Day 2 - A perfect day

I have a few things I want to achieve. Currently one of them is that I want to move house. I'm always aiming for something. Never really living in the moment; always planning.

When I imagine where I want to be in a couple of months, I think of a new house with a big garden, a sunny  July Saturday, barbeque fired up, kids giggling in the paddling pool and, yes, a glass in my hand.

But I've just realised - I'm imagining a photograph, not a movie. It's a still. A snapshot. It's a single moment - that moment of relief when you sit down and take your first sip and all is right with the world. And it's like the image has increased colour saturation, has been blown up and printed on glorious shiny paper and has been placed, in a beautiful frame, right in the centre of my living room wall.

So I'm going to try and imagine it as a moving picture instead. It starts with that perfect moment, the snapshot of the perfect day. The kids are happy, my goals have been achieved, my shoulders relax, I am ready for a wonderful day of making memories and - most importantly - The Debate has been temporarily gagged and briefly knocked out.

And then it's all downhill, isn't it? The Debate starts whispering making me want more and more, especially when one of the children starts yelling or trampling water through the house or announces that they don't like the food I have lovingly prepared. Perhaps the weather cools down and the children get grumpy. Result - a slightly louder whisper. Another drink. Relief. I spend a bit of time attempting to get a photograph in which all the children look like they're having fun but with three children, this is highly statistically improbable. Then I decide to be fun Pinterest mum and plan an emergency dance party, complete with disco lights and fancy dress. The children argue about choice of music and, fuelled by the drinks, I grumpily announce to the whole family that I wish I'd never bothered to plan this lovely day because no one appreciates it. I stick the telly on for the kids, get them ready for bed, rush through some stories and probably stop drinking (I am able to stop reasonably early because I know I sleep better - this is, at least in part, why my first drink of the day has wandered earlier and earlier). At least I got some photos of the children having fun. I'll send those to friends and family and they'll know what a great parent I am. Then I go to bed and wake up at 3am hating myself and promising to stop. I toss and turn until 7am and get up. I don't get particularly bad hangovers, physically speaking. It's the self-loathing and guilt, the thud of dread and fear and broken promises that get me. If the sun is shining this afternoon, I say to myself, I will plan another lovely Pinterest-worthy memory-making day, only this time I probably won't drink. Or maybe I'll just have one or two, just to be sociable and 'live in the moment' and, ooh, do I need to go to the shop then?

Live in the moment. That's a laugh. Because a moment is like a photograph. 

So how does this movie look without that drink?

Actually I have no idea. It's completely impossible to imagine.

But I need to keep reminding myself that it's a movie, not a photograph.