We currently live in a dry home. I don't mean dry, like, dry, but rather dry as in we don't have alcohol in our home. It's been this way for, hmmm, three weeks now, I think? Two weeks? Anyways, I don't miss it a bit. Except for today. Damn it, I need a drink! I could go to the bar down the street, but I am pretty sure that people get frowned at for leaving their children home alone to go on such an outing.
Both Iris and Eloise are in weird, difficult phases right now. Iris is pushing every single button she can. Buttons I didn't even know existed, in fact. I had always heard people telling stories about when their child gets in to the "why?" phase and, truth be told, I thought it sounded kind of cute. Um, no. It makes me want to gouge my eyeballs out. "Because mama can't see anymore, that's why!" And yes, I am that mama who says "because I said so". This answer, as you can probably guess, does not appease her (has it ever appeased any child who asks "why?") and so it goes on. And on. And on. Forever and ever. The whining is really fun, too.
Today took the cake, though. As we were going through the grocery store it honestly crossed my mind for a moment that if I started walking faster, creating more and more space between us, maybe no one would know she was mine? Oh, shit. People saw me come in with her, surely. No, in all honesty, I couldn't just ditch her like that, even though she was screaming and crying and whining and hitting her sister while simultaneously assuring me that she was a good girl and YES I CAN GO TO THE PARK!
Eloise, who hates life lately, likely on account of finally getting teeth, was actually a trooper through the eighteen million stops we made this afternoon. That is until we were getting our groceries bagged up and in her great fervor in flirting with the bag boy, swung her head around and smashed it on the handle of the shopping cart. She screamed all the way through the store, through the parking lot and while I was buckling her in to the car. Thank god for the bag boy who wheeled my shopping cart out for me and put the groceries in the car.
Our house is a disaster on account of not leaving the house until the late afternoon and, well, now it's time to make dinner. Sober. Damn it.