Sunday, December 14, 2008

Maybe I should lay off the booze

We arrived at a friend's house late Friday afternoon for our playgroup's every-second-Friday tradition of pizza and play for the kids and drinks for the moms. I am the organizer of this particular aspect of our group, earning me the moniker "cocktail captain."

Anyway, we arrived and were just walking up to the table containing a steaming bowl of spiced apple cider alongside a variety of, er, "additives" to be added to the grown-ups' cups, when my charming daughter pipes up, "Mommy? Would you like a cocktail?"

Why, yes. Yes, I would.

Thursday, December 04, 2008


The scene: the dinner table.

The characters:

DAD, who has just picked up the children from daycare AND gotten dinner on the table, since Mom was running late. (Halo shining brightly)

MOM, who dropped the kids at daycare this morning, zoomed home, worked frantically until 1, drove to work so the nurse could see that there was no reaction to the tuberculosis test done on Tuesday, zoomed home, worked frantically 'til 3, zoomed to the dinner prep place, and spent 3 hours assembling TWENTY-FOUR healthy, freezer-ready, organic dinners, zoomed home, piled everything in the chest freezer in the garage, and collapsed in a heap at the dinner table. (Halo also shining brightly, though the rest of her could use a shower)

BUDDY, engrossed in finger foods

DEE, home after being (unusually) picked up from preschool by Dad (see above)

. . . . . .

Silence, sounds of chewing...

DAD: I forget to check the list to see if Dee took a nap today.

DEE: (Spots opening in Mom's strict No Nap=No Dora the Explorer Rule)

MOM: Dee, did you take a nap today?

DEE (Tiny devil sitting on right shoulder): YES!

MOM, suspiciously: For how long?

DEE (lying through teeth): For one hour and twenty minutes!

BUDDY (sprouting more teeth by the second): Chew, chew.. OUCH!!! WAH!!! Ooh, look- meatballs! Chew, chew... OUCH!! WAH!!!

DAD: Um, I'm going to go upstairs and work once I put BUDDY to bed, so DEE is all yours tonight.

MOM (Ignoring angel on left shoulder in favor of devil on right): Hand me the remote control, will you?