Reasons Mommy Drinks (31 page)

INSTRUCTIONS

Take a deep breath and enjoy a crisp Chardonnay or whatever the host is pouring. Enjoy as much of the glass as you can until MF takes over and you have to leave the dinner party.

HOW BADLY YOU NEED THIS DRINK

Since your birth, Mommy’s formerly enviable social calendar has been reduced to a collection of Playdates. The Playdate forces Mommy to hang out with parents she would usually avoid eye contact with, just because their kids happen to be your age. Occasionally they give Mommy a chance to hang out with parents she likes but whose kids are a few short years away from Ritalin and a stint at Betty Ford. Going on the Playdate does have its perks, such as sizing up other people’s kitchen renos and snooping through their bedrooms while “getting lost” en route to the bathroom. At the Playdate, a children’s meal is usually served, which is a reflection of the host’s parenting choices. Like the “I do whatever my kid wants” Mom who serves Nutella Pringle sandwiches on Wonderbread. Or the “I’ll be shipping my kid off to boarding school soon” Mom who has the whole affair catered. Whatever the menu, Mommy discreetly steals food off your
Toy Story 2
plate because for some reason no one ever feeds the grown-ups. Eventually, Mommy has to reciprocate and host the Playdate. This. Blows. Mommy’s house is left looking like a Fisher-Price bomb went off in her living room, her Terrapin Green feature wall has been rendered Crayola Corner, and her IKEA cabinetry will never close properly again. The Playdate is also known colloquially as the Sharing of Germs, so Mommy gets to play nursemaid for the forty-eight vomit-filled hours that follow. Yay.

INGREDIENTS

1 ounce light rum

4 ounces ginger ale

INSTRUCTIONS

Fill a glass with ice. Pour in the rum and ginger ale, and stir.

NOTE

The ginger ale will help calm your churning stomach while you dig half-chewed raisins out of the living room carpet later that night.

HOW BADLY YOU NEED THIS DRINK

Mommy’s knowledge of contemporary music ended the day you were born. She’s praying the “Apple Bottom Jeans” song by Florida (Editor’s note: it’s “Low” by Flo Rida) becomes a classic ASAP so that her iTunes library will be relevant again. Until then, she’ll have to rely on discreetly using Shazam at parties to avoid looking like a complete tool. Wait, is
tool
still cool? (Editor’s note: no.) Daddy is no help either because his selection of music is comprised exclusively of early 1980s hair bands. At work, Mommy overheard some twenty-somethings talking about Cee Lo Green and she thought it was an STD. Her iPod is now playlist after playlist of the saccharine sounds of The Wiggles.
Whyyyyyy
do you want to hear the same song over and over and over again? “The Wheels on the Bus” drive Mommy insane, all around the town. Even the
Babies Go Pearl Jam
CD is making her ears bleed. If she has to hear “Even Flow” played on a glockenspiel one more time, she might go crazier than when Jeremy spoke in class today! (Halfhearted high five for quoting lyrics from the album
Ten
, which came out in 1991.) The only time she’ll be exposed to new artists now is when they guest perform on
Sesame Street
. Mommy can’t wait until you become a teenager so at least she’ll know what’s hip when she bangs on your door and yells at you to “Turn it down!”

INGREDIENTS

Wedge of lime

Sugar

1 ounce light rum

4 ounces white grape juice

INSTRUCTIONS

Rim a martini glass with a lime wedge and then sugar. Combine the rum and grape juice in a shaker with ice. Shake well and strain into the glass. Serve with Baby Beluga caviar.

HOW BADLY YOU NEED THIS DRINK

In a past, hedonistic life, dropping $200 on a menu awash with quail egg, duck-olive paste, and basil-leaf-infused martinis at the hottest new eatery was a surefire remedy for the soul-sucking effects of a fifty-hour workweek. Even though the Calista Flockhart–portion size meant a pizza run three hours later, it was worth it. Adorned with mason jar glassware, chalkboard menus, and beardy servers in skinny jeans, a baby would be as out of place in these bistros as an affordable bottle of wine. Which is why nowadays, on those nights when figuring out a meal plan is as overwhelming as working the Apple TV, Mommy’s restaurant criteria have taken a dramatic turn from her pre-baby tastes. Nowadays, parking is mandatory, as are automatic double doors to accommodate the stroller carrying you and half your toy box. Bonus points for a dining area filled with the deafening sounds of a Michael Bolton/Screaming Children mash-up and a menu featuring photos of the entrées. Two minutes after placing their order, Mommy and Daddy’s meals arrive so fried they can’t tell who ended up with the chicken and who got the fish. No one bats an eye as you fling pieces of your hormone-infused hamburger patty from your high chair and spill milk all over the brown paper tablecloth, dissolving the server’s name written in crayon. In fact, most of the parents at surrounding tables just seem thrilled that their own badly behaved child is now sharing the spotlight with you. Even though the only common ingredient between family chain restaurants and hipster hot spots is a shamelessly overpriced menu, walking away from the mess you’ve left in your wake makes every penny well spent.