Unbeknownst to us, our daughter seems to have started a new activist group–Daughters Against Mothers Drinking (DAMD).
Her reasons for this are a mystery to us, as my wife does not even remotely have a drinking problem. She does enjoy an alcoholic beverage from time to time, but so do a majority of adults over 21. In fact, since the pregnancy (when she didn’t drink and I did my best not to make her jealous), breastfeeding, and the unending sleep deprivation of having twin babies (which does not AT ALL jive with a hangover), both of us have become lightweights who feel superfine after two.
However, when my wife does decide she would fancy a drink, she is most certainly entitled, as she is our household’s primary breadwinner at an oftentimes intense job that spreads her thinly and leaves her toasted by the end of the day.
It was with this fervor that she asked for a glass of wine while at Nani and Abuelito’s (my wife’s mother and stepfather’s) house for dinner last night, and I was happy to oblige, pouring her the finest chardonnay Nani’s entire counter had to offer.
In anticipation of the Twins coming over and crawling all over it, their Abuelito had steam-cleaned the carpet that morning. We’d all noticed its rejuvenated, fluffy sheen, and it was there that my wife sat amongst the Twins and floor-strewn Legos when I delivered her beverage. Unsurprisingly, our daughter eyed the glass with a critical furrowed brow.
I’m not sure if her disapproval stems from us not letting her drink any like we do when we’re drinking water, or that holding the glass prohibits us from providing her full, two-handed attention. Maybe both. Maybe neither. Who knows?
Whatever the cause, as my wife gingerly took her first few sips, our daughter made several spirited attempts at the glass. Having learned from previous beverage bitch-slaps resulting in full-body stains, my wife expertly dodged each.
But several minutes later, the wine fell victim to the whine. Unable to get two technicolor bricks to interlock, my daughter staged a mini-flip-out and crawled into her mother’s lap for comfort, a single red Lego still in her hand. As my wife snuggled her back to solace, my daughter stared down her nemesis.
There it is. The glass.
With Mommy’s guard down and her target closer than ever, she seized the opportunity to deposit her Lego in Mommy’s Special Drink.
“Shouldn’t she get a carnival prize or something?” I mused, retrieving the glass from my wife to fish out the brick and get her a refill. We’d run out of white wine, so I poured a red instead.
As soon as the glass was back, my daughter again voiced her discontent. What would her DAMD group think if they found out she let this madness continue? In protest, she delivered a face-five to Mommy’s cheek via tv remote with a smack so loud, the entire room winced.
“No, Baby Girl. You don’t hit Mommy,” I corrected.
She gave me the stink eye and returned to her toys. Amongst them was a jack-o’-lantern pail we’d gotten the kids for Halloween, which has become a mainstay at Nani’s house, perfect for storing various baby trinkets.
It happened in the blink of an eye. The next thing we knew, a fluorescent orange blur was hurtling through the air towards my wife, culminating in the shattering of glass.
My daughter had taken hold of the pumpkin’s handle, swung it overhead like a big-league pitcher, and taken out Mommy’s wine glass once and for all, sending its scarlet contents all over her shirt and pants.
And then came one of my favorite things about our family. There was only one logical response for this occurrence, which we all shouted enthusiastically in perfect sync: “Opa!”
While my wife hunted down a change of clothes, I inspected the carpet, and sure enough, found a colony of crimson flecks right where my wife had sat.
“Don’t worry,” Abuelito smirked. “It’s not like I just steamed the carpet or anything.”
. . .
Just in case the responsibility of having kids wasn’t enough to dissuade us from alcoholic consumption, our daughter seems to be equipped with anti-booze technology.
I’ll definitely agree that adult beverages should be enjoyed in moderation, especially by parents, but it sure would be nice to not have to unload half a bottle of Shout onto red wine stains so often.
At the same time, as her father, I do have a deep commitment to nurturing my daughter’s interests, so per her request, I’d like to inform you all that she is, in fact, in search of members to join her cause.
If any of your children exhibit similar tendencies, please let us know in the comments section so they, too, can be part of this DAMD thing.
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If not, hold this glass for a minute while I get my daughter.