Monica Bielanko
A chronicle since 2005 of my marriage & move to Brooklyn in my twenties; becoming a mother in my thirties; moving to Pennsylvania and learning to amicably coparent after divorce in my forties while living 3 doors down from my ex-husband in a small country town.
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Tuesday
Sep012009

I Am Bizarro Jesus

I'm sitting here at work wondering if Serge is setting his mind to a tasty glass of wine tonight. I've been worried about this all day. Because see, if he gets his taste buds all set for a glass of dry red from the bottle that's sitting atop our liquor cabinet he's in for major disappointment.

Because what appears to be wine? It's actually water. That's right brothers and sisters, behold! I can turn wine into water!

Serge bought the bottle sometime last week. He likes to savor his wine, a leisurely glass here as an itchy finger trolls fly fishing message boards, a gulp there to accompany his chicken stir fry. Me? I prefer a full bottle in one sitting. Why have just one if I can have four? Violet's asleep, often Serge is too, so I like to get drunk with the dogs. Doesn't matter how much I have anyway, something about being a mom prevents the drunk from taking effect. I could glug a whole bottle and if Peanut's binky so much as drops from her mouth at three in the morning I'm bolt upright, my very pores listening, wondering if she's awake and should I go fix her a bottle then swing a dead cat in the moonlight to assure three more hours of sleep?

Sunday night I sat on the back porch for a spell listening to the cricket choir, watching the moon soar slow motion across the sky. Dark clouds laced in front of the glowing orb then disappeared into the backdrop of inky sky. Faraway dogs barked as my own little Milo nestled in next to me and I thought, what better way to acknowledge another successful parenting day behind me than with a celebratory glass of the red stuff?

One glass turned into two, of course.

Serge emerged from our bedroom, where he'd been reading some obscure novel or other, to pour a glass of water. He clocked me and then, that motherfucker, stopped to gander at the level of the wine in the bottle. So I did what any self-respecting loner drinker would do. I poured another glass of wine for myself and then used tap water to fill up the bottle to where it'd been before my evening began. There. I figured The Wine Monitor deserved some watery wine. But then last night, well, one thing led to another what with getting off work at ten-thirty, my overnight trip to the vet emergency room to fix Milo's injured paw all while The Wine Monitor slept, oblivious to all trouble chez Bielanko. So I ended up drinking the watery wine too! In a panic, I filled up the dark green bottle with water in an admittedly desperate effort to avoid early morning accusing eyes of The Wine Monitor.

There it is.

A wine bottle of water sits on my liquor cabinet waiting for the man of the house to work up a nice strong thirst and then... Oh my. This can't be good.