Alright- so I need to work on my Spanish a little, but I’ll have plenty of opportunity to do so in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, which is where I will be for the next week, with the whole fam! When I get back, I promise to have lots of funny stuff to tell you, and little tips and tricks about how to get through an airport with two toddlers, how to not get so drunk in Senor Frog’s that you end up laying on the tile bathroom floor (that’s a story that we affectionately call the “Just One Margarita Incident”), and how to get through a week of Griswold-style family fun with your sanity (and marriage) still intact!

Bon Voyage!

 I have always enjoyed wine- it didn’t matter to me that it was “2 Buck Chuck” or Barefoot Merlot in a magnum size for $5.99 at Target…until I became a bartender at a sassy local wine bar. Then it was time to buckle down, and learn some real facts about wine.

The first couple of nights, I pretty much B.S.’d my way through. A couple came in with a $160 bottle of highly allocated Pinot Noir, and asked me to taste some with them. “When in Rome….”, right? So, I poured myself a glass, swirled it around a little (I didn’t know why I was doing this, I just knew that I’d seen people do it when they taste wine, so I did it to pretend like I knew what I was doing), then I smelled it “It smells like ripe fruit…grapes and plums” I remarked. “Yes! It is a very ripe wine” the wine collector lady said, nodding in approval to my novice opinion. I tasted it, “I taste hints of cardamom…” I said, pretending to know something about wine, when in truth, I knew nothing more than it makes me yell at my kids less, and have sex with the Husband more. “Yes- it IS cardamom…I’ve been wondering what spice I’ve been tasting…you must really know your wines!” the wine collector lady beamed. I just smiled and conitnued to sip my first taste of an expensive bottle of wine.

It was then that I decided that if I was going to sell expensive wine to people, that I should at least know a little more about it. Though, I really have determined that so much about wine is subjective, and what one person might smell as “earthy, woodsy, with slight mineralities”, might smell to someone else like dirty socks forgotten in the corner of the room behind the door.

To help me on my quest to learn more about wine, I bought a book called, “The Sommelier’s Guide to Wine: Everything You Need to Know for Selecting, Serving, and Savoring Wine like the Experts“ by Brian H. Smith. It was basically a Wine 101 type of book, but it really helped to crack the code of wine tasting for me. In the book, Smith goes over the different types of grape varietals, and gives an informational guide to tasting wines. He also defines terms for tasting, such as ripe, woody, light and buttery. Brian goes on to discuss what regions certain wines are produced in all over the world, and what types of wines are most expensive vs. least expensive. There is also a section on etiquette, if you are ordering wine at a restaurant.

If you are just starting to appreciate wine, or you’re like me, and you have always just bought the largest amount of wine available for the cheapest price, then this book will be a great catalyst for you to become a more sophisticated wine consumer. Smith breaks all of the fancy words and regions down into layman’s terms, and tries to make the wine tasting and ordering process as simple as possible. My customers will be very happy to know that I at least have the vocabulary to help me B.S. my way to selling them expensive wines!

I can’t think of a single person in the world who has less privacy than a Mom. For example, this morning, the kids are quietly watching “Yo Gabba Gabba”, so I decide to sneak off to the bathroom to read yesterday’s paper (never got the chance to read it yesterday), while I answer nature’s call.  The second my pajama pants are down, and I open the first page, in barges my daughter, “Mom- I wanted to show you the painting I painted for you!” “Yes, Honey- that’s pretty, Mom’s going potty- you can show me in a minute.” I say in my “nice-mommy” voice as I shut the door, and remember to lock it this time. Where was I? Ahhh…yes…I sit back down open the paper, start to go…BAM! BAM! BAM! (bathroom door is being kicked by my son)…”Mooooo-mmmmmyyy! Sister said I a brat, Mom! Mom? MOM!  Are you in there?” My attempt at hiding and being quiet long enough so that his attention span would carry him off to something else to pester actually works once in about a hundred tries….any luck today? “MOM- I said are you in there? MOM!” he says with his little mouth pressed right up to the door, causing his little voice to reverberate through the whole bathroom. “Yes, Son! I am going potty- go be good until I get out….if you’re good, I’ll get you a treat when I come out!” Bribery almost always works when my little hide-and-be-quiet trick fails. Little footsteps pat-pat back down the hallway.

With a sigh, I open back up the paper, with a second attempt to relieve myself…”MOM!” I hear my daughter yell, which causes all of my muscles to tense back up…”WHAT?!?” I say in a less-than-friendly, impatient tone, which has become quite higher pitched, considering that I have now twice physically stopped my body from doing what it is supposed to do at least once a day in an s-shaped fashion (accoding to Dr. Oz and Oprah). “I need to come in there- my hair ties are in there.” she logically explains. I reach over, turn the doorknob, open the door and tell her to get everything she needs for the next five minutes so that I can go to the bathroom, and don’t ask or show me anything until I come out…please and thank you! She picks out three hair ties, and walks out. I shut the door.

I sit back down, don’t even bother with the newspaper, and just try to get down to business…at the worst moment possible in this whole endeavor, the door flings open, my son (who’s three) is standing at the threshhold of the bathroom door, wearing a construction hard hat and nothing else, “Mom- I working hard, Mom!” As cute as this normally would be, in my current state, I am unable to see the silver lining, and just try to keep on keepin’ on. “Mom- you going potty?” I nod, trying to concentrate…”Are you going pee, Mom?” I nod, force a half-smile…”And poo Mom?” I don’t answer…”Poo too, Mom? In there?” he says as he points to the toilet. “Yes, Son, pee and poo.” I say, defeated. My moment of the day to read for three minutes, and go to the bathroom by myself, with dignity, has once again turned into a spectator sport, and a race against time to finish my daily duty (yes- you’ve correctly caught my play on words there), without an audience, or having to play twenty questions about my bodily fluids.

Moms have the least privacy of any living thing…..