(photo: Caroline, Meg and Rachel: the early years. Halloween.)
I spent a few hours this evening with old friends, people who lived in my neighborhood when my children were babies. All three (actually four because we got a husband to join us) have children who are 19 and two (well three: husband added) have 17 year olds.
We used to get together on Friday nights, when the kids were quite young, and drink wine and eat pizza while the kids ran around in one friend’s back yard. And, of course, there were other get-togethers, as many times as possible throughout the week, because all parents of very young children crave getting together with other parents whenever they can..
We were ordering wine when one friend brought up one of those moments from our past that has become more important as a defining story than it was when it actually happened.
It was a Thursday afternoon, I think, and Jane and Caroline had come over to play. The kids, Meg and Caroline were maybe three and Rachel was still an infant, were having so much fun and both Jane’s husband and my husband were out of town on business, so Jane and I decided we’d have dinner together. Let the kids play for a little longer.
We ordered delivery food from a Vietnamese restaurant a few towns over, prepared something basic for the kids, and found ourselves a bottle of wine in our basement.
By the time the kids’ meal was over, Jane and I were both delighted by our wine choice. It was both easy to drink and better tasting than most wines we drank together. Between the two of us, we finished the bottle by the time we’d finished our meal and the children needed to go to sleep. Jane and Caroline left and in my slightly inebriated state, I put my kids to sleep.
A few days later, when my husband came home from his business trip, he noticed the empty bottle in the recycling bin.
“You drank the Grgich?” he said in disbelief.
“The what?” I replied, innocently. Really. It was an innocent reply.
“Did you know I’d been saving that wine for a special occasion?”
“How would I know that? It WAS a really good wine.”
“Which you drank with carryout food?”
“It tasted great.”
My husband shook his head. The wine was special. I had no idea. It was in the rack downstairs with many other wines. I picked it randomly.
It ends up that the bottle I chose was not the under $10 type that “the mothers” typically drank but a bottle that ran more likely around $70 or $80 dollars.
The hubby was a bit annoyed, and I get it. He’d been saving it for a special occasion.
But Jane and I spent so many days and nights watching kids and drinking cheap wine. Didn’t we deserve this one night full of good food and great wine? I think so.
My husband, to this day, begs to differ.
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