Ordinarily, I like to save martinis for after 8:00 p.m. That, I realize, is far later than the traditional Martini Hour — which, if I remember my “I Love Lucy” episodes, began right around the time Ricky walked through the door. Ricky doesn’t live here, though, so eight o’clock — the hour when The Big-Eyed Boy begins his bath/book/bed routine — has served for years now as the perfect time to transition from Mommy to Me.

Then again, ordinarily my husband hasn’t been gone for thirty solid days and ordinarily I haven’t had to resort to locking myself in a bathroom with all the faucets running just to get 5 minutes of peace and quiet. Lately, I’ve taken to making deals with the Big-Eyed Boy to get those five minutes without having to run up our water bill.

“Yes, you can have another Popsicle if you’ll leave Mommy alone for five short minutes.”

“Of course you can watch Cow & Chicken if you’ll leave Mommy alone for five blessed minutes!”

“For cryin’ out loud! What do I have to do to get five minutes to myself around here? The car keys? Fine! Have at ‘em! Try not to tear out the garage door, will ya?”

Ok, so the latter might be a bit of an exaggeration but you get my point: I live for the magical hour of 8:00 p.m. when my son is happily upstairs playing in the tub and my parental duties consist solely of reminders that he’s to be play upstairs and give Mom a break.

You don’t even have to look at the clock around here to know when it’s eight o’clock anymore: just listen for the martini shaker.

Which is why, now that I think about it, we really need to get at least one analog clock around here. You know, one of those wall clocks that has a little hand pointing to the hour, a big hand pointing to the minutes. One that, after my last nerve is shot from a long day of parenting, doesn’t require me to do math to figure out how much longer it is until Martini O’Clock.

There are plenty of beautiful wall clocks that tell you every hour is perfect for Guinness. There are wall clocks, grandfather clocks and more to tell you when it’s time to fish, time to golf, time to get your butt out the door.

I want a mantel clock that tells me when it’s time for a martini, and these days I’m thinking one that chimes about every 3 hours or so sounds just dandy.

Monday, August 6th, 2007, 4:42 pm   |   Martini Madness  |  RSS feed Comments and pings are currently closed.