In which I take children to the carwash and the liquor store. But the liquor store gives stickers.

by | Aug 26, 2011 | Parenting/Family | 7 comments

May I begin with an off-topic digression?

I never know if I should capitalize my post titles. It’s kinda not something I do well, so I kind-of just don’t. I kinda feel like if I do, I am caving to “the man”.

Not that I even know who “the man” is. I supposed “the man” would be an English teacher?

And really, I have never been good at capitalizing titles. But I do have a gift when it comes to the proper use of your, you’re and yore.

But, about that liquor store.

No, let’s start with the car wash…

It was time for my annual car washing. The kids had a couple friends over and since I am the coolest mom ever, I was all, “KIDS. LET’S DRIVE THROUGH THE CARWASH!!!

It was awesome.

You have no idea.

5 kids in a minivan, hopped up on hot cocoa and donuts at 9 in the morning.

You have no idea.

Did you ever watch Jurassic Park? You know how that one awful dinosaur jumped in that one jeep and ate the chubby guy for dinner? Remember how it shook? The kids didn’t eat me alive, but MAN the energy in my van… was that-of a voracious dinosaur in a jeep. No, FIVE. FIVE dinosaurs.

Come to think of it, was that when D.C. had it’s earthquake?

Correlation much???

I pulled out of the carwash (uneaten) and around the side to park and dry off the water that the car-dryer-thing didn’t.


When I finished I climbed back into the car and my son said, “Mom. We really wasted our money.”

I looked around. I wondered how he could tell if the car was clean or not, since he was IN the car.

Then it clicked…

“Oh honey. The carwash worked just fine… Now we need to clean the INSIDE of the car.”

As fate would have it, the next day I needed liquor… spelled T E Q U I L A.

As fate would also have it (i.e. SUMMER)… it is impossible to go anywhere without children.

P.S. In Washington state, one can only acquire “the hard stuff” from a liquor store or on the Res. Also, liquor stores here are closed on Sundays.

It’s practically like the Prohibition days around here.

Aaanywho. Out of my 12 years of mothering (P.S. I didn’t start drinking until after I had children) I have never, EVER, not NEVER (double-neg)… taken my children to the liquor store.

I did ask the last time I was in, “Hey. Is it illegal to bring kids in here?”



So, I took my kids to the liquor store.

Desperate times.

Desperate measures.

Before we went in, I told the girls, “Don’t touch a THING. Don’t. Everything, I mean EVERYTHING will break. EH-HE-VERY-TH-HHH-ING.”

The 9 y.o. asked, “What’s in here mom?”

Dang it.

We entered. I made a beeline for the tequila, and made way to the friendly liquor checker.

Dang it. I just realized he never asked for my ID.

That hurts.

Aaaanywho. They guy was real chatty… told us about his grandkidlets and offered my girls


“Have as many as you want, girls.”

Tune in next week when I will probably be sharing a story about how my 6 y.o. throws a fit in the bank and yells, “MOMMY! SINCE THEY DON’T HAVE ANYMORE STICKERS, CAN WE GO TO THE LIQUOR STORE?!!!”


So. In an effort to make me feel better about myself, I will show you a picture of somebody else’s car. At the very least… I am not a The Hoe.

The Hoe


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