I know. It’s wrong and stuff for Mrs. Christian Bible Study USA 2006 to approve of Sin like booze and sex and all that. But I do. Mainly because booze (in general) and vodka (in particular, particularly when blended lovingly with cranberry juice and ice) makes me feel better. Oh I know, the troubles don’t go away, I realize that, even when under the (slight) influence, I’m still an ass,but the rough edges are softened a bit and I can relax, breathe, and quit bashing myself in the head with a cedar board because I’m an ass. In short, it makes the headache go away, even if just briefly.

Stuff starts being funny, too, like when just now I yelled at #2 for eating the vegetables. “Quit eating the snow peas!” I shouted, “They’re for dinner!”
“But Mom”, he replied, “They’re like…vegetable crack. I can’t stop.”

The irony of yelling at my child for eating vegetables was not lost on me.
“Go eat those chips you bought!” I demanded, “and get the hell out of my vegetables!”
He laughed at me, and requested a splash of Ruby Absolut in his cranberry sprite. I laughed at him, then gave him a dollop. (ok. bite me. he’s 17. I was drinking at 17, and look at me now. well. maybe you shouldn’t) It was just a dollop. Not even 1/2 a shot. maybe a tablespoon. He thought the grapefruit was tasty with the cranberry and lemon-lime.

I’m nervous about Sweet Daddio coming home. I really hurt him and while I didn’t mean to, I should have known better. Don’t you dare cluck about him being too sensitive. Yes, he’s sensitive, but it’s a good thing, because the coin has 2 sides. He’s sensitive about everything, about remembering my birthday, about all the good stuff that I hear women gripe about their husbands never remembering or doing.

The thing is, I love him more than air and sunshine, I hurt his feelings and I regret it. That’s why I have a glass of cranberry juice and vodka sitting next to me, twice refilled. Because it softens the prickly edges of my concience just enough to let me breathe and function without collapsing into a puddle of tears and remorse.

Now pardon me while I go turn the chicken.