"Tween son keeps offering to make me a margarita. I have either done a really bad job as a parent, or a really great job."
My judgmental parental self said Bad Job almost immediately. First, I had to take a moment to read the statement again. This didn't seem like sharing-a-snippet-from-my-adorable-child's-life; to me, it seemed that she was truly wondering. To me, that last clause had a raised eyebrow and a questioning tone. I like this woman. I respect this woman. I wanted to answer her honestly.
All the comments were positive, laughing, sharing similar personal tales. A nine year old who knows which glasses hold which liquors. A son who topped off a wine glass and asked for a tip. I've been following these same people and their comments for several years, now. I've never been so much on the other side, until now.
I was ready to start typing, and then I read the comments again. They were light-hearted and sharing that end-of-the-day-and-I've-had-it parenting space over a glass of wine or a margarita. My friend has blogged about her margarita machine, so I know it's her alcoholic beverage of choice. I know that the machine is colorful and makes a great noise before producing a fluffy and tasty concoction. I know my friend sips and smiles and is happy as she raises her glass to her mouth; how could I be so churlish as to deny her son the opportunity to bring her such joy?
Have I turned into the grumpy old lady who sits by the side of the pool, yelling at the kids to be quiet? Am I missing a happy piece to the puzzle? I've been thinking about it since Saturday, and still I'm not sure.
We didn't have alcohol at playgroup, even though it was from 4-6pm. I was a strong proponent of dry team parties, to demonstrate to the young athletes that grown ups could have a good time without imbibing spirits. I rarely won that battle, but I always felt comfortable making my case.
I'd give the kids a sip of whatever I was drinking, if they asked. They never liked the taste. Of course, I never made margaritas. My bar tending skills extend to pouring liquid into a glass and not spilling. Mixed drinks are beyond my ken. Little Cuter was a fan of the Virgin Colada and the Shirley Temple, but more for the sweetness than the mocktail nature of the drink. I certainly never made one at home... I'm just not that talented.
So there's my friend, wondering if she's led her lad down the path of wreckage and ruin, fearing she's created a monster margarita maker, an enabler of her .... her what? There's nothing wrong with a cocktail at the end of a long day... or a short day... or any day if you're not driving and you're not getting drunk. She's an adult. She can make her own choices.
She'd be giving her son the opportunity to make her smile, to present her with something she likes. He offered to do it for her, he's demonstrating his love, he enjoys the process... what is my problem?