Miss Puff Takes a Hike

 A week or two before our vacation, as I was happily shelling the season’s first fresh peas, Miss Puff pulled out the phone book and asked, “How do you spell orphanage?” 

"Miss Puff, you are not going to an orphanage."  

“I DON'T FEEL LOVED,” she wailed while trying to squeeeeze out a token tear or two. “You and daddy are always ganging-up on me.” 

“No we’re not. Remember what I told you last night? We are like coaches and it’s our job to make sure you play by the rules.” 

Not bad, huh? 

“So, do you want buttered noodles or will you eat some tomatoes and basil like me and daddy?” 

“I don’t want dinner! I don’t want to live here anymore!”

Oh, for Pete's sake! Can't I just enjoy a moment of domestic bliss, savor my adult beverage, catch up on some NPR, enjoy the first and last half hour of sun we’ve had all day without having to listen to you complain about how bad your puffy little life is??

Gimme that phone book! I know how to spell orphanage.

Before Miss Puff had a chance to reach the hysterical stage of her performance, I calmly offered her an alternative. “When I was your age, I ran away. I packed a bag of stuff and headed down the street. Do you want to run away?” 

Her tears came to a dry desert stop and she looked at me like I just told her we're having chocolate for dinner. “Yeah! I’m gonna start packing some stuff right now,” she said gleefully as she scurried about the house gathering up her gear. “Let’s see, I need mouth wash, a towel . . . ”  

Hello? There’s no bathroom where you’re going, girlfriend.

“You might want to use the bathroom before you go!” I shouted matter-of-factly. “It’s hard to find a place to pee when you’re running away.”

After a few kisses and several requests for police intervention if she wasn’t home in an hour, Miss Puff ran away. 

Not long after her departure, my neighbors called to let me know that Miss Puff was camping out on their front lawn; the crafty little bugger even got the neighbors to help her set-up her Groovy Girl tent and let her use their bathroom. So much for my words of runaway wisdom.

I have to admit that it was hard to enjoy my nummy Barbera d'Alba knowing that my daughter was soon to be just another statistic on the chart of young run away girls. What would she do for money? What about all the creepy dudes lurking about? And, more importantly, who's the Weisenhiemer that told my kid to run away?

One hour later, just as Mr. B and I were about to dig into the perfectly buttered peas, the front door opened. 

"Miss Puff, is that you?” I said in my most sincere mommy voice while trying to squeeeeze out a token tear or two. 

I ran to embrace her, scolded her running away, and made her promise never to do it again. After our joyous reunion, I fixed her a bowl of steaming-hot buttered noodles and set about enjoying my peas, pasta and, finally, my glass of wine.

Here is what to drink when you’re child (or you) feels the need to runaway:

2009 Marchetti Verdicchio dei Castelli di Jesi, Classico Superoire, Tenuta del Cavaliere ($17)

Buttery texture with wild flower notes, zingy ginger, and a touch of honey. Think: Annette Bening in a bottle -- lovely, stylish, and smart. 
(The Market at Birch Bay)

2009 Bricco del Tempo Barbera d’Alba, ($9.99)
Tart pie cherry and red plum flavors followed by a soft, earthy, lentil soup finish; medium-bodied with great aromatics.
(Haggen Food and Pharmacy)










Next time, I'll share a taste of what my vacation was like AND tell you about my JOBS! I finally got kicked-off the government's payroll and am no longer one of the millions of unemployed (I'm sure it comes as no surprise that I'll be drinking to that!).

xoxox,
VinoMama