Let's Begin: Mommy Wants A Drink.

Hello there.

I'm the Mommy of this blog. I have three little girls, aged 4, 3, and 1. Here's a story that I read to them recently:

ONCE UPON A TIME, Mommy was hot! She had boyfriends-- lots of them! She wore makeup and heels and wiggled her bum when she walked!

[turn the page]

NOW, Mommy washes her hair every 6 days. She lives in ratty t-shirts, all of which, the kids know, happily double as snotrags. She only puts on makeup when she has to, even though she often looks in the mirror midday and is more than a little bit horrified by the very pale, wholly disheveled, slightly overweight image that stares back at her...

Wait. Before you click away, dismissing me off as just another cog in a million-pronged wheel of cranky motherhood blogs, let me offer you this incentive:

Once upon a time, Mommy was smart, too! I graduated from an Ivy League university and an Ivy League grad school. I even worked as an attorney for 5 years (before I threw away all of that expensively educated grey matter in favor of the worthless mush that presently occupies the space between my ears). So the hope is that, while the motherhood songs remain the same, perhaps here you can find them sung in an entertaining tune.

As for the title of this blog, it's worth noting that I am presently living in a house with absolutely no alcohol in it. Which doesn't prevent this thought from occurring to me, several times a day: THE CHILDREN ARE DRIVING ME TO DRINK. Good lord, does Mommy want a drink. My problem is that I want a drink, on average, about 55 minutes into any given morning. You know, when the first kid melts down over an ill-fitting t-shirt or a supposedly crooked pigtail or a scooter that some other sibling is riding. I think, aaah, how nice it would be to dash into the kitchen (or garage or broom closet or whathaveyou) and down a nice long swig of cheap pink wine (pink, of course, because everything in this godforsaken girl-overrun nuthouse is pink). But I don't, because that's a bell I think can't be unrung. And also, once you break the seal on drinking just to get through the day with the rugrats, I think you are officially In A Very Bad Way. Thus, I just fantasize about that drink... while I listen to the not-so-soothing sound of my blood pressure ratcheting up, and up, and up...

I promise that everything that appears here won't be all doom and gloom, however. I intend to also write about the good stuff that happens within these 4 walls... the reasons that I stay home day in and day out, coloring princess pictures and bandaging phantom injuries and scooping processed noodles out of cans. As for how honest I'm going to be here... well... I honestly haven't decided that yet. I mean, I know what I'd *like* to do here: I'd like to spill my guts about the hot-button Mommy topics such as marriage after children, and school politics, and teaching religion, and playdate nightmares, and the constantly-changing dynamics of mommy friendships... I'm just not sure if anything good could come of that (and more likely would just land me in a whole lot of trouble, with my husband and my friends and my playdates and my kids' schools) (and God, of course, who I'm quite certain has nothing better to do than surf the 'net). So we'll see. We'll see how the spirit moves me, and how safe this space becomes. I guess it will further depend, in part, on *you*... how honest *you* decide to be with your comments, and whether this space turns out to be a monologue (I'll be more guarded) or a dialogue (I'll show you mine-- first!-- if you show me yours, afterwards). In fact, maybe you could suggest some topics that you'd like to see discussed... just so I know that you're out there?

Ok, I've just finished half a box of Snackwells Creme Sandwich cookies (they're healthier than Oreos!) (aren't they?) while writing this so I should step away from the computer before I consume the remaining nine. Thanks for listening, and here's to a mutually-satisfying future of bitching and moaning together! xo.