Though I come from a family of beer drinkers, I was never much into drinking. I rarely drank as a teenager, and even into my 20s, drinking didn’t play a big part in my life, other than the fruity cocktails I enjoyed on occasion.

Then two things happened: I had kids, and I discovered wine.

At first, I drank wine only socially, but sometime in my early 40s, I started drinking a glass of white wine around 5:30 every day. I would sip it as I finished up whatever piece of writing I was working on, certain that the low-level buzz inspired more creativity in those last few minutes of work.

My husband — the family cook — would be in the kitchen making dinner, and the kids would inevitably be running around or speed-talking at me as they passed by my office on the way to play outside. It was my modernized and gender flip-flopped version of the dynamic I remembered fondly from childhood: my dad sitting at the kitchen table drinking a beer and reading the daily paper, while my mom cooked and the kids ran around. The wine helped me relax, shrug off the day, and transition from work mode to parent mode. I loved it.

Each week, when my husband was making the grocery list, I would say, “Don’t forget the wine.” It became a bit of a joke: Judi needs her wine! Is it wine time yet? I always wanted to make sure a bottle was chilling, and that I didn’t have to drive anywhere between 5 and 6. If I did, I’d be super irritated that I’d miss my glass.