Walk the Wine

My children's piano teacher is also a friend of the family. She lives two blocks away and we are her only students. She has a "real" job during the day.

So when she arrived for the lesson last night, we learned she had a really long day and offered her some wine. But alas, like a sloshed Mrs. Hubbard, our wine cupboard was bare, except for half a bottle of some really nice port. (Note to self: buy wine.)

"No thanks. That'll put me to sleep."

I have another friend who has a similar response to red wine. Darn it, but nightcaps don't work like that for me.

When I was little, my mother would give me a cup of warm milk at night to help me sleep. Now the thought of warm milk is accompanied by an involuntary gag reflex. Until I realized that the latte that I like so much is more hot milk than hot espresso. So rather than take a bottle of red wine with me to bed, I'll slowly decrease the amount of espresso until I can drink the warmed milk like I could when I was a child. Nothing like warm milk (or good sex, but that's a blog for another day) to help you sleep.