Go ahead, make out with the cart. I needed an excuse to get more vodka.

“This is why mommy drinks,” is the chorus to my children’s daily verse. No truer words have I ever spoken under my breath than when my children are sick. Well, unless my husband is sick. Then it’s, ‘this is why Smirnoff needs to make it easier to mainline vodka.’ (We’re not terribly picky around here.)

See, dear readers, I occasionally read the baby books when not using them as bedside dishware, and I regularly attended baby classes in between snarfing down Soft Batch Cookies from the hospital vending machine. However, I seem to have missed the part about the biological mechanism that produces a magnetic attraction between my baby’s mouth and any surface that exceeds the average number of bacteria found on the floor, in front of the toilet – which is 740 bacteria per square inch for those who need a precise tipping point.

However, armed with this knowledge I still stand powerless against the forces of biology, and have repeatedly failed at my post as keeper of antibacterial wipes. So, instead of being locked outside with only a beef stick, moon boots, and their wits, my children spend most of the winter cooped up in the house, passing various strains of consumption and dysentery back and forth. And giving them to me. And driving me to drink.

While enjoying a cocktail and pondering turning my children over to the CDC purely for scientific purposes, it occurred to me that when I was little we didn’t even have internet so we had to walk up hill both ways to get to school. I also remembered that when I would get hurt my mother’s first response was to come at me wielding a washcloth and a bottle of alcohol. The cloth was there to absorb the extra alcohol as she poured it over my open wound, searing my tender flesh and making me question if there really was a God. All of this paint was inflicted in the name of staving off infection.

That was what Oprah would index as my “Aha! Moment.”  Alcohol kills germs, so the more I drink the better I can fight infection. So I went to Google, and what do you know? There are actual studies that say whiskey opens up your blood vessels to help your sinuses repair themselves, and beer helps fight RSV. So, basically, I can rest assured I will die of liver failure, not that a super bug like in that movie where Jude Law looks like he’s one of the Heads in Jars from Futurama.

The super scientific conclusion: if there had been more boozing in Oregon Trail, we would all still be sitting in our elementary school computer labs.

oregon-trail-died-of-dysentery

The more you know,

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