Adam takes the kids to the pet store and my youngest looks over at the wall of fish tanks and spots one with a heart. She yells "a fish with a heart on it for Mom!". Later, they go to the liquor store and Ella sees alcohol with a fish on it and says “Hey! that is for Mom!". I love my kids for knowing me so well. I love love and I love wine. I whisper to each of them - unbeknownst to either - that they are my favorite kid. They smile with pride and I walk away to go drink my gummy fish drink while watching my heart fish swim by.
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I was an angel this year for Halloween. This didn’t stop me from cursing, drinking and telling totally inappropriate stories at a party. From too much of all those good things, at the end of the night, I stumbled into the house with my heels in my hand and knocking my wings crooked. My extensions had gone lack luster and my red lipstick that I reapplied within the last half hour of the party, had somehow gotten smeared on my face. I was a hot mess. Just as I went to walk up the stairs to head to bed, it was obvious I wasn’t going to make it. I ran to the bathroom, hugged the bowl and made a deal with God to let me live. In exchange for this, I swore I’d never drink again and I would be a much better human being. I couldn’t imagine what God was thinking as he looked down at me – a drunken angel woman, hugging the bowl and barfing while of course wearing my halo the entire time. Hardly heavenly….
The kids we're in a mood the other day when we were running errands. And not the fun kind of errands - cleaners, Shop Rite, liquor store. My attempts to make it fun by writing all the stops on the car windows in erasable marker, weren't helping either (but yay for me with a "cool mom" idea! Or so I thought anyway). In and out of the car, in and out - the girls were growing impatient and irritable with each stop. As we pulled into the CVS drive-through to get prescriptions - as we do about every 3 weeks - Vanessa whined "why do we always have to come to CVS?" I casually replied "because mommy needs her crazy pills. We don't want Mommy to go nutty, do we?" The way they both replied "No" so quickly and in unison, it made me wonder how much of a "dragon mommy" I really become when I am stressed, sad, pushed to the edge or worse - forced to hang out with my family while sober. Better take this next dose with a swig from the double bottle of Pinot I just bought. Hmmm....Nicely planned pick-ups, if I do say so myself.
As Ella is approaching the tween years, I bought her a book about feelings since things will start changing for her. I placed it on the kitchen counter as I poured a glass of wine. I went to pick the book up again and while doing so, I accidentally knocked over my glass and the wine spilled all over the book. Of course this is also the exact moment that Adam walks into the room. “Babe! What are you doing?” he yells. Well, gee, besides the obvious of fumbling around to get paper towels before the book got totally soaked - Adam follows up his stupid question with “oh that's great…give her a book about feelings and it smells like wine.” This actually sounded fine to me – wine helps me deal with my feelings – not a bad thing to learn early. Ha!
Adam and I met with a relator to see what might be possible for us sometime in this lifetime. The woman was a spitfire – cool outfit, lotsa bling, trendy sunglasses, her very own billboard. (!!!!!) It is evident she has passion for what she does. During our meeting, she began telling us about common issues in the business. So common, they even happened to her and to ward off stress, she laughed about having a vodka on the rocks everyday for nearly two weeks. After she left, I mentioned to my little family how much I liked her and how even if nothing worked out, I would really want to hang out with her. Ella then said – “oh she is totally our type. Did you hear what she said about the vodka? She can party.” I didn’t know whether to agree or be mortified at that my 9-year-old knows that being a drinker is required friend criteria. Cheers to friendship!
The other day I was driving past a church in our town. I was moved by the sign out front that read “A candle doesn’t lose anything by lighting another candle.” I turned to Ella in the front seat beside me and said “I think we should go to church.” I strained my eyes to see what time it said that services began: Sunday, 10am. Thinking about how I am often hung-over on a Sunday morning I quickly retracted the thought saying “Never mind. It starts too early.” Talk about teaching the opposite of making sacrifices for the Lord. I drove away watching out for lighting strikes.
The other day was my 14-year wedding anniversary with Adam. Unlike years past, we decided to go out as a family, instead of just a couple. We went to a nice local Italian joint for good food, good wine and a good time. Adam started the night with a beautiful toast and upon the cheers, I was feeling happy and loved. The place added to our special celebration by giving us a rose, two flutes of champagne and a cake with a candle for dessert. In between all of the loveliness and after the toast however, Adam began to suck down Guinness like he needed beer googles for the obligatory anniversary sex; Vanessa and Ella played hand games like “Rock, Paper, Scissors” at the table and got a little carried away knocking over a glass of water, sending it crashing to the floor and breaking into a million pieces. Ella began to laugh at this and accidentally farted so loud, the people at the table across the room looked over at us . Adam slurred something to her and I couldn't tell if it was a “way to go” comment (why are guys proud of gross stuff like that?) or if he was yelling at her for being rude. When we got home, Adam passed out and I put the kids to bed. I then poured a glass of wine, sat on the couch and put on a porn (some form of sex had to happen on an anniversary night!) After 3 minutes, I changed the channel to Lifetime and used my phone to shop around on Amazon for a new dress during commercials. I ate the dessert I took home from the restaurant. This was wedded bliss of a new kind. Here’s to another year of real life and real love and all the perfect imperfectness in between!
Down the shore I love riding my bike. OK fine, so I may be the only one not exercising and instead, I am using it to ride to the liquor store and fill the front basket with alcohol bottles. But still – the land is flat with an ocean breeze and the trip offers me a mile or two of solitude. As you might suspect, the minute we head home - my foot doesn’t hit a cruiser pedal until the next summer. But this year I decided to order a bike before we even left the beach house on our last day of vacation. The bike arrived only a week after getting home. And well, who knew that I would have to put it together? I called Adam to help and immediately he asked me how I thought it would be delivered if not in pieces (I didn't say that I thought it would just be standing up in the box, all ready to ride. Like, duh! Why not?! There are big boxes out there that could fit an assembled bike!). He then continued to carry on with every twist of the screw, remarking “you are never going to ride this thing.” I told him not to worry about that - (God, he was being annoying and so not supportive!) - and to just make sure to fasten the basket onto the handle bars tight. My big idea was to always bike to the liquor store from now on! How smart was I - burning calories so I could drink what I had just burned off!?!! I'd never gain a pound again! Well....after I had to take one slight incline on my maiden voyage, I realized that Adam was probably right. I was not cut out for extreme sports like this. At least, that is what I would call any biking beyond exit 63. Like others, my kids were doing gymnastics on the beach. Always impressed with my stellar moves, they asked me to do a few cartwheels and a split for them. I chugged my drink and got up out of my chair. Before I could launch into a haphazard attempt to flip in any way, the girls asked me (100 times, I swear!) to watch them do their tricks. With each request they said “Mom watch! Mom look! Mom watch!” I told them if they wanted me to do anything, they needed to stop calling me “Mom”. I asked them to call me Nicole instead so when anyone on this very public beach saw my fat, Coppertone white, 39-year-old ass doing flips, they would think I was a drunk older sister and not some delusional parent thinking “I still had it”. At their first request of Nicole, I did a split. BOOM! (And ouch…definitely don’t still have it….) After getting out of our pool one summer night, Vanessa and I ran over to the fire pit in the yard to keep warm. After a few moments, I told Vanessa to take off her suit and that I would do the same and that we could stay snuggly, just wrapped up in our towels. As you might agree, sitting in a wet suit when the air becomes chilly makes things quite uncomfortable. And extra dampness down south can also be quite problematic. As we watched the flames flicker, we waited for our pizza delivery that was due to arrive any minute. Feeling silly, Vanessa lifted her towel and put her ass over the flames. Feeling tipsy, I did the same. For some reason (the wine likely) I forgot that food was on the way and that I had told the delivery guy to come right into the backyard because I’d never hear the door bell ring. What a shock it must have been for him when he approached the fence only to see both of our bare roasting above the fire pit. Yikes!! His tip was hush money, for sure. |
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