A smelly 8 year old boy

Sweetpea outside our holiday apt in Caux, France. France = wine. right?

My poor husband reached through my 8 year old son's school backpack over the weekend looking for his water bottle and found something miserable. Apparently something soft and squishy. Yes, my 8 year old does have a lunch box. Will he use it? No. Lunch goes into it. Lunch barely gets eaten. And then lunch ends up at the bottom of his backpack where it goes unnoticed until it stands up and announces itself.

Armed with a bottle of 409 and a bottle of Febreze, dad removed the offending remains of a lunch from definitely WEEKS ago and disposed of it in the garbage. I hope the 409 did a better job of disinfecting (until I can toss the whole thing in the wash next weekend) than the Febreze did of removing the odor. A stench followed Buddy around as we left for school and it feels as though it has left a permanent odor in my car.

Now back home I realize that the garbage is wreaking with the smell from all the paper towels used to clean the backpack so the bag has got to go. But each time I open the garbage drawer, while I find myself recoiling from the smell, I also find something appealing about it.

Ugh.

What could be appealing about rotting food?

Well it was a bag of rotting grapes. And now I realize that the garbage, my car, and my 8 year old son now smell like the cellars of a vineyard. If you've done any wine tasting or touring, you've certainly encountered the distinct smell of fermenting grapes. SJ and I spend as much time touring vineyards all over the world as possible, and happen to love that smell.

When we were teenagers, my younger brother (now an MD) brewed beer in our basement while he was in high school under the guise that it was a science experiment. Yes, it did fly with my parents. Also doctory sciencey people. Perhaps Buddy will start making wine. Will that fly with me? Sure. It's science. Right?