Tonight was the annual Beaujolais Nouveau party hosted by talented local agency, The Verdi Group. Due to a confluence of unplanned events, long client meetings, an emergency stop at the office, and an East Avenue traffic jam, coupled with a need to be home by 7:00 p.m. for the hubby's escape to a coaches' meeting for our son's Odyssey of the Mind team, I could only stay for 40 minutes. Argh.
But a great 40 minutes it was. Tables and tables of difficult-to-find, artisan cheeses accented with tiny flags denoting their country of origin with a little text on the variety, cow, etc. All to die for. My favorite was a mustard yellow, curried cheese that I just Googled and cannot find online. So I hung with my girlfriend Jennifer, enjoyed a glass of wine and ate heaps o' cheese.
Both Jen and I won free bottles of wine based on our submissions to their "cheese pun" contest. I was thrilled because who doesn't want a free bottle of wine (?) but also savvy enough to realize that all entrants won. Hey, you gotta be in it to win it. Whey to go! Gouda work . . .
Today's pic: Jen with her fabulous bottle of wine.
Son #2 has a neighborhood friend who he hangs with a lot. Cute kid. His parents are both prominent professionals in the community. Yet last time Monkey slept at their house, the family didn't have dinner until 11:30 p.m. (Steak! He was very excited to tell us the next day.) Last night, he was supposed to be sleeping over there but at ~8:30 p.m. they changed their minds and came here. No dinner yet.
Is that strange? We're not European.
Monkey called home one Saturday ~10:30 a.m. and asked me to pick him up. Why? Their whole family was still asleep and he was bored. I can't imagine the last time our family slept past 8:00 a.m. (and that's sleeping in). Then again, we usually eat dinner before midnight. Color us crazy.
I discovered this jewel in the basement this morning.
Just now this little neighbor boy was chatting with me about how he can't wait to be a teenager. Why? The parties.
Me: What do you think happens at those parties that you can't do now?
Him: They have fun.
Me: You don't have fun at parties with your friends?
Him: Not that kind of fun.
Me: What does that mean?
Him: Teenagers get to drink.
Me: What do you want to drink?
Him: Beer.
Me: Why?
Him: Because it's fun.
Sh*t. Does it really have to start this early?
Him: My mom drinks wine every night. She says it's fun and it's supposed to be good for you. We call it "Mom fuel."
Ugh. Methinks I should tone down my evening wine so my kids don't start to think it's cool somehow. Or maybe I should just embrace it . . .
UPDATE: We just received a call from his house at 3:10 p.m. asking if he was here. I put him on the phone. This is what I heard.
"Yes, I'm here."
"I did tell you."
"Yesterday."
I guess they just noticed that he was missing for a day.
Son #1: Give me the remote. You don't even know what you're doing.
Son #2: Don't incomplement me.
Son #1: Dude, the word is insult -- not incomplement.
Son #2: See? There you go again. Mom! He's incomplemating me all the time.
* * *
And now, in the midst of the end-of-break mayhem, the hubby is leaving to play in his jazz band at the Little Cafe as I host a sleepover with a couple of Son #1's little friends who are already glued to the Xbox, hyperactive and picking on Son #2 who keeps screaming/whining, "Stop killing me."
Hello wine glass. Whatcha knowin'? I've come to get this vintage flowin' Ain't ya got downtime for me? Do do do do, feelin' groovy.
Last night, the boys and I went skating at the neighbors' house across the street. It was a beautiful starry night and snowing. On their rink, under the lights, it felt like a dream.
After I took my skates off, Liz and I sat on the wooden bench, cozied up under a blanket (as it was only 16 degrees out), had a glass of wine and watched the kids play shadow tag on the ice. And I thought: It just doesn't get any better than this.
My dad used to have the 45 of a catchy little tune entitled The Drinking Man's Diet which contained the lyrics:
Drink, drink, everyone drink It's not as bad as we used to think With every Manhattan Your stomach will flatten So drink, drink, drink!
I was singing this on my way to work this morning after I heard the DJ on the radio state that although resveratrol is found naturally in red wine, "the dose you're getting with your nightly glass is probably nowhere near enough to make a difference."
Well then, time to polish off the bottle! My vision might get blurry but, for now, I can still read between the lines . . .
I went to a really fun CAbi trunk show last night and bought this little number.
The picture doesn’t do it justice; it’s as cute as can be. Or maybe it’s just because I’m so stunningly attractive that I can get away with it. (Hmmm, maybe I should close the comments on this posting.)
Actually, I went to the CAbi site before the party, didn’t particularly love the clothes, and vowed that I wouldn’t buy anything. Maybe it was the wine talking but when the clothes were right in front of me, they took on a life of their own. I wanted everything in the collection. Well, maybe not everything—there were some Maude-like dusters that wouldn't behoove me—but I loved more items in the collection than I was prepared to. And, strangely enough, the dusters looked great on some of the women there. I also liked the Veranda skirt but two casual skirts seemed like overkill since I either wear suits or jeans and rarely anything in betwixt.
If I was looking for a new career opportunity, I think selling these clothes in other people's homes could be fun. Then again, I think driving an 18-wheeler would be fun, too. Maybe I should just stick with management consulting.
