As a 1930s Wife, I'm. . .

49 As a 1930s wife, I am Average Take the test!

I'm surprised I did this well, actually. . . In this area, I aspire to "average"! Heck, I aspire to "barely passable" in some of these categories!!

The test felt biased as I was taking it, as if it were trying to make some kind of feminist point while being cute. But really, I'm not so sure it isn't sort of accurate. At any rate, I can't complain. What do you think (all of you)? How did you score? There's a test for husbands, too, incidently. . .

New Post, Other Blog

At Booknotes from Literacy-chic: I've actually posted something!! Amazing! I'm also trying this out to see if the trackback feature really works. . .

Speaking of Body Spray. . . [This post is rated PG-13]

Why take a bath if you can use Axe and get laid? My husband got the most offensive postcard ad that I think I've ever seen for Axe Body Spray. I don't even like to think of the implications--of what KIND of body smell you're trying to cover up before you *ahem* "make your move." The interesting thing about Axe is that my husband says the name, for him, evokes wild Norsemen (not "perfumed parlorsnakes"--or prettyboys). Well, they made their move, too. Not too consensual, you know?

Here is some of the rhetoric:

--"Act fast--Don't let opportunity pass you by."

--"Make a move. . . In record time."

--"Now, you'll never miss an opportunity."

--"Keeping these items [Axe body spray, Stride gum] in your pocket will make sure you're always prepared for a spontaneous hook-up." [ED: The safe-sex crowd must love that, too!]

Apparently, Axe has a new "bullet" size. Funny, there's a vibrator and a blender that also share that name.

Don't send ads for casual sex to my home, please. I have an 11-year-old boy, thanks. I know I live in an apartment complex in a college town but you know, I would prefer if you didn't send ads for casual sex to the apartments around me, either. I already worry about living with children in a complex when more than a few couples are "shacking up." *sigh* To think we moved here to be in a better school district.

Grumpiest Momma in the World

-or- Why Doesn't Lysol Make a Body Spray??

I have been babysitting a friend's children, ages 3, 5, and 13 mos. on Monday and Tuesday while she teaches, from about 9:15 to 11:45 A.M. I alternate between feeling like this is a real challenge, and that it is pretty cool. I have those "losing my mind" moments. My days of watching 5-7 children at one time are long gone, and while none of the children were mine (they were cousins and siblings), they were known entities, and I was familiar with the dynamic between them all. There is a difference watching non-related children! On the other hand, it is really not difficult, just busy, and there is something vaguely comforting to know that there are kids all over one's house playing.

So on Tuesday, she proposed lunch. Now, I was raised by a mother who avoided playplaces like the plague. In fact, she avoided them in part because of the plague. And if we ever did venture into places like Chuck-e-Cheese's, she knew that (although the kids were certain to get sick afterward) at least I was there to make sure they weren't lost or trampled. So I am a total germophobe. I am deeply suspicious of other children--ones whose parents I don't know. And I am not thrilled with play area precipices and climbing walls and giant tubes that swallow up toddlers. I can't do like so many parents and "let the kids play," particularly when I don't know the kids in question. So I end up watching my own child and monitoring every body else's. This makes for a very stressed momma. I don't think my son went on public play equipment until he was 6. I may exaggerate, but not much.

Now, my friend is very laid-back with this sort of thing. Because of her, I have taken Doodle to a "splash park" (for a birthday party)--unfortunately, my friend's mother will forever think of me as "the one with the little girl who ran and ran and it took three of them to keep track of her." I have taken Doodle to a children's museum with my friend, who laughed while I trailed my too-young-for-most activities toddler. I have taken Doodle to an egg hunt with other kids AND let her play on playground equipment. And, finally, I have taken her to McDonald's. *sigh* It is because of this friend that "fry" was among Doodle's first words!! It's a good influence, in a way. I have been venturing to parks (especially sparsely populated ones) with my three lately, and I am not sooooo paranoid. . . But I still find these situations incredibly stressful.

So we went to McDonald's. With a HUUUUUGE play area. And, as my husband points out, those things really aren't cleaned. At least with outside equipment, the sun is beating down on them, and rain, and some germs are cleaned off. Gee, thanks, hon. Have I mentioned that he & I think a lot alike? ;)

This McD's is newer (hence, cleaner) than some. It has separate (though not divided) areas for ages 3 and under and for bigger kids. When we got there, after eating, the place was positively overrun, and yet many kids had left while we were eating (!!). Being with someone else means that you can't turn tail and run, however, unless the other person shares your particular brand of paranoia.

The first thing I did--before putting down the baby in the carseat--was run the 7-13 year olds (who were using it for "base"--and that means "recipe for rowdiness") off of the toddler area. I asked them, "How old are you? Then leave this part for the smaller kids!" I asked on little boy of 6 or 7, "Are you 3 years old? No? Then go play over there!" People thought I was insane, but no one could argue. A parent or two came over to see what the crazy lady was up too, and why she didn't leave the other kids alone. After surveying the situation, they instructed the older ones to keep to the other area. Then, I just had to make sure no one ran UP the toddler slide, careening into descending toddlers.

A few little girls were being more calm, so I relaxed my vigilance, although they were older. They took an interest in the toddlers and set up "house" on the toddler side. One took Doodle for a "walk" to an area where a video game had once been, and I followed (and was advised by other mothers that there was no outlet there--yeah, but some little girl has my toddler by the hand!!) I had to interfere with the game (predictably, perhaps) when "house" became a bit too aggressive. Seems they had to prevent her from going down the slide as "discipline" because she wouldn't listen to them. I set them straight. Fast. "Ummm, no. She's my little girl and she doesn't have to listen to you. She is too young for this kind of game. Move aside so she can slide." I was always the playground crusader for justice--the "we don't have to play your game if it involves paying money to go down the slide" kind of kid. Yeah, the stick-in-the-mud.

I did fuss at a boy of about 13 who had been playing rowdy and bounded onto the toddler set, but he was going to check on his little sister of about 18 months. So I said I was sorry, and felt a bit foolish, but when we got there, he was one of the ones I had to kick off.

The moment I relaxed my vigilance and talked to another mother, Doodle either escaped to the "big" side, or little girls "grounded" her. But she had a good time (and had her clothes changed and was wiped down with Baby Magic before her nap) and only my son was conscious of his mother's hyper-attentiveness (which she has imparted successfully to him, but more so. . .) You've never seen an 11-year-old so disapproving. Except me. But I'm trying to encourage him to have fun and leave the worrying to me! And maybe worry less myself in the process. Or not. . . There are definite benefits to keeping an eye one's children in public spaces.

Remembering my Grandfather

He would have been 83 years old today. He died from complications following a heart attack a week after my brother, whose birthday is June 5th, was born--in 1994, after being in the hospital since my birthday for almost 6 months. I was in my first year of college. He bought me a $50 French dictionary while in the hospital. I was taking French, which he, like my grandmother, spoke fluently from childhood. I had a particularly distinguished and knowledgeable professor--older, I think, than my grandfather--who gave me a recommendation (at my grandfather's request) for a good unabridged French dictionary. A friend found it at the Yale bookstore (in the days shortly before Amazon.com), and though unable to speak for the tubes, he wrote that she should buy two.

I visited him once in the hospital. I went to read to him from Fitzgerald's translation of The Odyssey, which I had read recently. I was overwhelmed, and had to leave as I grew cold and developed the tunnel-vision that I understand precedes fainting. I promised to return but never had another opportunity to visit.

We shared a love of learning and of books. As the oldest of his grandchildren, he would talk to me about ideas. He admired the Southern Agrarian writers, and found T. S. Eliot because of writers like Alan Tate and Cleanth Brooks. I would learn more about two of these authors after his death. I believe he would have liked to talk with me about Modernism. I believe that he is proud that I will be graduating with a Ph.D. in August. He would have liked to read my dissertation, I think. And though he may not have approved of some of my actions along the way, he would be--is, perhaps--proud of where I am now, with my husband and my children.

He was an important influence on my conversion, albeit posthumously. When I was in high school, he showed me a book that surprised me--about Catholic teaching on sexuality--and told me that he would give it to me to read when I was ready. Unfortunately, I have never read the book, which is packed away now in the house my uncle built for my grandmother after he died so that she would be closer to the family. She is no longer able to live there. If I knew which book it was, I would like to read it now. I remember his desire for me to have that perspective, and, knowing so much more about it now, I have so many questions about that book. I have not thought about it in years.

After he died, years after and for years after, I had dreams--that he was still alive, that he had not really been dead, that he recovered from his illness. I still have dreams about him sometimes. I believe that in some ways I was closer to him intellectually and in temperament than any of his family, at least in the latter years. In more than one of the dreams, he urged me to convert to Catholicism. It sounds irrational to say that those dreams influenced me, but they did. Besides my grandmother, I am probably the only family member who offers prayers for him, and then not as diligently as I should. Perhaps he knew that I would one day offer prayers for him.

So many answers are lost to me now. I wonder so much about his faith. I remember that he would receive brochures from Thomas Aquinas College. Had I graduated more conventionally instead of early, he might have had me apply there, though I was skeptical of not being able to major in English. He had volumes of classic texts that he would buy from what I believe was a small Catholic press. I have no idea, now, what the press was. I remember that the endpapers were designed with their repeating insignia, but as it had no significance to me then, I can't recall whether it was a symbol of Catholic significance. I believe it was.

If he went to Mass when I would have been old enough to remember, I can't say. I think he was among those disappointed by the changes following Vatican II. He was certainly disenchanted with the local Archbishop and the administration of the Archdiocese. He had no visible signs of his faith that I can pin down, unlike my grandmother, who had her rosary--and should still. I will hold in my heart always my image of her, sitting on her porch with her rosary, waiting in case my mom and I were able to visit her with my Doodle, but thinking that it was too late for us to come. I have wondered if he received Last Rites. I hope so. I believe my grandmother would have seen to it. I was disappointed for his sake that his funeral, sadly presided over by a painfully nontraditional priest. My aunt, Hispanic Catholic-turned-Protestant-Evangelical (off & on), liked the service. She felt that the funeral was for the survivors rather than the deceased. I think that a traditional Catholic funeral would have healed many of us more effectively. . . Certainly, it would have moved me closer to the Church sooner.

I have so many memories that I can't contain them all here. I remember as a very small child, I would always tell him "bonsoir" as I was leaving his house. It was the special word that I associated with him. I remember his stubbly cheek, and the smell of red wine on his breath in the evening. I remember running as a child of 5 or 6 to bring him a Budwieser from the old fridge on the "next door" side of the shotgun double when he came home from work. I remember his retirement party when I was in 5th grade--a year younger than my son is now. How he would sit on his porch swing on the back porch. How he hated the squirrels who ate the cypress balls and caused the sticky cypress mess to fall on the bricks of the backyard. I was recently reminded of this by some responses to this post about Darwin's lost tomato. My grandmother would tie homemade "sacks" around the figs in her fig tree to keep the birds from getting them before they were ripe; my grandfather would shoot the squirrels with a b-b gun to keep them out of the cypress tree.

I wrote this poem as an undergraduate in response to his death:

In the Garden of the House
on Dublin Street

Monet never painted one like this:
How the colors follow no pattern.

How within the chaos each leaf has
Its discernable place, and therefore

No one is very surprised to see
The cypress tree that is their brother;

Not surprised by the year, chipped in stone.
This garden swallows the dead. I know

When my grandfather died, he became
A porch swing, wooden, or an oak, life.

How life is dull, while death and still-life
Are colored alive, like the flowers.

How he never painted brown swallows
Dying on stone fences in gardens.

He had seven children, six of whom survive. He has 13 grandchildren, 10 of whom he knew, and 3 great-grandchildren who were not fortunate enough to meet him. He is strong in many of us. My siblings and I--all except one--inherit his eyes. My Doodle inherits more than that. She favors that side of my family, perhaps more than I do. I inherit his fear of death--especially, of a painful or lingering death, which is exactly what he had. I hope to be able to greet him one day. I pray that we will be reunited. When I was younger, growing up without a grounding in formal Catholicism, I was convinced that relatives who had died before I was born, specifically, my grandfather's parents and my mother's older brother, were looking down on my actions, taking an interest in or being proud of me. I wonder how I had a sense of the Communion of Saints--it was not something I learned from the Protestant churches I had attended. I never imagined that they had become "angels," as popular culture would have it, and I did "pray" to them in a way. I hope that he is looking down on me, on my children, and on all of my family. When I pray for the souls in Purgatory, I pray for his especially. If you could, please offer a prayer for him for his birthday, so close to the anniversary of his death.

Politicians and Morality

I like to say that I consider "personal integrity" important in a candidate. By that, I mean accepting the consequences of one's affiliations, words, and actions--standing clearly for something and sticking with it, or else being able to admit when one realizes that one is wrong, has been proven wrong, or discovered to be wrong. Now, this is not to be confused with morality. I can respect a candidate's personal integrity while considering his or her morality suspect. However, I consider that to be a separate issue. And if I feel that a candidate is suspect morally, but has personal integrity, well, the next question is in what areas the suspect morality comes into play, and how it will affect his or her execution of duties and things like national security. I don't expect any candidate to be spotless morally. I might expect his or her moral weaknesses to exist outside of the realm of public duties, but that's different. I think there are differences of scale when it comes to politicians' moral transgressions even when it becomes public. I don't necessarily think that every politician who cheats on his wife and is found out should automatically resign, though 'fessing up and accounting for oneself and taking responsibility for actions are on the menu, and the higher up one gets in government the more accountability I require. Illegal actions are another matter. Actions that interfere with one's execution of office are another matter. Actions that undermine the integrity of the government in power need close examination. Now, "morally suspect" and "morally abhorrent" are different things entirely. Even if there is some measure of personal integrity, I can not support someone whom I find morally abhorrent. I wouldn't like it, but I would support someone morally suspect with little personal integrity to keep out someone morally abhorrent. So yeah, I'd take John Kerry over Obama.*

*Though I do hold politicians who publicly declare themselves to be Catholics and imply their full Communion with the Church to a different standard. But you know, there are enough people out there to point out the wrongs of their behavior. On what grounds do you criticize someone who will claim no distinct belief?

Potty Training Questions--and Some Tentative Answers

In response my plea for potty training advice and encouragement, here, which refers back to my potty training despair post, here, Lilybug and Melanie have raised some interesting questions about readiness. Lilybug has been contemplating potty training Lilybaby and observing the much invoked "signs of readiness," while Melanie asks:

"How do you know when your child is ready? What are good books to read? Should I even be worrying about this now or should I just wait and see?"

Well, I've never been one for reading lots of parenting books. I just kind of "wing it"!--you know, like teaching. ;) Actually, I've always had a lot of parenting advice courtesy of my mom, and having seen her in action, I have trusted her advice. So I can't recommend any books on potty training. It went off without a hitch with my son--and that was a long time ago, so I don't really remember the details. Having said this, I have heard potty lore, and I guess I've stubbornly decided not to try the quick & easy gimmicks of potty training.

I still think I'm a decent gauge of readiness. Readiness for me means

1) They show a conscious awareness of bodily functions
2) They are reasonably capable of communicating the need to use the bathroom
3) They show an inclination to use the bathroom.

The only one I question is that last one. Why, you might ask? Because an inclination to use the bathroom is maybe not developmental. Especially if they can "regress" in the way I'm seeing. Surely, she is developmentally ready, since she was almost there. But she's not particularly inclined right now.

Forgetting for a moment my "not reading parenting books" policy, Doodle has made me issue a plea for parenting books in the past. Blog-friend Sarah R. lent me her "baby whisperer" books--which I am long overdue in returning (sorry!!). The books are sensible, readable, and amusing. Here are some tidbits about potty training from Secrets of the Baby Whisperer for Toddlers:

--"I don't believe in pushing little ones into doing anything their bodies aren't ready for them to do, but at the same time, we need to present opportunities for children to learn. Sadly, too many parents are confused between two issues: behavior that needs to be taught and natural progressions (developmental milestones that automatically happen)."

[insert helpful metaphors]

--"Physical readiness for toilet training depends partially on your child's sphincter muscles. [. . .] It was once believed that these muscles didn't mature until the ace of two, but research is now divided on the subject. In any case, training is both a matter of physical readiness and practice."

--"A three- or four-year-old whose parents keep waiting for him to come 'round on his own already has control over his sphincter muscles, but he might never show an interest in 'going potty' unless he's given the right kind of guidance, encouragement, and sufficient opportunities to learn."

--"You must be observant . . . so as to identify the best 'window' for starting potty training--when your child's body and mind are ready and yet before the inevitable child/parent power struggles begin. For most children, the optimal time to begin is between eighteen months and two years." [proceed to guidelines with helpful acronym]

I want to pause there for a moment. I have never heard it phrased quite like this. Especially this phrase, which means so much for me with Doodle: "before the inevitable child/parent power struggles begin." I've clearly covered THAT topic before. In short, I missed the optimal window. But that's because of other received wisdom on potty training. You've all heard it--don't potty train when there is some major upheaval, life or family event. So what was going on last summer, when Doodle was about 18 months? I was pregnant and we were moving. Common wisdom says don't potty train around a move or when a sibling is expected. Which was fine for me, because I was exhausted from pregnancy and teaching and didn't think I would be able to do it effectively. However, a few times last summer, she did use the bathroom. On her own. No prompting from us, only assistance. Hello!! Window of opportunity!! And in retrospect, the birth of a new sibling was not traumatic for her as I feared it would be. We might have had a bit of potty training regression, but how would that be different from now?? So I waited. First mistake. *sigh*

I don't know if this helps with the readiness questions. I'm not sure it would necessarily have helped me, clouded as I was with anxiety and pregnancy hormones. You know the cliche about hindsight.

So more from the "baby whisperer." Here is her Help-ful acronym (ha ha):

H--Hold back until you see signs that your child is ready [She explains the signs that the child is aware of the sensation of peeing, etc.]

E--Encourage your child to connect bodily functions with words and actions

L--Limit your child's time on the potty

P--Praise the Lord and pass the toilet paper! [She extols the virtue of silliness and parental encouragement.]

Now, most of these I have known, but it's helpful to be reminded. Apart from missing the readiness window that would have lessened the conflict of the process, I have gotten a bit weak in the "Praise" category. 'Cause you know, after a while, it's just not that exciting. And life intervenes with all of its frustrations, and the newly mobile infant is eating paper in the living room, and "YAAAAAAAY!!!" changes to "yay. now wipe," and well, what the heck is the point if Momma isn't excited, right? Then I started getting impatient with accidents, since she was already doing it and at some point it should become expected behavior, right? So the rewards system came to seem more like punishment, I guess. *sigh*

The baby whisperer further offers the "Four Ps of Potty Training": Potty (as in potty seat), Patience (which I am sorely lacking), Practice, and Presence ("sit with him and cheer him on"--I've been remiss on this one sometimes, too, and I just couldn't wait until she would take the initiative to go & try herself).

So where do we go now that I've botched 2 of the signs? Well, this morning, as she clung to the nighttime pullup, I rather unceremoniously ripped it off. To stop her indignant wails, I changed the subject, and we went to look for the Cinderella panties that I bought recently. (No, it's not the same as Disney princesses. Trust me. It's a matter of marketing.) She has a sing-along with the mice from Cinderella singing about fixing Cinderella's dress for her. So when we found the panties, we sang the song, and she went to the bathroom without a fight. We haven't repeated that success this morning, but no accidents either. She simply has never wanted to "go" before the point of crisis. At least, not for a while. Perhaps because for 1/2 of the time, her efforts were spoiled by bubble bath irritation. Perhaps because of sheer toddler stubbornness. My first was never so toddler-y.

To deal with the not wanting to stop & use the bathroom, Academama suggested a timer. I may have to try this. There should be some novelty & excitement to hearing the buzzer or chime and saying, "Potty time! Potty time!" Perhaps we can circumvent the stubbornness. M&Ms as rewards don't work for her. She'd just as soon do without them as submit to someone else's will. I just hope that the battles of wills that have already occurred won't have any lasting effects.

So these are some preliminary answers and my revised strategies. Any thoughts? I'll keep you posted. . .

A Post-Script

In all of this, I have been bothered by the rhetoric of potty-training, in which "the earlier the better" is the standard mentality. This usually has to do with the convenience of the parents, the expense of diapers, the convenience of the day care workers, and other things that are absolutely irrelevant to the toddler or his or her well-being. The other problem I have with this is that it sets expectations for the parent and the child, to which they are held accountable. I'd like to stop being such an over achiever and not let it bother me, but truth is, I'm judging both of us because of it, and that's the last thing we need right now. :( So I'll be working on that, too.

And Another. . .

Inspired by Jen, I decided to see what I was blogging about last year. On June 11, my post-ultrasound and post-move post contained the following observation:

Overall, now that the major part of the stress is behind me, I can declare, tentatively, that the move was a success. The baby is much freer and happier, albeit getting banged up from running around boxes. She goes to sleep much earlier because she exerts more energy during the day. We take occasional walks around the complex and have even gone swimming once. It is a bit hard to keep track of her sometimes, but she has some little designated play places and is exploring new (old) toys (courtesy of brother and aunts & uncles)--like dishes & Potato Heads. She is also expressing interest in potty training, but I don't know if I'm ready for that. . .

Yeah. Window of opportunity. Missed it.

Being More Direct. . .

. . .Than in my "woe is me" potty training post. . . Anyone have any similar experiences to share, tips, advice, encouragement? I'd love to hear from you. Really. Please. I know you're out there--I have Sitemeter!!

Utter and Complete Failure. . .

That's where we are with potty training. After 2 months. After Easter, things were going great. We were almost completely potty trained at the beginning--heck, in the MIDDLE of May! No pullups except at night, and then, they often stayed dry. Then, we had setbacks. First, the pullups stopped staying dry at night--no big deal. Then the nervousness about public toilets flushing turned to all-out terror. That transferred to fear of all toilets--at least, sitting on them with the water beneath. We have to put a potty-seat on the home toilet with the potty-chair insert inside of it. The fuuny thing is that she still likes to flush it herself. When the terror reached its peak, we lit a candle at church on a particularly difficult Sunday and realized later that day that most of the extreme difficulty had started when we switched bubble baths. And I even bought Burt's Bees!! All natural my foot--yeah, natural except for the perfume!! :( We took care of that, and she stopped fighting us. And then, she got sick. Toilet kind of sick. The kind you don't want to clean up so you put the pullups back on. It only lasted about 24 hours, but that seems to be enough. We have total and complete not-caring-if-we-wet-ourselves kind of regression. At least, today. Twice. She did make the effort a couple of times, but I'm still totally frustrated. At least we don't have the pressure of fall child care riding on this. Maybe I'll go petition St. Elizabeth Ann Seton.

And then have a beer.

My Tenuous Relationship with Alcohol

-or- The Post in which Literacy-chic Reveals Herself as a Complete Lightweight!
(so go easy on me, Darwin)

I was married with a child before I turned 21. This little fact cut in to my party days considerably, you might say, though I never missed the experience. Truthfully, I would never have had the opportunity living with my mother while going to college. Not that she objected to alcohol. I remember when I was a very young child, probably about 3 or 4, that she would always have a glass of Lancer's red wine. I would get tastes sometimes. I didn't like it as much as Lipton tea with milk. Around the same time, when it was just the two of us, my mom would often take me to the lakefront after school and sit by the levee eating Cheetos (which I always called "chee-wees" and she would drink a Heineken.

Beer was something different. I never liked it. But I was around it. When I would stay with my grandparents during the summer, or after school, or whenever, I would always bring my grandfather a cold Budweiser. It was a privilege. My grandfather always had a glass of red wine with dinner, and even made his own wine on occasion--dandelion, elderberry. . .

Alcoholics were a part of everyday life, though I never demonized alcohol because of it. One aunt's boyfriend, one uncle, probably my grandfather, my mother's second husband--his poison was Jack Daniels. One aunt was known to be less-than-sensible with alcohol, and another coped with high school with a bottle of vodka in her locker, but only drank wine to try to dull the pain of her immobilizing headaches by the time I was conscious of it all.

Although "tastes" were a-plenty in my family, I never really liked beer. When I was old enough to go to pubs and have others buy drinks for me (roughly 17), I came to like Guiness. I could actually handle a pint with little problem, and only a little tingly feeling in knees. I was never trusting enough of other people to let myself get more buzzed than that. When my husband and I were dating, I would sometimes try a new beer (sips--confidentially, I have rarely had a whole beer to myself). At this point, there are a few distinctive ones that I like, though I am much more the connoisseur of red wines--particularly Spanish reds ( I like Tempranillo and Garnacha) than beer. Recently, I have become enamored of a couple of brews--Blue Moon Belgian Ale is about the lightest I will go. I bought their summer brew last night--can't wait to try it. While their standard brew has orange citrus notes, the summer one has lime. I was also impressed lately by the Shiner Hefeweitzen, though I don't like their Boch. Shhhh! I could get kicked out of Texas for admitting that! I prefer Ziegen Boch, though I don't like it enough to buy a whole 6-pack. Confidentially, time was that a 6-pack would last 6 months in my fridge. We once had one in for so long that the whole thing turned to foam before we tried to drink it. Not so lately. . .

Now, that's not to say that they move quickly. Chiclette was baptized on March 1st. We just polished off the last of the 2 6-packs we bought that weekend--umm. . . yesterday. Pathetic, no? We've gone through a bottle or two of wine in that time, but that's used for cooking. And as wine goes, we've got a 7 year-old bottle of sweet Greek wine in the back of the fridge. Dessert wines are a bit different, though. Now, as for the Irish cream. I didn't drink it because I found out I was pregnant with Doodle--February of 2005. (I will do occasional wine when pregnant, but nothing more.) Does that stuff go bad? And my mom gave us a bottle of Champagne in December of the same year. I'm thinking of making a soup out of it.

Cooking with beer, I have found, is tricky. I tried to make a St. Lioba Beer & Mushroom soup from my Monastery Soups cookbook with a darkish beer that I would have LOVED to drink. Instead, the whole thing got flushed. It was bitter beyond belief. *shudder* I bet that Pumpkin Ale we got a few years ago (and kept for almost a year) would be good in a recipe!

In recent weeks, I have stepped up my beer and wine consumption--somewhat dramatically--to one (bottle or glass, respectively) every day or two. I wonder about this a bit. It also corresponds to a drastic increase in my coffee consumption. I drink the coffee in the morning to wake up--mentally & physically. In the evenings, I drink a glass of wine or have a beer to de-stress & unwind. Who needs yoga when you can foster a little chemical dependency? While I know this is still light-to-moderate, I wonder at myself a bit, more because of what it indicates about my mental state. On the other hand, if it works. . . *shrug*

When I start switching the times of the coffee and alcohol, then I'll worry.