This Is My Blood: Great America Apple Pie

A disastrous potty-training campaign marches on, at times involving both carrot and stick. This week's carrot is a bag of M&M's, doled out after successful trips to the loo. To make the prize for such a monumental achievement more visible and thus more motivating, it was suggested that the candy be placed in a clear mason jar on the counter. For all the farmhouse chic adorning our current home, we surprisingly do not have a spare jar. After agreeing that it would be irresponsible to buy an empty mason jar from like Target or some shit, we thought it be best to buy some product that comes in a clear jar, and then just finish that product. My idea was moonshine from a beer distributor. Pam's idea was a pickle jar. If you come to my house and tell me that my M&M's taste like kosher dill, then you probably know which idea ultimately won. But so now I have this fucking jar full of moonshine in my fridge, and I need to drink it at some point, so why not today? Well, maybe because Pam is at work and I'm watching the kids, and I probably shouldn't slam a jar of flavored liquor that amounts, basically, to the equivalent of a six-pack of Miler Lite in alcohol. So I am going to spread it out, chopping it up it Tony Soprano would a body. For the next eight hours, I will drink approximately three ounces of moonshine every hour on the hour, and document my experiences here. In the name of finishing my drink, in the name of drinking something new, in the name of eating chocolate candies that don't have a briny sheen, I ask you to wish me good luck.

1:30 PM

Context: I was planning on starting this at noon, but of course I completely forgot. Martha was going crazy, but she's asleep now. Willow's been asleep since noon. I've decided to use the first 30 minutes of my 90-minute break to watch Dig!, the best rock doc of all time.

Notes on the alcohol: Not as bad as I thought! It immediately gives me acid reflux, but the burn of alcohol in the mouth is not as overwhelming as I feared. It tastes like a sour apple more so than apple pie.

2:30 PM

Context: The kids are still sleeping, which is normal, but I'm still thankful for it, because that means everything is going smoothly. Ordinary is good when I'm home with the kids. Also, the people who are buying our house are here, doing measurements. I actually go way back with the husband, back to the old Northeast neighborhood, so it isn't weird that they'd stop by. Might as well take advantage of knowing the people you're buying a house from, ya know? In any case, I had to sneak my alcohol.

Notes on the alcohol: I also spilled the alcohol, because it's really hard to pour out of those fucking mason jars (good thing we won't be pouring M&M's any time soon—Willow has yet to take that many shits). But cleaning the spillage off the counter was the first time I got a whiff of solvent-y alcohol-y odor. Not the worst thing in the world, but definitely a turn-off. I want to enjoy what I'm drinking, not hold my nose and gun it.

3:30 PM

Context: Well, I just spent a half hour trying to get the girls out of their respective cribs. Martha is more of a general nuisance, grabbing everything and crawling everywhere and causing mayhem. Willow is more of a specific nuisance, refusing to get her pull-ups changed (and, it should go without saying, refusing to sit on the potty). I need a drink. Ya know, if 3 oz of moonshine can be considered a "drink."

Notes on the alcohol: This shit has a weird aftertaste, but it's the same aftertaste you'd get after drinking a sober apple cider, which I also don't like, so YMMV. It makes your mouth taste all sticky-sweet. It would probably be good to chase this with a beer, if I was able to. 

4:30 PM

Context: I finally got her into a fresh pull-up. I had to run into the room all excited with my phone out, yelling "let's take a video!!" and I had to let her commandeer my phone on camera mode while I wiped her. That was at the top of this hour, but now everyone is pretty calmly eating chicken nuggets (Martha's is blended, and she is not liking it). Crazy day, huh???

Notes on the alcohol: It's growing on me. Still a little tough at first (bracing) and afterward (sugary aftertaste, burns a bit in my stomach), but that moment in the middle is mellow and hits the right balance. Not too tart, not too sweet, just like a fresh apple. The moment doesn't last long enough (is that a metaphor? I dunno, ask me in three years).

5:30 PM

Context: Okay, so dinner went fine I guess. Willow duly ate her chicken nuggets and applesauce. Martha played along, putting the chicken mash in her mouth, but after dinner I pulled out her tray and she had pulled a Kev C*****, as there were bits of food hidden everywhere. Now I'm chilling, hoping that everyone can quietly watch Finding Nemo while I clean up a little bit.

Notes on the alcohol: I'm not noticing some carbonation in this drink. It's very subtle, but it's there, and it gives the drink an extra edge that it may not even have needed. Still, I'm drinking it. I think I underpoured in the first half of this eight-hour time frame, so I compensated by overpouring a bit this time. Looks more like 4 oz. I'm obviously not even close to be past sober in any capacity, but it does feel good to pretend like I'm "drinking all day."

6:30 PM

Context: currently writing this on my phone, sorry for the typos. Martha is in bed. She went down easily, though most likely it'll unravel at like 3 AM tonight. Good thing I'm not drinking. Willow is watching Secret Life of Pets 2, I have the Phillies on mute. All is calm. 

Notes on the alcohol: I think all the sugar is starting to give me a headache. I had a wild vision of playing a game of Hermit with just a jar of moonshine, but then took another sipped and realized that if I drank this whole thing in 30 minutes then I'd pay for it in more ways than one. 

7:30 PM

Context: I feel like most of this post has been me bitching about my kids. I promise it's not as bad as I make it seem here. Willow is a very normal two-year-old, unreasonable and adorable in equal measures. Martha is a very normal ten-month-old, no boundaries and no qualms about raising hell. It's a combination that I struggle with as a dad, but that's on me. I can at least walk downstairs at 8 PM and for the most part hear silence. Tonight was a little weird—I put Willow to bed, but right before kissing her goodnight, Martha start crying. She had already peed through double-lined cloth diaper. I guess we kept her hydrated today. In any case, I was able to juggle, and now I'm ready to blast the last two servings of this fucking moonshine away.

Notes on the alcohol: Awful at this point. My throat feels like sandpaper. I feel like I've been sucking on a candy apple lollipop the entire day. I just need some water. This is not a good drink.

8:30 PM

Context: Pam's home, and she's questioning whether I'm drunk right now. I promised her—and promise you—that I am not. Do the math for yourself. 14% alcohol at 3 ounces is slightly less than one beer. One beer per hour can be processed by the liver. I'm not drunk. It wouldn't make sense. I am tired though. I'm sure we'll go to bed early and I'll have my eyes closed but my heart will be palpitating because of this damn moonshine. 

Notes on the alcohol: Never again.

NOTES

BEER: Great America Apple Pie

GENRE: Moonshine

ABV: 14.0%

BREWED BY: Great America

LOCATION: Detroit, Michigan

PURCHASED AT: That beer distributor on York Ave., up the street from the Planet Fitness

PAIRED WITH: see above 

GRADE: 1.5 pukes out of 5

BEER COUNT: 360