On the nights that I make dinner for my family, which is most nights, I have to drink to survive. This confession is quite simple: I can hardly stand listening to the whining and complaining emanating from the mouths of my sweet, young babes.
I will NOT make dino chicken nuggets, pizza rolls, or noodles every single night of their lives, and this obviously causes major angst among the 5 and under set. How dare I put together a well-balanced meal incorporating all the food groups? How am I to expect them to eat more than two bites? How dare I ask my children to try something that is not dipped in a hot vat of oil and served in a paper sack? Maybe I should try that next time. Sit in the car in the garage for 10 minutes, walk in, hand them my delicious homemade chicken noodle soup out of a Schlotzsky's bag, tell them I paid $25 for dinner, and then watch them scarf it down. Nothin' else I'm doing is working.
So, the moral of this story? I drink to survive. It's the only way to handle dinnertime on our block. Please excuse me while I go fix another grape vodka and Sprite Zero.....as dinnertime has only just begun.