Day 28: Confession #28 (Champagne Playdates)

Like peanut butter and jelly, bacon and eggs, a porch swing and a mid-summer night, and louibitoun’s (not that I have ever owned any)… champagne and playdates, make the perfect pair! Really! I am not sure exactly when I started doing them, and why on God’s given earth,  I hadn’t done them sooner, but nonetheless, once discovered, there was NO turning back. As I have mentioned, playdates can be a competitive sounding board, and the check-in desk for the looney bin… or it can be a peaceful sanctuary created with champagne, orange juice and those delightfully delicious muffins “Suzy homemaker” makes. Now, this is one of those times I can’t be “an all or nothing” kind of gal. No one wants to hang around, or have playdates with, the drunk mom whose kid pushes everyone else and they don’t even notice because of the self medicated stupor they are in (I already have one strike against me…). Now, I will say that my favorite author (Stephanie Wilder-Taylor) of that parenting book (Sippy Cups Are Not for…) that I mention frequently, actually became an alcoholic after engaging in a “martini (and other hard-alcohol) playdates”. In my opinion, vodka during the day, with children, is leaning very heavily on the what not to do unless you want to be an alcoholic scale. Nevermind the vodka lemonades I consumed at the kids Halloween party yesterday, that I brought in a black bag, for myself. Those of who that have had the pleasure of what usually comes in a black bag, knows that when you see one, it usually means something “naughty” is inside. To be honest, I like to be a little naughty sometimes, no dirt-balls, I don’t just mean the bedroom either. For me, I enjoy be a law-breaker on occasion…the thrill of exceeding the speed limit just enough to avoid a ticket, but enough to make me feel like I am getting somewhere faster (sorry, Annie). Drinking at 9 am on a Tuesday… you get the drift. I am not talking about acting out my murderous rage, or anything crazy like that. I am a quasi-church girl for crying-out-loud.

For real though, I really don’t know how I would have ever made it through my first few years as a mother, without playdates, with mother’s I connected with on some level, though we were worlds apart in so many ways. I never would have guessed I would have grown so close to the mothers I did and feel the love I do for their children. Mind-bending, really. I wish I were still having them at the frequency as I was, with the mothers I was before. Now, with all of us on our second, and first borns in preschool (on opposite days), and naps to work around, they have albeit disappeared like the last glass of champagne at our last drinking playdate. This is my vow to bring them back! The champagne “OG” playdates! Are you with me? There is something about a bad parenting day, a small group of adorable tots, haggard mother’s and some bubbly (or “champs” as my favorite new OC housewife calls it) to make your day go smoothly. Like I said, not enough to get you “shit-faced” and make an ass of yourself, but enough to take the edge off. Trust me, to quote Cleo, Clifford The Big Red Dog’s friend, “would I ever steer you wrong?” I think not, my friends. I think not.

Sippy cups are definitely not for chardonnay, but playdates ARE for drinking champagne! Try it next time, you just might like it! Again, you’re welcome!

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2 thoughts on “Day 28: Confession #28 (Champagne Playdates)

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