1. Make sure your diaper bag is big enough to pack all of the essentials. Opt for the satchel with plenty of extra room, just in case you need to hold a few of your favorite things.
2. Use Your Role as Grocery-Getter to Your Advantage: Remember that there is really no need to begrudge your spouse for never setting foot in the bread aisle because the wine aisle is usually right next to it. When you want to make a wine run, but don’t want to hear any grief from your spouse about how you can’t make it a day without wine, you can use the old, I-need-to-go-to-the-grocery-because-the-baby-needs-diapers excuse.
3. Take a Special Treat to Sip As You Stroll: Endorphins plus wine = happiest of mamas. Just be sure to put your mommy juice in a cup with a well-sealed lid (do as I say, not as as I do) and take care to dodge the potholes.
4. Of course, don’t overindulge. A little nip to take the edge off is well and good, but there is no repercussion worse than having to parent with a hangover. You only need enough wine to counter the whine. Proportion wisely.
6 am: Open up one eye when alarm goes off (as far as the crusts will allow). Snarl at alarm. Punch snooze. Tell yourself, “I’ll never drink again!” Shut eye.
6:15 am: Open up one eye (make sure it’s the same one). Sock the off button. Dig out crusts. Put feet on floor and pad to the bathroom. Make sure you’re hunched over. Snarl at your spouse.
6:30 am: Pickoutyourclothesironyourclothesgetdressedfeedthecatmakeyourlunch emptythedishwashergetthebabyupdressthebabyfeedthebabyemptythelitterboxfold thelaundry. Ask yourself why the hell you don’t you do any of this the night before. Make sure you scold yourself in a criticizing tone. Make it believable.
7:45 am: Get the hell outta Dodge.
8 am: Enjoy a hot toasty cuppa joe from your local establishment (the one with the drive through). Waft the healing vapors towards your nose. Savor the nutty goodness. Sigh with contentment as you sip.
10 am: Enjoy a second cup of coffee at your desk. Not as hot or delicious as the first, but still tasty. Guzzle. Guzzle. And then maybe have a third. And a fourth.
10:15 am: Tell anyone who hovers remotely near your (fourth) coffee cup, “DON’T TOUCH MY COFFEE!” or, if you prefer, “DON’T SPILL MY COFFEE!” Both are equally important.
11 am: Shake. Shakily write Post-It notes to yourself. Shakily type on your keyboard pretending to work. Hear your heart shakily go THUMP THUMP THUMP. THUMPTHUMP. THUMP.
12 pm: Start chewing up your mixed greens with broccoli, cauliflower and mushrooms salad for lunch. Chew. Chew. Be prepared for a lot of chewing. Cough. Wish you had more dressing. Dryly chew. Stare longingly at coworker’s pizza and fries.
12: 30 pm: Take aspirin for your chew-related jaw pain. (BONUS: Get the kind with EXTRA CAFFEINE!)
1 pm: Think about pizza. Obsessively. Pepperoni. Green pepper. Ham. Sausage. Onion. Green olive. Thin crust. Thick crust. Buttered crust. Cardboard frozen pizza crust. YUM. Hear and feel your stomach eat itself. Think about cheesy nachos. Then back to pizza again.
1:30 pm: If there are any cupcakes/cookies/cakes of any kind offered in the break room, shovel them into your face.
2 pm: Use toothpicks to pry your eyelids open.
3 pm: Complain about your boss to your coworkers. Complain about your heart palpitations to the person in charge of the coffee fund. Complain about the housework hanging over your head in an email to your spouse. Call your sister to complain about your parents. Call your parents to complain about your sister. Try to console yourself with Pinterest. Find NOTHING GOOD TO PIN. Complain to yourself about how the entire universe is conspiring against you right now.
3:59 pm: Head to happy hour!
And here it is! 4 pm: Enjoy the delicious glass of wine you’re mouth is suddenly so thirsty for. And then have a second because it is just so grapey good! Shake your head at how silly you were this morning when you said you wouldn’t drink today. Why on Earth would you think THAT? It’s liquid joy in a cup. Admire the lovely crimson shade. Think about how much you love your job, love your boss, love your sisters and your parents. Marvel over how well-kept your house is. How smart and beautiful your kids are. How nice you really are, deep down inside. How funny and witty you are – ha! ha! ha! Attack the tapas. Bask in the glory that is life! The miracle.
5 pm: Head home. Help your spouse chop vegetables, pass them dishes to and from the grill, get out the salt and pepper and assorted spices. Make three side dishes, plus dessert. Eat dinner with the spouse and kids. No, wait, stop eating. Get up to get napkins. Get up to get ice water. Get up to get another knife because one fell on the floor. Get up to get the olives out of the fridge. Put away dishes, spices, wipe counter and clean up mess from dinner (since your spouse cooked, of course – it’s only fair!)
7 pm: Put screaming, crying, snotty, dirty, smelly kids to bed.
7:45 pm: Drink 1/2 of a bottle of Cabernet to help you relax after your dinner/bedtime shenanigans.
9 pm: Snack on Doritos and string cheese and/or Dove chocolate and your kid’s whole grain Goldfish crackers (cheddar).
10 pm: Drink another 1/4 bottle of Cabernet to help you sleep. Don’t forget to remind yourself that red wine is good fo your heart.
11 pm: Drink last quarter bottle of Cabernet. Because you don’t want it to oxidize and go to waste. And because you REALLY care about your heart.
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)
12 am: Smash your face on your pillow. Zzzzzz….
3 am: Wake up parched because all the fluids from your entire body are either held within your engorged bladder or have fallen out into the sopping pool on your pillow. Guzzle a glass of water while peeing. Re-smash face against pillow.
6 am:Open up one eye when alarm goes off (as far as the crusts will allow). Snarl at alarm. Punch snooze. Tell yourself, “I’ll never drink again!” Shut eye.
The Greek Dance group is practicing at my house. Apparently they decided to use my house since I have enough space, and I have many rooms in the shape of circles. This is convenient, since most Greek dances are circular in nature. It is a particularly important dance practice because the group has been invited to travel and dance ON THE MOON. Exciting. There is one girl in the dance group that everyone hates and who is constantly doing things contrary to the Greek Dance Group Code of Conduct. She has already been kicked out of the group once. She is late and so the dance group is discussing whether they should kick her out again. In order to travel into space, to dance on the moon, there is a lot of teamwork and trust involved, and they are worried that she poses a safety threat. People in the group are afraid of confrontation and don’t know if they will follow through on kicking her out, even though they know they should. They ultimately decide they will indeed kick her out, but say they need one more person for the Kalamatiano (something about needing enough bodies and gravitational pull, since you don’t really need a certain number for this dance on Earth). I offer to fill in, but I am worried that I am a little bit sick. The girl everyone hates comes very late, after it has been decided that I will dance. She says no one is stopping her from going to the moon. The dance group calls a scientist/doctor who is an expert in traveling through space. He confirms the idea that a team-based approach is needed and this girl won’t work. He is concerned about our safety. She continues to practice with us anyway. He then turns to me and asks if I am experiencing a lot of tension, because he notices my foot and leg are constantly moving. I tell him they are always moving, this is nothing new. We then start talking about my illness and he looks in my throat, asks me some questions. He says he is worried I might have mono. I gasp, and tell him I’ve had mono in the past. He nods solemnly, as to confirm this diagnosis, since mono can reemerge after lying dormant.
ANALYSIS:
Ok, this is a dream with some attachment to reality! My husband and his family have participated in traditional Greek dancing since they were young, and his cousins and sisters still perform. I do know how to dance the kalamatiano. I constantly move my leg/bounce my knee. I have had mono (and it can come back). And, there must be a kernel of truth to the idea that dancing on the moon’s cratered surface without the correct configuration/velocity/whatnot would result in people flinging off into the abyss. I don’t know if I have ever had another dream with so many ties to my waking life.
SPACE: Dream Forth tells me that to see or dream that I am in space indicates that I am a very inquisitive person who enjoys seeking the truth and that I form my own opinions and beliefs rather than adopting those of others. I would like to believe this is true, even if the only evidence I have is my disagreement with my husband about how often the bathroom needs to be cleaned (Truth: Not as often as he thinks) or my own opinion about how often the lawn and bushes need to be manicured (Truth: Never. Lawns and shrubbery are not important). I refuse to blindly adopt the believe of my husband snooty neighbors in this matter! I’m such a obstinate wife truth-seeker.
DANCING: Dream Moods informs me that dreaming about attending or going to a dance indicates a celebration and your attempts to achieve happiness. Hooray! Celebrations are good (unless they are fake celebrations, like the kind we have at the beginning of staff meetings). Let’s celebrate scrapbooking! And samosas! And bacon! And fuzzy kitties that snuggle! And coffee – oh glorious coffee! And yoga! And Girls Weekends! And wine! Oh yes, lots and lots of cheers for wine! All things I indulge in for the sake of sanity. And all synonyms for happiness.
MONONUCLEOSIS: Dream Forth says that to dream of an illness signifies despair, objectionable adjustment, and an emotional collapse. The illness may be a way out of my incompetence in coping with a situation. In this case does that mean my incompetence in coping with the weak gravitational pull of the moon whilst kicking up my heels? In reality does it mean constantly being crouched in the shadow of the black dog? Wait, wait, wait. Celebrate happiness, remember?! That merriment seemed incredibly short lived. Hm. Maybe my attempts are futile. Ah, to hell with it. Let’s still celebrate a crack at happiness with some wine, shall we? Or, should we just drown our sorrows in it? Either way, cheers.
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