Welcome to Second Ferment! Wine pairs well with life ... and food, travel, people, work and play. Grab a glass and join me as I explore the wine scene in Ottawa, Canada, and beyond. Love hearing from my readers, so please leave a comment or drop me a line. Cheers! - Bethany

Sunday, November 18, 2007

Single Mom Detail

I love my husband.
He brings me wine.

I was on Single Mom Detail (SMD) all this week while he was away on business, so I consider it entirely appropriate that he returns from his travels bearing delightful libations in which I can partake, hopefully enough to forget the exhaustion of the week before.

I honestly don’t know how single moms do it day after day. With hubby travelling at least three times a year, SMD doesn’t exact quite the same mental, physical and emotional trauma on me as it once did. But it’s still a shock to the system when you don’t have that extra set of hands and eyes to pick up where you leave off, like when you desperately need to go to the bathroom, for example.

The Doodle is perpetually busy, being the typical two-year-old. There is no “sit here and play with your toys” while I go in the shower; now, I have to corral her into one room, bribe her with juice and put on Curious George if I don’t want her unravelling the entire roll of toilet paper or trying to figure out how the electric toothbrush works.

She’s fascinated by everything and anything, but gawd help you if that curiosity isn’t satisfied RIGHT NOW. Then the excrement interfaces with the air conditioning in a big, bad way. Our little drama queen performed brilliantly all week while Daddy was away, sweeping the awards for Best Crocodile Tears, Best Dramatic Performance At Dinner and Best Choreography for her elaborate interpretive dance in the stellar production of Angry Toddler, Screaming Bandshee. I tried cajoling, begging, bribing, threatening … in the end I gave up and just let her vent. When she realized I wasn’t paying attention anymore, she would sidle over to me, look up through the pools in her eyes and pathetically inquire, “Cheese?”

I didn’t just want a glass of wine by the end of the week. I NEEDED one.

So when my darling husband returned home with a couple of bottles picked up at the duty-free, I nearly wept with relief. (Oh yeah, and I was happy to see him, too.) We had a nice Chianti Classico tonight with my first attempt at eggplant parmigiana (a little dry, and low on yield, but surprisingly flavourful.) The wine, Villa Cafaggio 2005 Chianti Classico, was typical of the style: dry, not too heavy, subtle aromas of red fruit and not very tannic. It was a bit too mild for my tastes, but it's an easy drinker that would pretty much go with anything. And I wasn't about to complain. It was wine, after all.

Hubby’s travelling again later this month and in the beginning of December—to much warmer, sunnier climes, of which I am insanely jealous. Not for the beach-side cocktails or ample doses of all-natural vitamin D and temperatures bordering on mid-July. No, I’d suffice with not having to wake at 2 am to suck the snot out of a sick toddler’s nose or have to listen to Name Your Tune ONE. MORE. TIME.

There better be more wine in that suitcase when he gets back, I’ll tell you what.

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