Caffeine and Heinies

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When I was little I wanted to do whatever my parents did. I wanted to drink what my parents were drinking and eat what my parents were eating. Mom was chowing down on sweet pea salad? I was too. Dad was drinking a beer? I wanted a sip until, "YUCK!" I changed my mind.

So I figured when Grayson went straight for my coffee the other day, I would give him a sip, turning him off of the stuff for good, or at least, for a few years. He took a sip of my no-fat iced vanilla latte, recoiled from the taste and then smiled, his big eyes blinking sweetly.

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"Mmmmmmmm," he said and then motioned for more.

"No, baby. This isn't for Graysons. This is for mommies."

His whimpers turned into cries and then turned into wails until I had no choice but to slurp the entire cup and hand it over, empty of its contents.

"Here," I said.

He scowled at me, totally pissed and then went on to scream for ten minutes until I decided to distract him with a graham cracker in the shape of a ladybug. I had forgotten about the incident until the other night Kevin had drank a Heineken and left the almost empty bottle on the coffee table. Grayson got to it before I could and walked into the bathroom with it trying to show off his new, shiny, green treasure to anyone who cared.

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"No, Grayson. This is for daddies, not for babies," Kev said but Grayson wanted a taste, anyway.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," I said. "He's going to like it and then he'll be an alcoholic before he turns 2."

"He's not going to like the taste of beer," Kev said.

"That's what I thought about the coffee."

"Vanilla lattes taste like candy. Beer, especially Heineken's, tastes like crap for years before it tastes good."

He had a point. Still, I was skeptical.

"Fine. Let him taste it but I'm warning you..."

Grayson took a swig, puckered and quickly spit it out.

"See?" Kevin said. "Non-issue."

Grayson started walking back to the living room to harass the dog until... wait a minute. Maybe that wasn't so bad after all...

"Jeez, Kevin! See? He's coming back for more! He wants more! He likes beer and coffee and pretty soon it's going to be clove cigarettes and pretty soon he'll be the next Drew Barrymore!"

But thankfully he wasn't coming back for more. He toddled over to Kevin's leg and asked to be picked up, giving the bottle a swift shove and smiling as if to say, "psyche!"

"Smooth, Grayson. Real smooth."

But just in case, I told Kevin to chug the contents like a frat boy. And he did.