I immediately ruled out the most likely suspects- the toddler and the cats. (Please don't ask ). No one will own up to having left the poop. I can only blame the Leprechauns.

Next year I plan feeding little people. I can take caregiving. I can't take the poop.