Ok, Cashier at Giant Eagle. I get it. You think I’m buying a lot of wine. You joke that I should bring the bag back next week to get refilled because we all know the kids are the reason I drink – Ha….Ha….Ha?
When I make a joke about my kids being jerks it’s funny. I’m allowed. Most people will be quick to say something about how pleasant, well behaved, or nice they are. But we all know that at the end of the day, I’m sick of their shit. You, Giant Eagle Cashier, have not earned the right to say such things about my precious angels.
I’ve spent all day gently (and not so gently) reminding them how to be nice human beings. I’ve reminded them to not hit. Pleaded with them not to touch things, mostly each other and anything in public that doesn’t belong to them. I’ve spent all day refereeing their play time.
I stop whatever I’m doing countless times to “watch this!” or “mom! look here!” I have (tried) to patiently answer every question. I have clarified numerous nonsensical questions, transforming them into real questions that can be answered, and then answered them to the best of my ability.
I’ve told them the person they see with differences knows they are different, so let’s not talk about it loudly, and instead just smile and treat them nicely and normally. I’ve suggested they take breaks when they are acting out. I help them identify their feelings when they are frustrated, tired, hungry, excited. I suggest words to them for these feelings, that they may learn to express themselves with more than just pointing and grunting.
I comply with their demands for milk and water, reminding them to ask nicely, “mommy will you please get me a water?” I recite entire conversations for them, expecting them to repeat their part. Like a call and response. So that they may have an example to follow. And praising them for when they remember to use their manners, or even just a normal voice when asking for something. I spend all day reminding them that I can’t hear them when they use a whiny voice. That I would love to help them, but yelling at me from across the house is not the way to get my attention.
I beg all day for them to pick up after themselves, only to do it anyway. They want to be “helpful” vacuuming, but can’t manage to pick up the pile of toys they just dumped out. I spend all day finding things. Reaching for things.
By the time I’ve negotiated bed time with a preschooler and a toddler, I think I’ve earned the right to zone out on the couch with a glass of wine. And most nights it really is only one glass of wine. Because I am far too responsible to over indulge. I am the only adult in the house and must act accordingly.
Yes, I bought 6 bottles of wine. That’s how I get the discount. Every penny counts right? And no, I will not be back next week to re-fill the bag and get 6 more bottles, because it takes me almost a week just to drink one bottle. These 6 bottles may last me all month, if not longer. Because I am drinking alone. After the kids go to bed. Before I pass out. When I have a minute to myself to reflect on my day, maybe watch some grown-up TV, and have a glass of wine. I earned it. The kids aren’t the reason I drink. Life is the reason why I drink. And I’m not drinking to get drunk, I actually enjoy the wine. Thank you very much Giant Eagle Cashier, but today you will be the reason why I drink.