The modern mama’s guide to happy hour
I hate the term “Happy Hour”. In Montreal, we call it “Cinq a Sept” which translates directly into “Five to Seven” and even though it often lasts much longer than those meager two hours, I always found it rolled off my French-obsessed tongue with so much more flair.
These days, I don’t care what you call it. As long as you call it. And we do. On the daily, it seems.
Had this conversation with some friends back home just this week – after a few glasses of pinot grigio, of course. “So, do you find you drink more since you’ve had kids?” An enthusiastic round of head nodding ensued, with pride. This is why these are my oldest friends in the world.
I think it all started in our house around week 3 or 4 of Little D’s life at home. One night, exhausted from endless hours of nursing, burping and not sleeping, I sat down and sipped a half-glass of red with unbridled glee. A tiny voice inside me warned of developmental delays, infant alcohol syndrome, even SIDS, but then life, in its own funny little way, gave me the green light. For the first night in weeks, Little D slept like an angel.
And suddenly, there was a whole new “Cinq a Sept” on the schedule.
Now, two years later, the lack of sleep isn’t as much of a problem (though let’s be honest, nobody’s perfect), but the eternal struggle of balancing parenthood, work, marriage, and an attempt at a social life, is. And so, around 5pm each day – yes, pretty much each day – as we wind down from an exhausting day of work and get fired up for an evening of tunnel-making, spaghetti-boiling, bubble bath-designing and good night-ritualing, the darling husband and I find ourselves calling it:
“Pret pour cinq a sept?”
“Toujours, mon amour.”
And as Little D giggles at our funny French accents, we giggle right back. A little louder than we probably should. 😉