Elephants

When you invite people over for food, it's usually important to have something to eat in the house. Similarly, when you invite friends over for drinks, it's customary to have more than just our usual milk, water, or fruit-and-vegetable juice available. And so it was that I went to the shops again this morning.

B and I, as many people do, spent our twenties expanding our tastes for drinks both fruity and hoppy (though not at the same time), well-chilled or mulled, spicy, bold, well-rounded, Russian, slammed, shot, bubbly, flaming, muddled, colour-changing, or with a slice of clove-studded orange floating in them. Whether it had a nice creamy head or came in a fancy glass, we were probably happy to try it.

Then we had a baby. First there was the ritual giving-up-of-alcohol-during-pregnancy for me. And then the cautious re-introduction of just a little alcohol while nursing. And then we moved from Texas to Maryland and somehow I felt as if we were moving trans-Atlantically and couldn't take anything comestible with us, so I gave away our few bottles of spirits and we arrived here without so much as the makings of a gin-and-tonic to our name.

And thus, almost, we have stayed. We like a beer with dinner, we drink wine now and then, but hard liquor has not been a part of our lives recently. My aunt and uncle stayed with us before Dash turned two, and gifted us with a bottle of gin - for some reason - when they left. It has - I kid you not - sat unopened in the freezer ever since.

(B would like to point out that that's not strictly true. We've only lived in this house for 18 months. Before that, it sat unopened in the freezer in our old house. And there was probably some period when it was in transit from one freezer to the other and therefore was in no freezer at all.)

My point still stands. We're pathetic, that's what. I had great intentions of having gins-and-tonic this summer, because what could be more refreshing, right? But then I was stuck looking for tonic water that didn't have high-fructose corn syrup in it, because I couldn't believe that was necessary. And when I finally found it, in the organic supermarket, I couldn't believe it was that expensive, so I didn't buy it. B eventually circumvented all this by going out one day a few months ago and just picking up a bottle of Schweppes, HFCS and all, and that has sat unopened in the fridge ever since.

So today we said, "Right. Let us have on hand this Christmas the makings of cosmopolitans. And maybe bellinis."

I went to the supermarket that has alcohol. I needed more sugar for icing the Christmas cake anyway (more on that in a few days, I promise) and more bread for Dash's interminable peanut-butter sandwiches (guess what he's having for Christmas dinner?), and a bottle of wine for the day that will be in it, since we've already started into the one I got before. (Note to self: should stock up with more than one wine bottle at a time. Maybe need to throw a party so people will bring us wine.) I got a lime, for the cosmo's. I got peach juice for the bellinis. We already have a bottle of prosecco in the fridge that needs to be used.

Then I realised the supermarket-with-alcohol doesn't stock spirits. So I got back into the car and drove to the liquor shop. At least this isn't Pennsylvania, where no supermarkets have any alcohol at all, and you can't even buy beer and wine in the same establishment. And nothing on Sundays.

I picked up a bottle of Guinness to make beef-and-Guinness stew with for Christmas-Eve dinner. And a bottle of vodka for the cosmopolitans. I contemplated the Cointreau, but it was too expensive. (I have only just now looked at that link up there and discovered that's meant to go in the cosmo too. I think we used to make them without.) Where's duty-free when you need it? When will we ever be travelling light enough to think it's a good idea to add a heavy glass bottle to our luggage on the way home from the airport?

I came home. We still need at least cranberry juice for the cosmo's, and there are only two beers left in the fridge. Entertaining will have to wait for another trip to the supermarket. In the meantime, would anyone like a bellini? I think we'll be having some with our bacon and pancakes on Christmas morning.

Mabel raiding someone else's Christmas drinks stash two years ago

Assimilation

One of the other mothers at school (didn't I start yesterday's update with that line too?) said to me yesterday that they had been slacking off this year on their family pumpkin-patch visits. I tried to explain how this tradition strikes non-natives.

Well, I've only been here, what, almost nine years, and we've only had kids for the last five and a half, and pumpkin patches really don't impinge on your consciousness as a child-free adult. And then there's the requisite number of years spent thinking that it's a particularly ridiculous American thing to take your small child, dress it up (preferably as a pumpkin), stick it in a pile of hay with some real pumpkins and take photos. Because that's what happens at pumpkin patches, right? So at this point we're only really starting to work past our natural Irish cynicism and embrace the autumn tradition.

Dash's first year at nursery school, he was in the youngest class, and their "field trip" to the pumpkin patch took place in the school playground, where some straw was strewn and pumpkins placed. I didn't really even notice it, except that a pumpkin appeared in his tub at the end of the day. We took it home and put it outside the front door, where it probably sat and rotted sadly until about January. His second year, the day of the field trip was our second day back after a trip to California for a marathon, so he wasn't really feeling up to school. I ended up walking him down to the lake where the patch for the "big kids" was created, and accidentally discovering that it was quite a nice thing.

2010 pumpkin patch

They bring a lot of hay and a small pumpkin for every child (and a few over) down to an area beside our local lake that's a short walk from the school. The kids walk down, find a pumpkin and have their name written on it by a teacher or parent (to avoid disputes later). Then there's playing in the hay and snacktime, and then we all walk back up, pulling the pumpkins in little wagons. Somehow, it takes most of the morning, and it's delightful. Last year I was happy to find I was scheduled to co-op on the day of the walk, and this year, with Mabel, I embraced my role as self-appointed event photographer (along with most of the other parents there) and went along just for the heck of it. They're always happy to have a few extra helpers to stop the kids from pitching into the lake or burying a classmate irretrievably in the hay.

2011, Mabel helps

So we've still never been to a real pumpkin patch, the sort where the pumpkins actually grow. I'm ashamed to admit that I bought our big pumpkin in the supermarket this year - on the other hand, it's the first year I've actually gone and purchased one to carve at all. At real pumpkin patches, there are scarecrows and hay rides, and probably farm animals to pet, and all sorts of things I can't even imagine. Maybe next year we'll assimilate a little further and do that. One step at a time.