Before having kids, I had this little “problem”. Whenever I was out at a bar or a restaurant, I never knew what to order. My husband was all too familiar with the pathetic glance I’d send his way, secretly begging for assistance. He was not sympathetic. Over ten years out of highschool, I should have known what I liked to drink at that point. All of my girlfriends had carefully pegged their drink of choice so I would usually just pipe out with a self-conscious “I’ll have what she’s having”. But I wanted my own signature drink. I wanted something that screamed my name and I was ready to do a little alcohol research project to figure it out. I nonchalantly asked questions about what everyone liked to drink. White Russians sounded divine. I am a coffee freak so naturally Kahlua is going to appeal to my tastebuds. The perfect blend of vanilla Stoli, Kahlua and cream found its way into my glass and as the velvet smoothness slid by my tonsils, I was hooked. I remember thinking I could easily pack on 10 pounds and become a raging alcoholic so I figured maybe a drink I didn’t like quite so much was a better idea. Everything I tried was enticing, from the crown and coke to the Amstel light. I came to the conclusion that alcohol is way too tasty for me to narrow it down, so I was back to square one. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Doesn’t just one drink get boring? Why did I need a label anyway?
The one thing I tried to do and still do is stay consistent with the liquor of choice each time I drink. Toting around a bottle of pepto is so not cool and the heartburn of mixing drinks or going too fruity is truely dangerous. I remember one night in highschool, the gang and I were off for a night of partying it up. Heh, the thought of that makes me laugh now. A bunch of 16 and 17 year olds somehow managing to grab hold of some alcohol and drink their little hearts out. Wearing my itty bitty cut-off jean shorts and a strappy little tank top with no bra, I gulped down berry winecoolers like water. Next thing I know, I’m clutching my chest like an 80 year old in cardiac arrest and screaming for help. My sassy little friends lifted me out of the red Honda Civic and plopped my teenage butt infront of the gas station restroom. I remember the cool breeze blowing my hair and watching Sam go inside to buy me some antacid relief. Right then and there is when that magic pink liquid became my best friend. I have many accounts of drunken madness to share from my past, but now that I’m mommy, those days, or nights rather, are pretty much over.
It’s not to say that I don’t enjoy a good drink now and then. In fact, just yesterday, Jenny made me an awesome mojito while our kids were having a play date. I just don’t have that same pressure of going out all the time and having to decide what my poison will be. After all this time, I finally do have my drink of choice. Wine! It is relaxing and comfortable. Just what mommy needs. Goodbye are the days that I stress out over what to drink. Now I just get what I want, when I want it. 95% of the time it’s a nice glass, or two….or three of smooth red vino!
Hi Courtney! I’m writing an article for a national parenting magazine and was wondering if you might be willing to chat. Send me an email and I’ll give you more details. Thanks.