The Mom Cave

For years now, the concept of a man cave has been increasing in popularity. These man caves range from the extravagant (including such items as leather recliners, a pool table, humidor, a urinal in the bathroom, multiple flat screen TV's and, for the truly tasteless, a stripper pole or two) to barely covering the basics (a moldy couch thrown in an extra garage stall, a dorm fridge, a shrub outside the garage, a TV with rabbit ears, and a stripper pole). Either way, a man's need is fulfilled, and that need is to get the hell away from everyone and enjoy some solitude.

I recently came across an article about a designer that is trying to introduce the concept of a mom cave. After all, if guys can have a getaway on their own property, it seems only fair that a mom should be able to say adios to her family once in a while and have access to the same kind of space. A space that "isn't as extravagant as a man cave," but is decorated her way and is used "for everything a woman loves, like knitting, doing crafts, writing letters, or even paying bills."

Umm...what? The fuck?

So let me get this straight -- a guy gets to watch some football from his leather Barcalounger with one hand wrapped around a cold beer and the other hand plunged into a bag of Funyuns, and I get to sequester myself in a craft room, pay the electric bill and knit some booties? Who is the crazy bitch that came up with this concept?

Now I don't know about you, but if this is the extent of what a mom cave should be then I'm pretty sure the idea will die an expedited death. So in order to prevent that from happening, I'm going to take matters into my own hands and come up with a list of things that a mom cave should actually include.

• A guard dog (that can't be bribed with treats) sitting outside the door, trained to bark and growl at everyone except: A) me; B) those that have been invited by me; and C) anyone delivering booze.
• Soundproof walls.
• A large TV, but 3D is not necessary because the glasses are ugly.
• A stocked Blu Ray DVD library. Yes to Apatow, the Cohen's and Zombieland. No to anything that is considered a chick flick, rom com or involves Julia Roberts.
• A massage chair, but not the leather kind found at Brookstone that all the teenagers sit in. I want the one that comes with face papers and includes someone with strong thumbs that is only capable of massaging for an hour or more.
• A bar, complete with a bartender that can't say anything except "You're welcome" and "Would you like a refill?"
• Half of the floor should be sand, like the white sand found in the Caribbean. And it should be heated so that my bare feet don't get cold.
• Furniture that is incapable of accumulating dust.
• An absence of all things that could be considered "collectible."
• A weekly cleaning lady.
• An automatically replenishing supply of kettle chips, Skittles and Twizzlers.
• A self-cleaning bathroom. Or actually, if it is only me using the bathroom, then it won't need to be cleaned.
• A closet that contains already completed science projects.
• A phone that only makes outgoing calls.
• Twice a month, someone manages to sneak past the guard dog and says "It's time for your facial and pedicure."

Now, I realize that some of these items may seem extravagant, but keep in mind that I'm willing to compromise. Like the massage chair -- I guess I'd be happy with half-an-hour. And it's not like I'd automatically expect people to understand my need for a mom cave and the indulgent items it contains. I'd explain it to them by hanging this sign on the door, right above where the guard dog sits:

Facebook v. Reality

As some of you know, in addition to bitching about people and/or my kids in this blog, I try to find time each day to update The Mean Mom Facebook page. While I could be using these updates as a way to keep readers informed as to exactly what it is that I'm doing, I really don't think anyone is interested in hearing about how many toilets I've cleaned, how many miles I've driven, what I'm burning for dinner or how much my kids' braces are going to cost (which, if you really want to know, is $a,lot.) Instead, I usually try to find humor in mundane situations, maybe make fun of people and, on occasion, have even been known to mention something that we all are fond of, wish we could hang out with daily and can't imagine life without, and that magical thing is booze.

I guess I was a little quick to assume that everyone who is a fan of The Mean Mom would be able to figure out that despite what I write, I really don't start drinking at eight in the morning (even though there are times when I'd like to), I rarely drink in the middle of the day (unless it's a weekend or holiday), and I definitely don't get hammered every night (only every other). Have I thought about throwing a shot of Baileys in my morning coffee or sneaking some Malibu into my midday Diet Coke? Um, yes. Definitely yes. But I also need to function, be a mom, not get my ass thrown in jail, and get shit done. So, duh, just because I say that I could use a drink doesn't mean that I'm going to drop everything, leave my kids in the car and find the nearest happy hour.

Recently, one Facebook "fan" went so far as to say: "Some of your posts r funny but most of them r all about getting drunk don't get me wrong I like to have a drink every so often too but not all the time maybe u should get some therapy." She continued by saying that "This isn't meant to piss u off but all your posts sound the same."

While I managed to refrain from pointing out to this fan that she should maybe work on forming a proper sentence instead of the run-on version, and that typing "are" and "you" really isn't a huge challenge and she should try it some time, I also thought well, gee, several of my posts do mention alcohol, so maybe she had a point. Maybe instead of always giving the impression that I'd rather be drinking than dealing with reality, people would rather hear about what my day is really like. Maybe my life isn't so boring after all! So to test this theory, I'm going to translate a few of my past posts into something more "realistic" instead of just stuff like "Me angry need to get drunk now, go away people, except you bartender person, you can stay." Please feel free to let me know which version you prefer.

A) I could say that my favorite part of yard work isn't the post-mow beer, but I was told that it's not nice to lie.

B) I weeded the garden and mowed the lawn, it was hot, I got sweaty, and since it was a Sunday afternoon and even though I didn't need one, I had a beer. A beer. Not two or even five. A beer.

A) Oh, I'm sorry. Did I just snap at you? Well then maybe you shouldn't ask me the same question 3400 times! Beer, please!

B) Kid #1 asked "When are we leaving," I said 8:45. Kid #2 asked "Hey mom, when are we leaving," I said 8:45. Kid #3 asked "When do we need to leave," I said 8:45. Kid #1 asked, again, "When are we leaving," I said 8:45. Kid #2 was reading the sports section so I said hurry up and get ready we need to leave, to which he responded "I thought we weren't leaving until 9:45." Then Kid #2 wondered if he had enough time to practice piano because he forgot what time we're leaving, so I said no you don't have time, because we're leaving in ten minutes, at 8:45. At 8:43, I said go get your shoes on, so of course Kid #3 started hauling out two dozen stuffed animals to play with and I said holy crap this is why mommy thinks about drinking beer for breakfast because we're supposed to be leaving! So Kid #3 asked oh, well, what time are we leaving?

A) This morning's extreme productivity is being accomplished with one very important goal in mind: happy hour can come sooner rather than later.

B) It is noon, and so far I have washed, folded and put away two loads of laundry, cleaned four bathrooms, ran three miles, played an hour of tennis, grocery shopped, scheduled five orthodontist appointments and packed a cooler for lunch. While a happy hour sounds lovely right now, I have to continue dreaming about it because I still need to drive my kids around. So even though it may come later rather than sooner, I may eventually indulge in one or two cocktails on my deck.

A) Morning kid barf on bedroom carpet + evening dog crap on great room carpet = Captain Morgan in my Diet Coke IMMEDIATELY!

B) Right after eating banana bread, strawberries and drinking a glass of oj for breakfast, my oldest kid hurled on his cream colored bedroom carpet. He felt fine, but just had an upset stomach because he ate too much fruit for breakfast. While I'm glad he isn't sick, this doesn't change the fact that I started my day by cleaning up a chunky brown barf stain. Later that day, the smelly old dog decided that it was too much work to crap outside so he decided to just take a dump on the floor. Again, cream colored carpet. This was a gross day, but it's okay because I'm supposed to love my job 24/7/365, I've been told that being a mom is a privilege and only losers would actually self-medicate with booze.

A) I had a half-hour to kill during piano lessons this morning, so I did what any intelligent, responsible mom would do: I went to the liquor store.

B) While my boys were at piano lessons, I used the time to run a couple errands and since I was low on beer, one of those stops happened to be the liquor store. Because you know what? To hell with people that are quick to judge because I am a responsible, intelligent adult who happens to have kids. And I like to drink. And if someone thinks that deriving joy from having a cocktail or two automatically labels me as a bad parent or someone that needs therapy, then I'm pretty sure that person (a) doesn't have kids, (b) doesn't have a sense of humor, and (c) is incapable of typing the word "are."

Hey Kids, Drinking Is (Really Not That) Bad!

In our school district, all kids participate in a Drug Abuse Resistance Education (also referred to as "DARE") program. The main purpose of this program is to "provide children with the information and skills they need to live drug-and-violence-free lives" because according to the DARE mission statement, "contemporary America is rampant with challenges that could keep children from a positive life path."

While I'm grateful that they are educating the kids about bullying and how to avoid violent situations, I don't have the same words of praise for how they are educating the kids about drinking. In fact, I kind of think that that part the program is a pain in the ass.

Doug and I have always kept beer in the fridge, liquor in the cabinet and have applied the "everything is fine if enjoyed in moderation (until after the kids go to bed)" frame of mind to drinking. We don't fall down or launch into obscenity- and anger-filled rants (again, until after the kids go to bed) and I've never once said "Hey you, child over there, come with mommy to the bathroom and hold my hair." We don't have DWI's on our record, we don't start barroom brawls and we are rarely hungover to the point of wishing for death.

Trying to set such a fine example of enjoying booze in a responsible manner takes a lot of effort. No, really. A lot of fucking effort! There are times when a shot or two of vodka/tequila/Jameson would be so much more efficient than having to go through the process of mixing, shaking, stirring and sipping, but I always decide against doing the shot because even though my kids can't remember where the extra rolls of toilet paper are kept, I know they would remember the sight of me knocking back shots of tequila and licking the salt off of my hand while I'm stirring the Tuna Helper.

So, my frustration with the DARE program is that instead of supporting my beliefs that everything should be taught in a realistic manner (Yes, full-of-bullshit abstinence until marriage unit, I'm talking about you), they're sending a strong "NO USE" message. Seriously. No use. None. And here's the funny part: they teach this curriculum through 12th grade.

While I find it completely appropriate to tell the younger kids that they shouldn't be constructing their beer bongs quite yet and should be going to gymnastics to learn things other than how to do a great keg stand, I have to wonder how much influence the Don't Ever Drink Drinking Is Bad Only Losers Drink lecture is going to have on an auditorium filled with high school students.

I, like you, knew plenty of people that drank and smoked (among other things) in high school and for the most part, we all turned out fine. We all managed to create children that were born tail-free, a large majority of us graduated from college and if there is money on the line, we'd still be able to complete a calculus equation or at least find the area of a square.

On the other hand I also know people that (even during their senior year) refused to let a drop of Sun Country Wine Cooler or PBR touch their innocent lips, and then they moved out and went away to college. Suddenly these people who thought that drinking was only for morons couldn't get drunk often enough, they fell asleep in puddles of their own barf, flunked out of classes and became resentful about missing out on all those fun parties back in high school when liver and brain cells recovered in less than an hour.

So, while I'm not going to be the idiot mom who completely gives up, says "kids will be kids" and throws a bottle of Jim Beam in her kid's glove box every weekend, I'm certainly not expecting that they'll never, ever drink because "a cop talked at school for the DARE program and told me not to." I'm assuming that at some point before they turn 21 they might sip a drink now and then (a note to my mom and dad: I may have tasted a beer before I was 21), maybe play some beer pong in a friend's basement (again, that may have been me), laugh when someone (like me) falls down the steps (holy crap that was so funny) and know that while I'm not encouraging them to get drunk, they can call me if they need a ride home because after all, that's what I told them.

On Saturday night while walking to the kitchen I passed Charlie on the steps. He asked me where I was going, I shook my empty glass and said I needed a refill. Since now that he's all DARE-educated and aware of the evil effects of alcohol, he said you're going to get drunk mom. I said well yeah kid, that's the point. But I'm home, I'm not driving anywhere, I'm an adult, I'm not going to pass out and because all of my kids still live at home, occasionally getting drunk is kind of a necessity. He never heard the last part of what I said, though, because he had turned around and was headed to the kitchen too. Apparently I'm not the only one that likes to mix cranberry juice and tonic. Mine might have had a little bit of vodka in it, though.

This = That

The Mean Mom's

Chart of Everyday Equivalents

3 tsp.......................................1 Tbsp

2 Tbsp.....................................1 ounce

1 ounce...................................you're kidding, right?

2 ounces..................................yes, please

4 ounces..................................five winter weekdays

16 ounces................................five summer weekdays

___ ounces...............................a weekend

1 week.....................................8 loads of laundry

2 loads of laundry......................oh yeah, I forgot about the sheets

3 kids......................................1 minivan

1 minivan.................................I'm a dork

waiting in the minivan................slice of hell

1 - 13 year old..........................25 daily eye rolls

Ten eye rolls.............................1 smack on the head

1 game of Monopoly...................a suicidal mom

shoveling the driveway................2 shots of vodka

mowing the lawn........................2 Corona Lights

sitting in a lawn chair..................4 Coronas, and 2 shots of vodka

4 tennis lessons.........................2 forgotten water bottles

3 science projects......................5 trips to JoAnn, 17 swear words

shopping at Target.....................not shopping at WalMart

happy hour with best friend.........1 visit to the psychiatrist

1-week vacation.........................25 visits to the psychiatrist

4 texts to/from kid......................15 second phone conversation

phone conversation with kid.........hahahahahaha, that's a good one

3 "shoots".................................1 "shit"

3 "shits"....................................1 "fuck"

2 "fucks"...................................1 hour at the grocery store

1 - five year old.........................7 daily debates

7 daily debates..........................7 ounces

1 clean house............................fantasy/fiction

Sunday - Friday.........................6 dinners cooked

Saturday.................................."Check, please"

Phrases That Make Me Go "GAAHHH!"

The conversations change as soon as the pee hits the stick and the blue plus sign appears in the viewing window. From that point on, it seems that never again can anything be discussed that doesn't include "the baby." I know that kid-related topics are going to come up once in a while, and obviously there are priorities that have to shift, but sometimes when I'm with adults, I just want to talk about movies, or stupid shit, or make fun of people, or maybe just talk about what kind of drink to order next. There are some people that were really fun pre-kids and would be more than capable of being a little bit fun post-kids, but now instead of "Enough of this shit, do you want to meet for a fucking beer? Or five?" it's "Let's meet for coffee and talk about the redesigned Diaper Genie."

Over the past few years, my tolerance for these conversations has been gradually diminishing to the point of nonexistence. And while I've become pretty good at escaping meaningless chit chat about potty training or bedtimes (a benefit of hating all moms clubs), there are some phrases that I can't always avoid, and they will always make me gag a little bit whenever I hear them.

• I'm preggers. Actually, I think what you're trying to say is I'm pregnant.
• We're pregnant, and we're due on March 8. Honestly, we all know it takes two to make a baby, but the last time I checked it was the woman that gets knocked up and gets to push the duffel bag through the keyhole, which most likely won't happen on March 8, and yes, she will probably want drugs.
• Is there a quiet room available for me to use so that I can breast feed my child? Nursing is free, convenient, and it makes your boobs look fantastic. But not everyone at the party wants to know exactly what it is you're doing behind Door #1, hear about your lactation schedule, or know that little Petunia is latching on like a pro. Just quietly find a couch/chair/spare bedroom/fitting room and knock yourself out.
• No, I can't use that blanket because it isn't made with organic cotton. Unless the blanket is woven from the ass hairs of a rabid skunk or was just used to wipe up a gasoline spill, just say "thank you" and take the stupid blanket.
• I'm sorry ma'am, but we don't have Ketel One. Seriously, what kind of bar doesn't have Ketel One?
• Is the birthday cake made with all organic ingredients and whole wheat flour? It's a cake, and kids generally like their cake to taste good. Just assume that the cake is made with normal sugar, non-organic butter and white flour, and it might have even come from a magical place called "Costco." If it's really that important to you, don't ask, and then don't have a piece. Questioning the sub-par eco-friendliness of a child's birthday cake and expecting the party host to recite the ingredient list is kind of mean and a little bit pretentious.
• I know he broke the lamp, but boys will be boys. Accidents happen, but shit does not get broken just because they're boys. Offer to replace the lamp, stop blaming the kid's lack of coordination on gender, and make the kid apologize.
• Will you childproof before we come for a visit? No. But I won't have dishes of bleach or mousetraps lying around, either.
• I would get so bored being a stay-at-home mom. What do you do all day? Sit on my ass, eat crappy food, and dream of ways to inflict pain on clueless, inconsiderate people that have the balls to ask stupid questions.

Get Me A Beer, And Then Shut Up

Unlike some women, I don't love malls. Actually, I don't even really like malls. If it weren't for the existence of Auntie Anne's Pretzels, I would probably never be seen in a mall. All those rude sales associates, bitchy teenage girls testing every possible fragrance at Bath & Body Works, The Piercing Pagoda, blind women pushing strollers, and the fact that I can never find one piece of apparel that doesn't suck all add up to me hating malls.

Unfortunately, I needed to go to the Apple Store to drop off my laptop, which meant I had to go to a mall. I figured a Thursday mid-afternoon would be a great, uncrowded time to go, and as an added bonus it would give me something to do while Zach was at his tennis lesson.

After I dropped off my computer and let Zoe test out every iPhone on display ("Where are all the games? What about 'Monkey Pee?'") I still had almost two hours to kill. I considered just grabbing a pretzel and coffee, putting my ass on a bench and letting Zoe run back and forth from Macy's to Caribou, but I didn't want to risk her getting run over by any crazy stroller pushers. So we went to The Gap (is it even possible to go to a mall and not go to The Gap?), and while I was waiting in line, Zoe kept herself occupied by trying on sunglasses and rocking some major dance moves in front of a full length mirror. After that we wandered around aimlessly, laughed at the ugly shirts in Gymboree, and tried on hideous pieces of costume jewelry.

After half-an-hour went by, we were both bored, and she was hungry. Since it wasn't even 5:00 yet, I didn't want to eat anything but was definitely willing to have a beer in silence while Zoe ate. We went to Macaroni Grill and sat at the people-less bar, and that's when I realized that not only do I hate malls, but I hate bars, and the bartenders at the bars, in malls even more.

While Zoe was busy slurping up buttered spaghetti noodles, I tried to look busy by keeping my upper lip constantly submerged in my beer glass and my eyes focused on a TV. The bartender just stood there, asking me how my shopping was ("Fine"), where I lived ("Not by here") and how old my daughter was ("Ask her yourself"). Then he asked if I was going on vacation anywhere ("Not that I know of"), and it was at this point that I wanted to cut my head off. He proceeded to not only tell me about his upcoming vacation, but who he was going with, why he was traveling with this person, how his grandma died, his sister is sick, he just got in touch with an old friend on Facebook, his uncle gave him some money, he likes to drink beer, blah blah blah. The whole time I just sat there saying "Mmm. Mmm hmm. Wow. That's neat. Sorry to hear that. Oh. Okay." I instantly regretted not just grabbing Zoe a pretzel and getting the hell out of the mall to do something more fun, like crashing the car into the ditch.

Eventually, a couple more customers wandered in, and while I wanted to warn them and tell them to make a run for it, I also hoped that maybe then he would quit talking to me. No such luck. He quickly took their orders, poured the stupid olive oil on a plate, and then returned to where I was sitting, and that's when my expression must have changed to "Shut the fuck up."

I guess he got the point because not only did he walk away and start washing glasses, but he kept looking toward me with a "You're a huge bitch" look on his face. I wanted to say: "Listen, asshole! I'm just trying to sit here and enjoy a beer in some peace and quiet while my daughter has an early dinner! I never asked you to keep me company! Just because I don't want to hear about all your crap doesn't make me a bitch!"

One thing he mentioned was that his upcoming vacation was in the Dominican Republic. As Zoe and I were getting ready to leave, it occurred to me that I don't know one person, including my husband, that has managed to go to the Dominican Republic without getting sick, specifically from poultry. I wanted to tell him: "Hey! When you're on vacation, be sure and eat chicken. Lots and lots of chicken. Yum, gotta love that Dominican Republic chicken!" But sure enough, now that we were leaving, he was nowhere to be found.

It's Been Great, But...

I have a headache, and it's not because of a hangover, illness, or concussion. It's due to the extremely loud, piercing, bone-rattling ringing sound that only I am able to hear, which is the signal that quality time with my kids has come to an end. As much as I enjoy some time off, it makes me happy to know that in 96 hours I will have my schedule back. Even though there is a little more space in the house because the tree and gifts are put away, I can feel a hint of claustrophobia creeping into my spine and am actually craving being in my car, by myself. When someone needs something or asks me a question, my response is developing an impatient "Oh my holy hell for the love of God can you let me sit in silence for more than two fucking minutes" edge to it.

In an effort to keep the winter break as stress-free and nag-free as possible, I figured this wasn't the best time to expect huge strides in the self-sufficiency of teenage boys department. And since our house could often be referred to as Overindulged Kids Headquarters, I kept the past two-weeks as unscheduled as possible. I did throw in a couple tennis tournaments for the boys, just to make sure that their bodies didn't atrophy as much as their brains, and yesterday they managed to drag themselves out of bed by 9:00 (after I opened their doors and told them to get up) so that we could all go to breakfast, and then to the bookstore.

At the bookstore, they each had one gift to exchange, and they decided to pool their credit together and buy a 3-D globe puzzle. As soon as we got home, they ran to Charlie's room to put it together. I mentally patted myself on the back for the fact that, even at the tail-end of winter break, they were getting along so well and voluntarily hanging out together. Two minutes later, cooperation came to a grinding halt.

"Knock it off! Don't yell at me! It's not my fault!" Charlie yelled, using his I'm-about-to-turn-violent voice.

"What are you talking about? You're the one that took the box off the shelf. YOU obviously got the wrong one." Zach said, before opening the door, walking down the stairs, and saying: "Forget it. I'm not putting that thing together with him. It's the wrong puzzle, and he thinks I'm super mad that it's different than the one we thought we were getting. Really, though, I'm not mad, and I don't care. And I don't need to have puzzle pieces thrown at me."

That's funny. Here I was sure we had managed to bring our children home from the store, but somehow we acquired these giant, immature morons.

After both boys apologized for crimes that, when said aloud, sounded pathetically ridiculous (Charlie: "I'm sorry I threw puzzle pieces at you." Zach: "I'm sorry I yelled at you."), and I put the plastic bridle on Zoe's plastic Playmobil horse for the 16th time today, that's when the ringing began.

Some families have an Advent Calendar for the kids to count down the days until Christmas, rewarding them for each day of patience with a small toy or piece of candy. Maybe moms need a Winter Break Calendar to count down the days until the kids return to school. But instead of a small toy hidden behind each little door, our patience will be rewarded with a shot glass, or three.

Creative Packaging

Over the last couple decades, Doug and I have had the pleasure of attending several concerts and sporting events, and the displeasure of paying $7.00 for a beer way too many times. I know that some people will say that it's possible to enjoy a hockey game without drinking, and obviously those people are crazy and need to do a couple Jello shots.

Before the days of full body pat-downs and bag searches, we would occasionally put a couple beers in our coat pockets. This technique had it's seasonal limitations, and often resulted in warmish, foamy beer since I have a tendency to skip down sidewalks.

Once we had kids and started taking them to some of the events, and I was hauling a ginormous tote/other people's shit/diaper bag, I started smuggling in juice boxes, Twizzlers, a bag of peanuts, crackers, etc. Technically you're not supposed to bring outside food into any venue because they want you to spend, spend, spend, but I have yet to come across a security guy that can look at my kid that has been well-trained to look sorrowful and say no.

More recently, this bag has been used to smuggle not only fruit snacks, but vodka. But since you can't just drop in the handle jug from Costco and walk through the gates, the packaging requires a little bit of creativity. I've used a refillable water bottle a couple times, and if the kids are with me it works. But Metallica was a different story.

It turns out that the security guys at a Metallica concert are kind of suspicious of everyone. Since I was hauling a giant momma tote bag, but had no kids with me, I suppose I looked extra guilty. He found my water bottle, which was wrapped in a sweater, in record speed and after I pleaded with him and tried to convince him that it really was just water, he pointed me toward the nearest garbage can and told me to throw it out. Doug just stood behind me, trying to hide his shame. As my girlfriend and I sadly walked toward the garbage can, she noticed a ticket line right by us that had no security and shoved me toward it. The vodka was stuffed back into the bag, the tickets were scanned, and we were good to go. Did this moment make me proud? Absolutely. We just saved at least $60 on cocktails!

After this incident, though, I realized that I needed to step up my efforts. After a little brainstorming with one of my husband's employees (yes, he has kick-ass employees), we came across the perfect vessel...a tampon box. Six 3 oz. refillable plastic bottles fit in the box, leaving just enough room for a bag of wedged limes. I filled four of the bottles with vodka, two with gin (clearly labeled, of course), and re-sealed the box shut with some double-face tape. I put it in the bottom of my bag, threw in some trail mix and Fun Dip's and after admiring the results, patted myself on the back. It was perfect.

During the Miley concert, one of my guy friends wanted to make a drink. It was great watching him fish through a tampon box to find the vodka like it was perfectly normal, and of course there are limes too!

Yes, my kids know that mom is sneaking in booze and I hope they're paying attention to the techniques being used, because when their old enough to drink, think of the money they'll save.