You’ve heard parents say it before – kids are like tiny drunk people.
As a mother, I wish I had known this when I was pregnant. Instead of sipping tea and reading, ‘What to Expect When You’re Expecting,” I should have been out at a bar volunteering to help drunk people get home so they could eat their pizza without burning their chins with molten hot cheese and making sure they didn’t wet themselves because honestly - this is the real type of training you need as a parent.
I’m not kidding - a day with my tiny drunk people is like a metaphorical pub crawl through Mudgee. In the morning – they start off relatively civilized. Imagine them sipping mimosas at Elton’s and silently judging the cyclists for being so peppy on a Sunday at 8am. Totally acceptable behaviour.
By 10am, they’re ready to mix it up a bit and want to get on bikes and go out to Lowe Family Wines. This part of the morning is still okay. They’re cordial to strangers, still maintaining eye contact when speaking to their friends and surprisingly able to talk in depth about the literary genius that is Mem Fox. Also – no bike injuries. Yet.
For lunch, they’re at Pipeclay. The food is organic, fresh, and the perfect thing to help their little minds and bodies develop, but I’m noticing that they’re a bit drunker than I thought and maybe I shouldn’t have brought them to such a nice place. They’re refusing their free-range bacon gnocchi and it’s getting embarrassing and I worked so hard to get them nice food and now I’m crying.
Desperate, I hopelessly offer popcorn and some processed fruit bars and beg them to eat. Willing to risk the processed food dye meltdown, I manage to get them home and think we’re going to be okay. Surely they’re tuckered out enough and will get some sleep so I can have a break.
If only… One of my tiny drunk people is determined to power on. She wants to keep going on the bike. As she zooms up and down our porch, she has a maniacal YOLO look on her face and BOOM!
Her princess dress that she insisted on wearing got caught in the wheel and now she’s bleeding and I’m not 100% sure what the other tiny drunk person is doing.
After Tiny Drunk Person #1 is bandaged, I find Tiny Drunk Person #2 prematurely blacked out slumped over a chair with a half eaten avocado.
There’s a moment of peace. Tiny Drunk Person #1 is watching Youtube and snort-laughing while eating cereal. Just when I think everyone is going to sober up and start acting like Prince George and Princess Charlotte, Tiny Drunk Person #1 wants to go out AGAIN.
Insisting that I WILL NOT designate drive to the bar without seeing some manners and sobriety, Tiny Person #1 demands Jelly-shots. Trying to explain that this is a TERRIBLE idea, I submit, because someone who is after alcohol infused gelatine is on a mission and after two bouts of childbirth, I don’t have that type of fight in me…..soooo Tiny Drunk Person #1 is on her fifth jelly shot and Tiny Drunk Person #2 summoned his inner frat boy and is now up and totally back in the game.
We’re now metaphorically at Roth’s for some civilized nibbles and to be honest – I’m quite impressed how well they pulled it together for our social outing, even with all the jelly.
You know how they say nothing good happens after 2am? This is also true for parenting, but it’s 6pm. It’s the time of the day when you should probably go home – eat some more food, drink water and GO THE F*@#% TO SLEEP.
But it’s almost 6:30pm and you can’t get into The Woolpack after 7pm so they fight me and are determined to make it to the bar before cut off. THEY WILL PREVAIL. Obviously, there’s costume changes, dance moves that resemble interpretative dance, more processed food binging, straight up bottle chugging and then – THE NUDITY.
Why Tiny Drunk People think nudie rudie is HILARIOUS, is beyond me. (But actually, it is kind of funny. The first time. Not the 400th time.)
At this point, I know I really have to take control. I order the maxi taxi, I find the onesie that buttons at the crotch so they can’t rip it off again, I start stroking their hair and rubbing their backs and telling them that they just need to sleep it off. 45 minutes later – they sleep.
And this is when I start drinking.
Please note: my kids do not drink or go to actual bars. Just wineries and cellar doors.
Summer Land is the author of Summerlandish. You can get a signed copy of her book at Whatever Mudgee, Gorjus or online at summerlandauthor.com