As part of our mission here at Why Daddy Drinks to revel in the humorous lunacy that is fatherhood, and to promote the drinking of quality beverages, we bring you our weekly segment highlighting something that should be in your glass. This is The Drink Of The Weekend.
Normally, I write these Drink Of The Weekend screeds after the weekend is done. But, after the Saturday that I and my wife had with our daughters, and with what was on tap for Sunday, I figured there was at least a 43% chance that I might not live to see Monday so I’d better write it before thee weekend was done.
That’s because before Saturday was even done, my daughters had nearly killed me.
I don’t mean they did that in the figurative sense; every parent feels that way once in a while. Remember how defeated you felt the last time your kids threw their dinner on the floor, destroyed the living room, kicked you in the face, guts, and nether regions while you carried them to take a bath, then turned the bathroom into Lake Michigan because they didn’t want to take that bath, and, finally, making you read “Goodnight Moon” for the 748th time before they would go to bed? And then one of them kept coming upstairs to tell you the other one wouldn’t let her sleep? Around our house, that’s just part of our regular nightly programming.
But this Saturday? Man, it’s like Maddo and Lily decided the best way to start the day would be to re-enact a classic 1980s pro wrestling match between Rowdy Roddy Piper and Jimmy Superfly Snuka. Only the girls did this display of piledrivers directly upon my head. While I was still in bed. At 5:30 in the morning directly on top of my head and face.
I’ve mentioned on more than a few occasions that Maddo, my four-year-old, likes to get up early, too early, in fact, on the weekend. The best way I have come to describe this is that she “has the sleeping habits of a 75-year-old Florida retiree.” And recently, Little Sis has started getting up with her sister, dark and early, and coming in to roust my wife and I before the sun has even thought about creeping above the horizon.
“Go back TO BED!” I implored to the girls at first. This was met by Maddo sticking her little fingers into my closed eyes and prying my eyelids open with all the subtlety of the Jaws of Life.
My wife, Thoroughly Awesome Ms. Crums, was missing out on this spectacle, as she has fled in the night to our guest room due to my occasional old-growth-forest leveling snoring that awoke her around 2:30. I tried to entertain our daughters for as long as I could, but by 6:00, they were clamoring for breakfast and for Disney Jr. Nothing was going to dial down their volume at this point.
Remembering all these details has taken nearly all my mental energy. Now that I write this, most of the rest of the day is a blur. All I really remember for sure was that Little Sis threw some of the most-amazing, stop-your-shopping-cart-in-your-tracks-in-the-middle-of-Target that I have ever seen come from this two-year-old.
If it wasn’t because we wouldn’t get her some Cinderella “glass” [actually, clear plastic] slippers, it was because she didn’t want to hold one of our hands while she walked around the store. And Little Sis is a runner, too. Never mind giving her half a chance; if she gets a quarter chance she is off into traffic faster than Usain Bolt blasting through the 100 meters at the Olympics. She would take off into the crush of people mindlessly driving their shopping carts into each other while they raced across the aisles, nearly flattening her little blond head. And when we tried to hold her hand, well…He wailing was high pitched enough to shatter glass, nerves and any hearing aids in the vicinity.
When we got to the checkout stand, my wife decided she needed to go look at some pants. I started unloading things, and both my daughters started unloading on me. Ever try to wrangle a screaming toddler while emptying a big shopping cart and you nearly knock out your four-year-old [who is sitting in said shopping cart] with a broom handle? I can tell you it’s as fear-inducing as it sounds.
“The next time we think about bringing them here,” I told me wife. “Remind me to volunteer to be waterboarded instead, OK?”
Oh, and of course, as soon as we got her into the car, Little Sis fell asleep. And when we got her home, and rousted her from her auto-slumber, all hell broke loose again. It was like a scene from some World War II film: Little Sis, sitting on her knees in the middle of the floor, inconsolably bawling and screaming her face off.
All I could do by that point was fire up the grill. And drink.
And in honor of Little Sis’s performance, I chose a special cocktail that I came up with last year and named after her. It’s nothing too fancy, and I’d be willing to bet that someone else has mixed this up in their kitchen before. But, since my daughter inspired
me, I named this after her. You can see me toasting her, in her sandbox, in the photo right here, too.
I named it after her real name,
…The Lily Rei, and here it is:
Fill a lowball glass with ice
Add two fingers of Maker’s Mark Bourbon
Top off to the rim with 7-Up
Squeeze in the juice of half a lime
Throw the lime into the drink
Stir with your finger like your dad used to
Enjoy particularly when you are outside, working the grill.
[Note: While I finished this on Saturday night, I didn’t have enough time to post it until Monday. Somehow, we managed to survive taking Maddo to two birthday parties of four-year-olds, and Little Sis to the zoo on Sunday. Needless to say, I had another Lily Rei to mark the end of the weekend.]