thewinemomchronicles

[thewinemomchronicles]

To say Helen took pride in being PTA President is definitely an aggressive stretch of the truth. She took pride in the role, no doubt about it, but mostly because she was President and Patricia wasn’t.

The association had organized an event at the library for members of the community to learn more about the great life of civil rights leader, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Students drew up posters, set up tables with interesting historical facts, and volunteers took turns reading excerpts from some of Dr. King’s most well-known writings and some kid-friendly books about the era in which he lived.

Helen coordinated catering. Due to the library’s restrictions, alcohol was not allowed. Helen cleared some shelf space in the reference section to set up a mini bar with a few bottles of wine and glasses that she brought over in her 14-galloon Birkin. It was a custom design.

“Helen, the event really is quite...marvelous.” Patricia’s reluctant compliment startled Helen causing a hefty amount of Chardonnay to spill on a 16th-Century thesaurus from Berlin the Library had on loan as part of its cultural exchange program. “Shit. I’ll get a new one on Amazon.” “I feel like that’s not—” Helen wiped her mouth. “Thank you, Patricia. I really appreciate your kind, forced, words.”

“Of course. Listen, I know public speaking isn’t really your thing, especially when you’re in a state like th—”

Tossing back about a 16oz of wine, “Back off bitch! This is MY MLK Day Memorial Celebration, Prayer, and Party, and I’ll give the remarks. If you wanted to speak so badly, you should’ve won the election.” Helen turned on her heel, which snapped in half, to make her way to the podium.

“Hello, hello. I am excited to welcome you all to the first annual MLK Day Memorial Celebration, Prayer, and Party! I am grateful to you all for making time out of your day to celebrate his life and legacy. I’d like to say a few words in her... his... honor. MLK was a public servant — ooh, not like a servant like a slave! More like he was a selfless leader with the courage to sacrifice himself... well, he was unexpectedly killed by the U.S. government so... ooh. Um...”

Helen took a swig of wine. She looked out at the crowd.

“Martin Luther King is the reason we have today off! Yes, he is the reason none of you have work. This doesn’t really affect me because I don’t technically have a job but still! His deeds were so important that the same government that murdered him immortalized his life’s work with a paid holiday! May we ALL impact the world so greatly that future generations earn a day off work. To MLK!”

“Ma’am, there is no drinking permitted in the library!” Helen chugged her remaining drops of wine, grabber her Birkin, kicked off her broken heels, and jetted for her car.

[thewinemomchronicles]

Helen loved Labor Day, not because she worked particularly hard and needed a break, but because it gave her a reason to throw a party. A group of wealthy suburbanites outfitted in their most expensive, imported white silks, cottons, and linens gathering to drink champagne served to them by a wait staff too impoverished to afford a day off was definitely contradictory to the spirit of the holiday, but as Helen says, “even if they just get to watch us have fun... isn’t that its own reward?”

Party preparation meant pool cleaning and pool cleaning meant Freddie. 

“Would you like a glass of wine?” Helen called from the kitchen window out into the backyard. Freddie, confused, walked over, his abdominal muscles contracting with every step as droplets of sweat rolled down the way water dances over rocks in a river. “Just a glass of water, Mrs...” “We’ve been over this,” she said softly, “Helen is just fine, love.” She took a sip from the glass with a smile that tried to communicate she had not already finished 3 bottles of Chardonnay in the last hour, but her mis-buttoned blouse took care of that. 

“Are you looking for ice, dear?” Helen pressed her hand on Freddie’s stomach to guide him to the other side of the kitchen before pausing. Their eyes locked. She leaned in as her head bent down. She saw its outline. She looked back at Freddie. “Helen, dear, the caterers are here!” Frank’s booming voice startled her so much she vomited at Freddie’s feet.

“I’ll... clean that up... and show the caterers to the backyard.” “Damnit,” she whispered as his peach-shaped butt vanished around the corner to grab a towel.

[thewinemomchronicles]

Though the Christian Louboutin Junior Spikes Sneakers™ had shipped weeks ago, today was finally the day of Katherine’s niece’s baby shower. The young, fresh-faced 30 year old attorney was happily married and moving into a new home after she delivered – none of which Helen found too impressive, but Denise’s electric energy reminded Helen of her younger days of less debilitating hangovers. She felt that attending might be a source of inspiration during her otherwise painfully dull summer.

With her hair and nails done the night before, she could not be more prepared for the festivities when she rose from her slumber and finished the last gulp of 7-hour-old Chardonnay in the monogrammed chalice beside her bed.

She arrived to Denise’s front door wearing a Persian rose Diane von Furstenberg off-the-shoulder romper, last year’s Prada heels, and a gold statement necklace Frank had frugally purchased from Kay Jewelers, but that she loved nonetheless. She didn’t feel it important to wear all new clothes to what she felt was a rather pedestrian event. Forcing friends and family to come to your home with gifts for a child they’ve never met and watch you open them? ‘Tacky’ was the nicest way Helen could describe it. 

Years ago when she found out she was pregnant, she did what she felt most expecting mothers should do. She rented 16 stretch Hummers® for 380 of her closest friends for a night they would quite literally never remember. (Unfortunately, Katherine didn’t make the list. Helen blamed limited space.) 

Her nimble raps at the door alerted the-mom-to-be of her arrival, her bracelets chiming in the spring air. Digging in her bag to pull out a card, Helen accidentally cut Denise on the arm as she was opening the door with the diamond encrusted mini bottled opener Helen carried in her 2012 Michael Kors handbag. 

There was a momentary pause. “Well, before you run upstairs to get a band-aid, take this.” Helen handed over a Target gift card. She wasn’t quite sure what to get Denise’s forthcoming brat, but she figured $5,000 at Target had to be worth 18 years of necessary purchases. Denise just stared, puzzled. “Well, go on, dear,” Helen gestured, “I’ll make my way to bar. Open... I hope,” she said folding her sunglasses into her handbag and dropping the shoes in the mounting pile of gifts in the foyer.

[thewinemomchronicles]

“Well, ever since her husband was arrested for investment fraud and most of their assets have been seized by the IRS, is it even worth including Diane in this year’s White Wine Elephant? I’m not sure she would be able to . . . contribute . . . in the same way . . .” Beverly said as she feigned a sigh over her shoulder, sliding her 50 carat white gold wedding ring up and down her finger. 

The Rutherfords had fallen into financial straits after Reuben’s misdeeds at Alabaster Capital, LLC caught up to him (and his vintage 1963 Black Porsche 365). Their children, Annabelle Marie and Michael Bryce, were sent to stay with their aunt on their great-grandmother’s estate in Cannes while Diane sold paint thinner in emptied BIC™ ballpoint gel pens to the students at St. Trinity Collegiate Preparatory Lakeside Academy for extra cash. The boys soccer team particularly seemed to enjoy them.

Zara uncorked another bottle. “Beverly,” she said with an acute authority that was neither threatening nor supercilious but was simply a gentle yet sharp reminder of assumed decorum. “I feel that all of us are keenly aware that the holidays are a joyous time for generosity, reflection,” her eyes softly floated to Beverly, “and empathy with the less fortunate.” A smile crawled across her face as she took a sip of the chardonnay, impressed with her subtle slight.

“Let’s ask Helen. She is hosting after all,” Sydney suggested. Helen, slightly tipsy and listening to Michael Bublé’s Christmas, was adding the finishing touches to the cookies in the kitchen twirling around the island in her cherry red Marc Jacobs Pleated Crêpe de Chine Midi Skirt. The ladies’ summoning call forced Helen to wrap things up. She sprinkled on the powered sugar and scurried away with the tray into the parlor. She would probably never realize she had just served the girls holiday treats accidentally garnished with cocaine instead. 

[thewinemomchronicles]

The twins' yearly holiday orchestra concert – Joyful Jingles and Holiday Horns of Peace – was tonight and with Frank out of town on business, Helen was tasked, again, with bribing an unsuspecting scholarship kid with recording the performance so she could comfortably enjoy the experience fully intoxicated.

Just before Amber and Alex’s violin duet performance covering ‘O Come, All Ye Faithful’ by Pentatonix began, Beatrice, the first-year Helen managed to coerce into capturing the performance in 4K UHD resolution on Helen’s unreleased iPhone X Plus, noticed the twins’ mother was actually no longer nestled snuggly in her Zac Posen™ Fur-Lined Beverly Trench but had rather propped the coat up with empty wine bottles she had in her suede tote.

Following the crimson drops of Chateau Margaux 2010 Bordeaux Blend to the bathroom outside of the concert hall, Beatrice found Helen blacked out, bent over attempting to plunge the vomit-filled toilet with her Sapphire-studded 8-inch heels. “You should be recording!” Helen bellowed as Beatrice pried the heels from her grip. “Ma’am,” Beatrice grunted through her teeth as she combated with Helen’s alcohol-bestowed gorilla strength, “I got nervous and didn’t want you to miss the twins’ duet.” 

Helen’s release on the shoe hurled Beatrice backward against the wall. As she stumbled, a crunch under Beatrice’s foot scattered white powder across the bathroom floor. “My Xanax,” Helen shrieked. “Well,” standing to straighten out her dress, “there goes your scholarship.” Thrusting her tote over her shoulder, Helen snatched the heels from Beatrice before returning to the concert hall to join the applause that had just erupted as the final note of the twins’ duet hung in the air.

[thewinemomchronicles]

Wiping her mouth after taking her 7th post-Thanksgiving dinner tequila shot, Helen stumbled up her winding staircase in search of the diamond-crusted key fob to her Rose Gold Range Rover. Thanksgiving wasn’t so much a familial celebration for Helen as it was an annual pregame for Black(out) Friday shopping.

There was something superlative and unrivaled about drunk shopping amongst the middle class under the dark cover of the night at the local Walmart. Any deals, discounts, or coupons were lost on Helen as she had already ordered several Samsung 65" Class Curved 4K (2160P) Smart LED TVs while they were still in beta testing last year for her home on Lake Geneva; and of course one for the pool house, for Freddie. Just the thought of him watching reruns of MTV’s Teen Mom on it made her squirt.

“...wait...fuck!” Frank forcefully whispered when the front door latching shut alerted him that his wife had slipped away. It was too late. Helen’s headlights burned into Frank’s eyes as he stared down at the driveway watching his wife reverse full speed down the 100-foot stretch of road that led to their home. Acquiescent, Frank drifted back inside to notify security. “We’re already prepared sir,” he heard in reply. The shrill caw of police sirens and flashing lights would rouse him from his sleep just 30 minutes later.

[thewinemomchronicles]

The early morning arrival of a dense case of 45 bottles of Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin, the sensation of freshly manicured nails, and near half-empty bottles of Hydroxycut pills spilled on the floor of her marble-tiled bathroom signaled one thing: PTA President campaign season.  

PTA President’s typically served a 2 year term or until their child graduated or was no longer enrolled, whichever came first. And since Helen had successfully blackmailed Patricia with evidence of her daughter shoplifting silver Zooey Deschanel mini hoop earrings from Claire’s forcing her to transfer from St. Trinity Collegiate Preparatory Lakeside Academy, an emergency campaign had been set in motion.

Helen, already hungover from her morning spritzer and wearing her tackiest mix of patterns to date, snatched her black Gucci aviators and her 2007 Alexander Wang clutch before stumbling down her ivory tusk staircase all the way to the foyer. All of her usual vehicles were in the shop – wrecked from Helen’s most recent late night “booze cruise,” as the local police had come to call them – so she hopped in one of the family’s golf carts and zipped to the school auditorium for her first press event. 

Unfortunately for Helen, no one was there because it was a Saturday afternoon and she had drunkenly mis-scheduled the event in her phone. Exhausted and disappointed from her journey, Helen retired to the teachers’ lounge where she sipped on a bottle of Dom Perignon she found in the lounge fridge before passing out on the floor.

[thewinemomchronicles]

It could’ve been because she was knee-deep in the Real Housewives of New York season 2 or because she had been drinking since 10am that morning, but Helen was not the slightest bit fazed when her doorbell rang 37 times in the middle of her relaxing, inebriated afternoon. 

The pounds at the door finally roused her from her place on the couch, and she stumbled her way to the front door. “...fuck,” she whispered as she quickly sobered up and swung the curtains over the sidelights. The IRS was back and with her husband out of town, Helen had no immediate way of diffusing the situation or contacting their attorneys. 

Helen’s online business Bottoms’ Boutique, an online clothing store where Helen sold her own items marked up to male drag queens, was actually a quite lucrative endeavor despite her family’s hesitations. The only problem was that she never filed the income. Her husband had worked with some of the top lawyers to allow Helen’s business to continue to run over the course of the year without having it documented as a company or source of income. But with its success and full Spring spread in Teen Vogue™, it was only a matter of time before she was caught.

Panicking, Helen ran to the backyard, revved up the golf cart, and drove through the backwoods behind their house until she reached her spare Matte Black Range Rover and sped off. It would be one cold day in hell before Helen paid her taxes.

[thewinemomchronicles]

Helen spotted the athletically-built pool boy Freddie in her backyard hard at work. “He probably wants a glass of lemonade,” she whispered as a leftover drop of pinot grigio fell from the left corner of her mouth. She dropped her military-grade binoculars, closed her blinds, and hurried to the kitchen. Tenderly she squeezed the lemons as if gripping Freddie’s butt in her freshly manicured hands. “Fredrick! I’ve got something for you,” she squealed sliding open the back door. But it was more than just lemonade she wished she could give him.

[thewinemomchronicles]

“Mhm. You, too,” she replied as she held up her Space Gray iPhone 6s so the scanner could read her Starbucks™ Gold Card. Helen walked into the women’s restroom and placed her coffee on the baby changing table along with her 2012 Michael Kors handbag. After touching up her Amorous hue MAC lipstick, she pulled out three 187mL bottles of Sutter Home Pink Moscato and dumped her Triple, Venti, Half Sweet, Non-Fat, Caramel Macchiato down the drain. Once her empty Starbucks cup had been thoroughly rinsed, she filled it with the wine, pulled down her Ivory White Rounded Cat Eye Prada sunglasses, and promptly exited the café. 

[thewinemomchronicles]

Helen had a horrible habit of enrolling in online college courses in order to obtain student email addresses she could use to sign up for free Amazon Prime accounts™. But one institution finally caught her, Devry. When the Dean of Student Affairs and Conduct requested a teleconference with Helen and other University disciplinary faculty, she grabbed her Gucci wristlet filled with emergency cash, credit cards, and test tube shots of Prosecco and fled to her Martha’s Vineyard home for a week of self-imposed exile.

[thewinemomchronicles]

Scantily clad in nothing but a pair of fuchsia aussieBum™ briefs and white New Balances, Daniel lay under the warm sun at the edge of the pool, his flat, smooth, hairless core gently pulsating up and down with every small breath, as Freddie snapped photos that would later be cropped, filtered, and posted on Instagram for all of Daniel’s 33k followers to desperately fawn over. “Famished, boys?” called out Helen. Daniel was not aware his mother was home. Helen exited the kitchen in a pair of black velvet Marc Jacobs heels carrying a tray of sliced oranges and a tall glass…bottle….of champagne for herself. Shocked, Daniel flung himself underwater leaving Freddie at the will of his mother. “Oh, I thought I saw Daniel. He must be at a friend’s.” She smiled at Freddie. “Have as many slices as you’d like, Freddie,” she said breathily to the poolboy with a wink before turning to go back inside. She tripped at the door and fell on the kitchen floor. She was on her third bottle of champagne that afternoon.

[thewinemomchronicles]

“What do you want us to do with the wine bottles, sir?” the construction workers called out to Frank. “What?” “The wine bottles...they’re everywhere.” Frank was having the roof re-tiled. He climbed up the ladder to inspect. Above the walls of his home in the northeast corner was a stash of empty and unopened bottles of Screaming Eagle Cabernet Sauvignon. Helen had just pulled in the driveway when she noticed the workers and her husband on the roof. Instantly recognizing the situation, she threw her rose gold Ranger Rover into reverse, knocking over the garbage bins on the curb, and sped off to the nearest Whole Foods™. 

[thewinemomchronicles]

“The dog peed on the floor aga--!” Helen stopped herself mid sentence as she leaned in closer to the puddle on the saxony carpet to catch a whiff. It was the Riesling she had unknowingly spilled earlier. She immediately walked away to finish reading Oprah's Favorite Things. 

[thewinemomchronicles]

“Well, we certainly had no idea and are extremely disappointed,” groaned Frank as he glared at the twins. Amber and Alex, perplexed, raised their hands simultaneously in defiance and asked to speak. “But Mom knew!” Helen, embarrassed, pushed back her sleeve to check the time on her Fendi watch. “I think we’re out of time,” she gritted through her teeth, pursing her lips. Mrs. Waxler, their teacher, pulled out copies of Amber and Alex’s AP Physics test with a note explaining how the two had cheated using a set of mysterious breathing patterns, leg gestures, and blinking techniques. Also on the note was a drop of red wine and Helen’s usual sloppy signature. She had been drunk when she signed it.

[thewinemomchronicles]

Emerging from her steamy bathroom, she slipped into a tastefully revealing robe with her hair wrapped in a towel, droplets of water sliding down her skin. The pool boy Freddie was almost here and Helen couldn’t wait.

[thewinemomchronicles]

“Ma’am, what’re you doing?” Helen threw the empty bottle of chardonnay under the clothing rack as she swallowed her last gulp. She had already been banned from this Banana Republic last month for public drinking, but she figured they had forgotten her face by now. Not mixing well with the Chipotle™ she had for lunch, the wine churned in her stomach forcing her to gag. “Ma’am?” The associate asked again having made it across the sales floor. Opening her 2012 Michael Kors handbag, Helen slowly placed her head inside and let out a small barf. $175 of Sephora products destroyed was a small price to pay. “Is this sweater on sale?” she asked feigning interest in the horribly patterned item as she reapplied her smeared lipstick. “I don’t think so,” wondered the associate as she moved closer to inspect the tag, stepping on a piece of the broken wine bottle. Their eyes momentarily locked before Helen fled the store still wearing the now stolen merchandise.