Tuesday, July 30, 2013

Drinking Helmet

Bedtime routine.  Ready.  Set.  Go.  Bath, teeth, pee, pajamas, four flips on the bed, two books, drink water, white noise on, lights out, Genevieve on my left, Marguerite on my right, tickly back rubs, and sleep.  Slowly peel each child off.  First Marguerite (she's the lightest, easiest to roll).  Then G.  Tuck them in as they fold towards each other in sleep.  Stealth walk across the floor so quiet I make ninjas jealous.  Up the stairs and out the door blinking bright Alaskan evening sun out of my eyes.  Thank my parents for watching the girls, tell them not to stay up, they will hear them if they wake up.  They won't wake up.  I hope they don't wake up.  I've got my phone, call me if they do wake up.  I'll be home by midnight.  Nothing good happens after midnight.  They agree.  They tell me to have fun, not to worry.

Friends gather.  Friends who I have known since before I was a punk teenager.  Friends who I see once a year at best.  Friends who make me laugh so hard I cry.  There we are, the same people we've always been, picking up where we left off.

I imagine my daughters reading this blog someday.  If they are mothers themselves they will understand the I CAN DO ANYTHING sense of freedom that comes with a night out and away from the care and feeding of their littles.  They'll see this photo of me, out on the town, having a drink with life long friends at Alice's Champagne Palace, wearing a borrowed drinking helmet and looking not so much like the mama who lulled them to sleep that night. 

I'll tell them that I got home at 12:12 a.m. feeling the same angst of those punk teenage years when sliding in just over curfew.  Grandpapa was sitting in his chair reading, waiting up, making sure I made it home safe.  I slid back into bed like I'd never left.  Like I hadn't laughed until I cried, like I hadn't worn a borrowed drinking helmet, like I hadn't felt I CAN DO ANYTHING freedom.

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