The 3 Day Weekend

Day 113.

I realised this morning that I now manage to fit about 50% extra into my weekends. That means that my 2 day weekend is the equivalent of 3 days BS (before sober).

This didn't happen overnight. Initially I was so exhausted that I spent a fair amount of the weekend catching up on rest. Plus I spent an inordinate amount of time reading and writing about booze.

But gradually, over the last 113 days, the amount I can squeeze into a weekend has gone up and up.

So yesterday - Sunday - was Father's Day. I corralled #1, #2 and #3 into the kitchen early to make Daddy's 'special breakfast', collect flowers from the garden and find their home made cards.

We sang "Happy Father's Day to You" while trooping up the stairs, then all piled into bed together (including the dog).

I then spent 2 hours with #2 sorting out all her clothes - putting winter stuff away, taking out summer clothes inherited from big sister, going through bags of things donated by kind friends with older girls, and bagging up clothes she's grown out of for the charity shop.

Next I helped #1 make rocky road brownies for the school bake off competition today.

We then all went out for Father's Day lunch, scooping up a friend's daughter en route (she's a single Mum and badly needed some time to herself), followed by Jurassic World at the cinema (great movie!).

Got home and helped #2 make millionaire's shortbread for school bake off while chatting to my friend (and pouring her a glass of wine!) who'd come to pick up her daughter.

Supper, baths, homework, read children stories, read papers with husband, crashed out exhausted.

I woke up today feeling shattered, but in a good way. I helped #1 and #2 arrange their bake off entries on plates and take them, beaming with pride, into their classrooms.

Now this time last year I would have woken up with a crashing hangover. Tried very hard to rustle up enthusiasm for Father's Day breakfast, after which I would have hibernated with the papers, feeling like I'd done my bit for a while.

At midday I'd have made myself a Bloody Mary to 'take the edge off'. Actually, I'd have made it at 11.45am so it'd be ready to drink by 12!

I would have gone out for lunch (without helping a friend out by taking an extra child - I'd have thought 3 kids quite enough to cope with, thank you very much), and drunk at least half a bottle of wine.

I'd have fallen asleep in the movie and missed at least half of it.

As soon as we'd got home (about 5pm) I'd have opened a bottle of wine (you don't have to wait until 6pm at the weekend!). I would deliberately forget about the bake off competition.

At bedtime one of the children would have said plaintively "what about the bake off tomorrow?" at which point I'd reply "it's far too late to start baking now! You should have remembered earlier." There would be tears (them) and shouting (me).

Homework done badly. Bedtime stories skipped. Everyone would go to bed cross. I would wake up feeling, not as hungover as Sunday morning, but toxic. Like a petrol car that's been filled up with diesel.

I'd have felt horribly guilty on arrival at school as I'd see all the children walking in proudly proffering their bake off entries. I'd resolve not to drink again. And I'd make it to 5pm.

It's realisations like this that make me wonder why on earth it took me so long to stop.

Love to you all

SM x