Hair of the Dog

Here's a conversation I wasn't expecting to have this morning. We were leaving the house in a bit of a rush to get to the private speech assessment, and N said he was thirsty, so I told him to go have a quick drink of something and meet me out by the car. Baroy was lagging behind to lock up the house.

N, coming out of the house: What was the funny thing in that soda, Mama?

Me, helping him into the car because he was moving sooooo slowly: What funny thing?

N: In the soda I just drank. It maybe tasted like wine, I think.

Me, getting into the driver's seat: I'm sure it wasn't wine, honey.

N: Well, it tasted like it. It was in that soda can, the red one.

Me, suddenly stopping dead in my tracks, thinking What do we have in the house in a red can? We have diet ginger ale in a white can and diet coke in a gold can and...oh, shit...: Open your mouth and breathe out for me, honey. (A pause.) Holy...

Yup. My not-yet-7-year-old kid knocked back a full swig of beer at 8:30 in the morning. (In his defense, we usually only have beer in bottles, but one of our friends brought over some cans of Tecate the other night, so I'm not surprised he didn't recognize it as off limits.)

And so I dragged him out of the car, brushed his teeth, and washed his face. Because dayum. The kid smelled like a frigging BREWERY. And then spent the ride into Pasadena trying to figure out how to explain this to the speech therapist..."Well, no, actually, the slurring isn't normal for him..."

And that, my friends, was the beginning of my day. How's yours going?