Tag Archives: kids

I need a drink

DSC_0044

I just read this fantastic blog post by Sarah Hosseini about the culture of Mom-drinking and its dangers. We’ve all seen the memes on Facebook and can probably testify to the popularity of jokes and catchy phrases about how Moms can’t get through a day of mothering without a drink.

DSC_0876

I wanted to chime in on the subject. Once upon a time, I was in Stevens Point Wisconsin, spending my birthday weekend at my parent’s house. My family was with me (husband + 2 kiddos aged 3 and 1), and my sister and her family were there too (husband + 3 kiddos aged 2 and under).

Any day that includes five children aged 3 and under, however fun, is going to be hard work. It just is. But finally, around 7pm, all the kids were in bed and the adults had gone outside to the patio. Yippee! Time to have fun! Time to share stories, jokes, and remember what it feels like to just be ourselves! We stretched out. Mom started a fire and brought out supplies for S’mores.

BUT. Just as the relaxation was beginning, one of the children (who shall remain nameless) decided to scream. And not just for a few minutes–but for hour after hour.

Cue that disappointed frustration that is most intense when the challenging situation occurs outside of what are supposed to be your ‘normal mommy/daddy working hours’–and even worse–on a vacation during which you have limited hours to enjoy (as an adult) your adult loved ones!

My sister had to go in about a million times to deal with the situation, since the sheer volume of the screaming threatened to wake up all the other children. In fact, the screams were of such a high pitch that my dad (a seasoned sound technician, among other things) actually measured the frequency with an app on his phone. We all laughed. My sister tried to laugh.

In between my sister’s attempts to defuse the situation, and seeing the deep discouragement on her face, I said in sympathetic tones,

“You need some wine.”

DSC_0109

The child in question eventually went to sleep (hallelujah), but what a battle it was.

Later, my mom pulled me and my sister aside.

“I don’t like it when you girls say you need alcohol,” she said.

I was shocked. Defensive. I mean, lighten up, Mom! We’re not alcoholics! It’s just a way of talking! Relax! Can’t you see what a hard evening it’s been?

I tried to attribute her apparently extreme sensitivity about this comment to our generational differences, which also compel her to wear things like pantyhose which (thank heavens) a whole generation has now rejected. (Horrid, clingy things.)

But however much I wanted to brush away her comment, it stuck with me.

I don’t like it when you say you need alcohol.

Fast forward to present, about two and a half years later. Guess what? I have no idea what we talked about during that weekend in Stevens Point. Who said what, when, what riveting subjects were debated, joked about, pontificated on. Except for her remark. That’s right–I’ve never forgotten what she said. Because, though I didn’t want to see it during that particularly fraught moment on that particularly fraught evening, she was right.

So. I’ve stopped saying that I need alcohol. Or that anyone else does. If I slip up, red alarms immediately start beeping in my head and I correct myself to “I’d like” or “I want.”

Needing alcohol is not something to banter about. It’s serious. And haven’t so many of us felt that temptation, especially after a stressful or miserable day? To need a drink in order to move on emotionally from whatever happened during the day? I know I have.

photo-2

Mom, thanks for the wisdom of your comment. It took me some time to stop being defensive and realize how important that statement was.

So here’s to not needing alcohol–and not talking like we need it either.

ZD8_3955




The House of No Secrets

[last night]

Night time in our little house.

I’m upstairs in the bathroom off our master bedroom. I’m pregnant, just clearing the first trimester, tired and bloated. I look in the mirror. I lean in closer. How many zits, exactly, do I have?

I estimate one million billion on the right side of my neck alone.

And why must they be on my neck???

And is it pregnancy or the French fries slathered in mayonnaise and ketchup that I can’t seem to stop eating?

(pregnancy, definitely pregnancy, I’m not giving up the fries)

Also, I’m pretty sure I have a new wibbly-wobble in my neck skin.

A hot shower is exactly what I need.

I creep down the stairs and peer out into the hall, with its sight to the dining room table where my husband sits, reading over my most recent version of a manuscript and making notes with a pencil (kind, kind man).

“Hey baby,” I whisper, “want to take a shower with me?”

A door bursts opens.

Out from the room where she’s (supposedly) been in la-la land comes a pajama-clad four-year-old with night-rosy cheeks, golden hair flowing about her shoulders like a lion’s mane. She’s tugging at the sleeves of her sleeper as if to take it off and smiling like it’s Christmas morning.

We look at the exuberant face of our daughter.

“Uh,” says my husband. “I think Mom meant me.”

I look at her pink little face and feel a monumental stab of mama-guilt. Because maybe she’s been waiting all her life for Mom to whisper an invitation to a secret midnight shower—tip-toeing up to the top floor with its shower of many spigots in the very middlest of the night and playing her favorite game–spraying the shower walls with water and laughing maniacally as she ‘cleans the bathroom.’ Very possibly, I’ve just dashed every hope and dream she’s ever had.

“I’ll take another shower with you soon,” I say to her with my most winning smile.

Alice considers my offer. “Can I make a nest on my floor with my blankets?”

“Yes,” my husband and I say at the same time. “Go for it.”