Partied out

This morning I awoke feeling crapulent, apparently the result of one pint of beer last night. We went downstairs to a 4th birthday party in the mezzanine area of our building, on an incredibly hot, humid day. The girls ran around playing with water pistols, or drew with chalk on the ground, or slid around in puddles of soapy water, for two hours until La Serpiente faceplanted and we all went home for a nap.

I had felt dreadful throughout; I think this was worse than the first week of giving up sugar and caffeine.  So I suppose now I know: if I’m drinking, I need caffeine to recover. And if I’m drinking coffee, I need caffeine to recover the next day. This malarkey is never ending, or at least it is if you don’t break the cycle by not drinking booze or coffee. But lamentably, doing that and giving up on sugar really cuts into your ability to interact socially. Who wants to be the guy at the party who turns down all the birthday cake?

Anyway, I tried to persuade Destroyer to go to sleep and instead I passed out next to her, and then woke 30 minutes later to find she’d given up burbling and had gone to sleep with her head on the floor, rather than her nice soft mattress. The wilful contrariness of my children knows no bounds. I seized this quiet time to read some of the sequel to Leviathan WakesLeviathan Wakes and then we had a drawn-out attempt to go out to a barbecue that was scheduled to start at 3. Everyone woke up at 2, so by 4 we were ready to get a taxi down. During a rain storm where you couldn’t see out the windscreen of the car. So that was a lot of fun.

When the rain cleared, I was at a condo down near the water, where I’d ended up with a can of Tiger in my hand and both girls were constantly demanding to go on a five-metre long slide into the condo swimming pool. This was fine when they were the only participants, and less so when there was also a rowdy bunch of adolescent boys trying to all go down the slide at once. But it’s hard to be protective of your daughters when the local toughs have elected a leader called Nigel. It would be like being mobbed by an angry bunch of Dereks, or a bloodthirsty horde of Ruperts. So I just worked to try to make sure the diminutive Destroyer didn’t get trampled by anybody.

My fug never really lifted all day. We took the kids home at 8, well past their bedtimes, fed them, bathed them, shoved them into bed, and then I tried to go out for a run, but felt so ghastly I was home after running a mile. I guess maybe I do need some more recovery time. Or less access to beer.


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