Bad Parent: Party Mom
I got my act together, and so can you, Britney.
by Kris Vagner
December 13, 2007
I even have a battle scar to mark the era. In a moment of beer-fueled bravado, I decided it would be fun to give a friend a lift home from the bar on my bike. Down an icy hill. In the dark. I landed face-first on the pavement, broke a front tooth, and got the kind of lingering, puffy black eye that made strangers quietly ask if things were okay at home. ("Ha," I thought, "not at all. But it's not what you think.") I got my tooth fixed, and the black eye is long gone, but it still looks like someone drew a little Cleopatra flourish over my right eye with an eyeliner pencil.
I never quite concluded that it was wrong, per se, to be a brash, fun-loving tart. (Seriously, Brit, I'd jump at the chance to party three nights in a row with Paris Hilton and trade stockings with her in front of a crowd of rabble-rousing horndogs, like you did.) And I did a pretty good job keeping partying and mothering separate. But when my good-natured two-year-old arrived home one morning to find me nursing a don't-talk-to-me caliber hangover, I realized I should cool it.
Here's where I think I can help you, Britney. You don't need a moral overhaul. The naughty-ex-schoolgirl thing is still fine. Britney, whatever you do, your kids are going to turn out just like you. You don't have to stop wearing the Daisy Duke cut-offs. You just need to give in to the practicalities for a while. I realized that trying to cope with the logistical and emotional demands of parenthood and the frustration of divorce and would get easier if I started getting some sleep. I started turning down a few party invites to stay home and get to bed early. I acknowledged that a superbly mixed Miller's martini with French vermouth and high-quality olives makes me sleep worse, not better, so I started drinking fewer of them.
My son is almost four now, and he's showing clear signs that I've taught him right. My lust-for-life approach to late-night adult activities extended into a let's-put-Huck-Finn-to-shame approach to parenting. My kid is the kind of exuberant free spirit who will respond to a far-away riff of Latin jazz by jumping out of the jogging stroller on a city sidewalk to do the cha-cha. I feel a pang of sympathy when I hear other parents tell me their kids don't do well with crowds or commotion or variations in their bedtime. I've found that with a well-timed disco nap, my party-boy's good mood can last till midnight.
The bottom line here, Britney, is that whatever you do, your kids are going to turn out just like you.
So, here's my advice: lay low for a while and do what you need to do to regain custody, but just shoot for fifty percent. That way, you can hula-hoop and make dinosaur cookies with the kids on Tuesdays while K-Fed's out wooing Colin Farrell's ex and schmoozing with Victoria's Secret models. Then, on Wednesdays, you can go challenge Paris to Jell-o shot contests while the two of you swing upside-down on diamond-studded stripper poles greased with caviar. If you play your cards right, you really can maintain a good buzz and a satisfying reckless streak without racking up those court injunctions.
Oh, and when you get that Jell-o shot thing organized, make sure you get me on the guest list. I'm free on Mondays.
©2007 Kris Vagner and Nerve Media
About the Author
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For three years, Kris Vagner covered arts and culture (and accidentally became an award-winning sportswriter) for magazines and alt-newsweeklies in Reno. She recently resettled in San Francisco, where she and her almost-four-year-old son can't get enough of those scary-steep cable-car rides. |
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