Do your kids know you drink? Mine do.

Seasoned parents know there is a distinct moment the party is over. You have been orbiting around a living, breathing little person for years, but she is more Furby than child, more referred to in the third-person than as a real person. When her personality emerges, of course some of this fades away, but other advantages remain, like your ability to have an adult conversation or select your music in the car. But one day, it’s just over. The Furby comes alive.

A couple months ago, our daughter presented me with a cocktail. A Play Doh cocktail. She’d been in the basement for an hour, and I figured she was furiously working on another intricate birthday cake for us to share at a pretend party. But this was just for me. Layers of tropical pancake *juices,* round-cut perfectly to fit in a tall-boy glass. Even worse, she put a shrimp on the rim. Really. I verified by asking, “Is that a SHRIMP?” to which she replied, “Oh yes, Mom. You can’t forget the shrimp.”

We all had a laugh, I took photos and texted my girlfriends. But deep down, I felt a sense of dread that only comes with looming decisions. We had a choice to make: was I going to allow my kids to continue watching us enjoy happy hour at home? Or were we going to tuck any alcohol consumption away as a nighttime activity, out of the sight and pristine minds of our delicate flower children?

Some backstory is important here. My husband is a home-coffee-brewing savant, and I wondered if his attention to liquid detail would transfer. During the pandemic, I encouraged him to pivot to making cocktails, and it’s been a huge success: martinis, margaritas, bourbon smashes. We’ve become the type of people who make seasonal drinks with what arrives in the farm box. We have hand-blown glassware. To be honest, we’re the best bar in town.

Timing-wise, though, it’s not ideal. We often want this cocktail right when our work days are ending and our other job is beginning. The job that entails cooking, and bathing, and reading, and yelling, and loving, and simultaneously is the best and worst part of our day. There is no longer a commute between these two jobs, which I am thankful for, but the way things bleed together without healthy opportunities to decompress is a bit much. By far, it’s also the best time of the day to drink – to become numb enough from the business day to not impute it on my kids and sober enough for a solid dinner and a good night’s sleep. Happy hour is a win-win, whether it happens at the bar or at home. And I should mention, this is not about getting drunk. We are talking about one cocktail. Maybe two, if there’s something to really celebrate or sour over.

At some point, our older daughter started asking questions. She wanted to be involved in the process, just like she is with our home-brewed coffee (by him) and home-cooked dinner (by me). We said no and told her, these are drinks for once you reach a certain age. That they’re for adults only. That people who only eat dino nuggets would certainly not like them. She felt shunned and rejected. High drama ensued. Happy hour was no longer happy. Annoyed, I’d shut down and default to the conclusion that it wasn’t worth it. The kids wanted every ounce of us in the time they had us, and we might as well be subsumed by their wishes.

I started thinking about my own parents. They obviously drank when I was a kid, but when? I don’t think I paid it a single ounce of attention until I was in high school, trying to figure out what went in that delicious Long Island Iced Tea I had on a cruise ship once. Maybe I was just aloof, but I’m betting that wasn’t it. I think it was them and what they chose for me to see. What they had the ability to distance me from.

We don’t have distance from anything anymore.

Drinking is much more engrained in parenting culture now. Even though the #winemom antics are overplayed, the pandemic threw a cocktail on overworked, overtired, over-leveraged millennial parents and set it on fire. We started our careers during a global recession all while striving for a status quo in life, home, and family built from a different era. A decade later, just when we started to define our existence, another Once In a Generation Thing happened. We’d have to redefine our existence again, this time with young children asking for more snacks. I don’t know this phase of parenthood in Normal Times; only these times. Maybe my parents didn’t drink around me, but they also never had to do this.  

Here is how the conundrum ends for us: we’ve decided not to stop. We sometimes make cocktails even though we know she might notice, because we feel our lives have been rearranged enough that we shouldn’t have to compartmentalize one more thing into the few waking hours we have after their bedtime. We also think it’s okay to say no to her, or to ourselves, when needed.

But please don’t misconstrue this as a PSA to drink around your kids – my message is not meant for a Cricut wine glass. Rather that we are raising a new generation of children because we are a new generation of parents. Once you get past the initial shock of realizing they are paying attention now, you might change everything or you might change nothing. Either way, I’d pour one out for the end of an era.  

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The little things

Behold the cosmo of 2021, the Espresso Martini. Seeing as though Doug is a coffee connoisseur, it didn’t take much for him to perfect the recipe, and it isn’t that difficult if you’ve got the goods available. Fresh espresso is ideal, but you can get creative if you must. Another key ingredient is Mr. Black Cold Brew Coffee Liqueur, which is, as they say, “coffee for the night.” Here’s the recipe:

2 oz. vodka (we prefer Grey Goose)

1 oz. espresso

1/2 oz. Mr. Black Cold Brew Coffee Liqueur

1/2 oz. simple syrup

Coffee bean garnish

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Also

Kourtney and Travis got engaged, and my heart is truly full. More on that soon :)