I wouldn’t say I’m jealous of my daughter because I’m not. She deserves all the exciting things coming her way in the future, tonight’s house party included. But I sometimes wish I had my own parties to look forward to on occasion or perhaps my own guy to try and impress with a slinky dress.
I tried to broach the subject of who Chloe might be looking to impress at this evening’s party as we drove home from town this afternoon, but she was unsurprisingly tight-lipped. I don’t blame her. I would never tell my mum about guys I fancied when I was a teenager. I would just keep that jumble of confusing and nerve-jangling hormones inside and express them in the only way a sane person does.
By getting drunk and seeing what happens.
When I think about it, not much has changed. I’ll still be battling my real thoughts and feelings tonight and using alcohol to help me along only, unlike Chloe, I won’t have any chance to drunkenly express them with anyone.
Oh well.
I try to busy myself with tidying up all the paperwork in the dining room, which are mainly bills that require my attention, although they will not be looked at this evening, that’s for sure. But before I know it, the image of the bottle of wine on that shelf in the fridge has returned to me, and I’m drawn out of the dining room and into the kitchen again.
I’ll just pour myself a small glass. I can drink it down here, and Chloe doesn’t have to see that I have opened it. She also doesn’t have to know if I leave the house later tonight to buy a second bottle from the corner shop.
Well, it is Saturday night, after all.
Taking the cold bottle from the fridge, I unscrew the lid and pour myself a small measure as I listen out for any footsteps coming down the staircase. But I can still hear Chloe walking around in her bedroom, so I know she isn’t going to catch me taking a big gulp.
It’s not that I don’t like her seeing me drinking; it’s just that I try to keep her exposure to alcohol to a minimum. As her mother, I’m aware that I am one of her role models. Therefore, I need to set a good example, and that means I don’t want her to think that the answer to problems like boredom, frustration or sadness are dealt with by a glass of something strong. I’m sure she will learn that for herself as she gets older, but at least it won’t be me who taught it to her. As far as I’m concerned, I am only showing her the right way to do things.
As the alcohol hits my bloodstream, I feel instantly relaxed and before I know it, the glass is empty. But I’ll hold off on a second one until Chloe has left. A glance at the clock above the microwave tells me that she should be getting picked up in ten minutes. Her best friend, Zara, is collecting her, having just passed her driving test and no doubt keen to get some more practise in behind the wheel. Their plan is to go back to Zara’s parents’ house to finish up getting ready before being dropped off by Zara’s dad at the party across town. Then they will return to Zara’s for a sleepover after that.
I feel a little guilty about inflicting my daughter’s noise into the home of somebody else this evening, but Zara’s parents are pleasant people, and they don’t seem to mind having my daughter around, for a short while at least. Another thing they don’t seem to mind is knowing that their child will be consuming alcohol tonight.
Let’s face it; if there is a house party for a bunch of seventeen-year-olds, then there is going to be alcohol involved. The way I see it, and the way Zara’s mum and dad seem to see it too, is that there is no point in trying to deny that Chloe and Zara will be drinking something slightly stronger than fruit juice this evening. But we have decided between us to play it cool and not make a big deal about it. We are treating our children as adults and allowing them to make their own choices, rather than forbidding them from certain things, which will only make them want to do them even more.
I learnt this from my own mother. She did her best to keep me away from alcohol when I was Chloe’s age, not allowing me to attend parties before I turned eighteen and grounding me at the first sign of any sneaky drinking on my part. She even went as far as putting markers on the bottles of spirits in the cupboards so she would know if anything had been taken.
Yes, she was one of those kinds of parents.
But it didn’t stop me. Her attempts at keeping me away from drinking until I was of legal age only made me want to seek out alcohol even more, which is why I am approaching it differently with my daughter. I give her the odd word of warning and tell her to be careful, but other than that, I say she is big enough to make her own decisions. Essentially, I have removed the taboo, and in personal experience, once you do that, you remove a lot of the temptation.
As I stand here now craving a second glass of wine before 6 pm, I wonder if my mum’s behaviour is the reason why I find myself always
