Parenting Dilemma; to wine or not to wine?

Here’s my parenting dilemma: let’s say it is a Sunday. As usual, on a Sunday, we are working at home. That “work” could involve anything from pruning fruit trees to burning dining tables, but it always involves mega mess and zero glamour.
The Four Little Seymours also do various things on a Sunday. They argue on a professional level, they do a spot of homework (under duress, of course) and they may spend rather a lot of time bouncing on the trampoline. Boy Seymour will be up a tree at some point, and Mini Seymour will make a delicious mud pie. Standard stuff.
In between these wholesome, filth-generating, outdoorsy activities, each of the Little Seymours will inevitably be kicked off the iPad thrice, and shouted at for stealthily operating another device without permission. Until the watershed of 4 pm, that is, when I give up arguing with them, and just want to cook tea whilst knowing they are safely tucked in one place with the electronic babysitter.
But it is when dinner is being cooked that my parenting dilemma presents itself. Do I a) have a glass of wine to numb the pain of cooking and render myself cheerful yet unable to drive anywhere, or do I b) have a cup of tea instead in case one of the Little Seymours should require a trip to hospital? For the latter seems to happen rather a lot.
Last summer, I was most glad I did not imbibe when Boy Seymour flew out of The Shed one evening on the back of a whole window pane whilst ogling a colourful hot air balloon (he still has the scar), and last weekend, as Mini Seymour’s mystery leg saga played out, I was, luckily, as sober as a judge. Number One was in the Urgent Treatment Centre on her fourteenth birthday with chronic ear ache, and the following day, I was sure Mini Seymour had broken her arm, so off we went again. And a couple of years ago, Little Seymour Number Two was bent double with a pain I was convinced represented appendicitis. Ignoring the possibility that I may have Munchhausen’s by proxy (it wasn’t appendicitis and the aforementioned arm was completely fine), I am struck by one thing – that these events all happened on a weekend, when wine could well have been flowing, yet wasn’t. What if these events had occurred on one of those crazy evenings, when there is frivolity and merriment? How bad would I feel, if I couldn’t drive to A&E because I was too busy mixing my merlots, or swigging a cider?
This is a concern, especially now, in the season of summer barbecues. With kids on trampolines, the perils of hot coals and skewer sticks, sunburn, heatstroke and not to mention terrible allergies, how can one ever relax?
And oh gosh – as the future of teens driving around and being out and about and needing lifts left right and centre looms, I’m going to wish I’d never started to enjoy the jolly grape juice in the first place.
The world is a terrifying place when you consider all the dangers out there. There is so much scope for injury that it can drive a person to drink, and then, once you’ve had one, you can’t drive to a hospital should the need arise.
What is a parent to do?
Answers on a post card.