Lucky

This spring, my daughter reached a point in her development best described as Go Away, Mom. So while she ran around our little backyard urgently moving dirt from spot to spot, I sat and poked at the clover patches that pass for our lawn. Two weeks into the most perfect May weather I've ever experienced, I found my first ever four-leaf-clover.

I was thrilled. Baby Razor was unimpressed. (Story of our lives, really.)

The only other time I'd seen a four-leaf-clover was right before the final for a class that was technically titled something like Beowulf and Old English Poetry but I only ever referred to as Beowulf: Bane of My Existence. One of my classmates found it on the way to the final and let us all touch it before we went to our academic doom trying to remember what "gefrunon" meant.

So, figuring it would be a nice memento for Baby Razor's baby box, I Mod Podge'd it to a piece of card stock and figured that was the end of that.

Well. Three days later, Mr. Razor came home, said, "I had the weirdest day," and pulled these out of his laptop case:

He found the first one on the way to the bus in the morning, the next three in the patch near his office building (which is apparently a mutant clover patch, because his coworkers found two there as well), and the last one at the foot of our front steps as he came home in the evening.

I considered buying scratch tickets, but was unsure if six four-leaf-clovers in one week could be some sort of weird anti-luck jinx. For now, all the preserved clovers are safely stored for Baby Razor, just in case she ever has to translate Beowulf.