Anyone for a shame sandwich?

shame food [sheym][food] - noun

Any semi-nutrative substance of which the unabashed enjoyment and indulgence is immediately followed by disgrace and regret (i.e. bacon)

Ah, bacon.  The bane of every vegetarian's existence.  This decadent treat of royalty and serf alike has attached to it a certain stigma, one of gluttony and over-indugence. Just the smallest taste and one can feel their arteries clogging, but just TRY resisting it's siren call, your mouth waters at the smallest hint of it's savory aroma.  Let's get something straight first, bacon flavor: no, I had a less than stellar experience with bacon flavored popcorn that I'd prefer to forget (what?!? I HAD to try it); actual bacon: YES. I, for one, will fly in the face of this shame food and enjoy it openly at an event intended to celebrate just that: Denny's Baconalia, A Celebration of Bacon.

I called a friend (and her husband) to come with me so I wouldn't be eating this bacon feast alone in a booth at the neighborhood Denny's (I do have some standards).  I think her acquiescence had more to do with her husband overhearing the conversation and picking up on the word "bacon" in repetition.  Bacon is like man catnip.

While there were so many items to choose from (really, there are only 7), I opted for the bacon flapjack, aka. the shame pancake.  They put bacon in the batter...no joke.  It was actually pretty good, something I think could be enhanced by my fry-the-pancake-in-butter technique.  Should I make this at home, there will be NO proof that I, in fact, made and ate the entire batch...

The shame pancakes were followed by the most ballsy move I have ever encountered in a mid-priced diner chain.  THE BACON SUNDAE.  No, they're not kidding.  Ice cream, maple syrup, and bacon.  Aside from fair food, this has to be up there in the shame food category.  No one admits it when they finish an entire gallo...uh, I mean pint of ice cream nor do they openly snatch the last vesitges of bacon with a moistened finger off their child's plate, the table, AND the cooled frying pan from whence the bacon came.  

When the glasses of shame were served, my friend was a little freaked out.  (I'm assuming it's because her husband, undaunted by her reserve, ordered one also and should his bowels have exploded as a result of an influx of pork product and dessert topping, she has to do the laundry.)  Her exact words?  "That's so weird."  I can't argue, a bacon sundae sounds terrible, but be that as it may, I tend to subscribe to the thinking of the iconic font of wisdom, Lorelei Gilmore, who said (in the episode The Breakup, Pt 2) "It looks so gross which is usually the mark of a great junk food."  I could expound on that, but that's fodder for a future blog.  On to the shame sundae...it was actually GOOD.  And believe it or not, I thought it could use a little more bacon.  Really, vanilla ice cream and maple syrup are so cloyingly sweet they would put a rhinoceros in a sugar coma, so the savory saltiness of the bacon was a welcome addition.  It's not my dessert of choice (tiramisu *sigh*) but I could totally see myself getting comfy with a few scoops of vanilla, some left-over bacon, and a good book at some point.

Until then,

AC 'n' Rory's Mom

The longest 10 minutes of my life

Yesterday morning, Clayton was up and dressed planning to take the car to get our new inspection sticker, AC was sleeping, and Rory and I were taking our time getting up.  I heard the garage door open and the car start, soon after, AC padded into my room rubbing her eyes asking where Daddy was.  Finding out he was leaving, she ran into the living room yelling that she was going to watch him leave out the window.  I continued to nurse Rory and finish my coffee.

I wasn't but a few minutes later that I heard Clayton come back in, but didn't hear him talking to AC.  I laid the baby in the bed and went out into the living room asking Clayton where AC was...he didn't know, he hadn't seen her when he came in.  Attempting to remain calm, we started calling her name, flinging open doors and looking under beds.  No answer.  Afraid she had gone outside to find Daddy, we both took off outside: backyard, front yard, and down the street both ways screaming until hoarse.  I can only imagine what the people dropping their kids off at the babysitter down the street were thinking.  I was still in pajamas and house slippers all looking like Medusa with hair sticking up everywhere screaming and yelling for Jesus to "help me" up and down the street and mumbling that she "doesn't have shoes on".

I feel I must explain a little something here.   Due to a reaction AC had at 2 months old when I was on penicillin, we had always assumed she was allergic just to be on the safe side even though her reaction didn't look like allergy.  The day before yesterday, her pediatrician had put her on a penicillin antibiotic for strep in order to test the theory and, thus far, she had shown no signs of an allergy.  All that I could think was that she had gone into anaphylactic shock somewhere and I couldn't find her.

Fearing someone had come by and abducted her, Clayton called 9-1-1.  I ran back into the house to check just once more, to make sure the baby was ok, and to call my mom to tell her to start praying.  Standing there looking at Rory, I heard a cough...and it hadn't come from the baby.  There she was, in the living room, hiding behind the couch laughing hysterically.  I was filled with a combination of relief and white. hot. rage.  I hadn't realized I had been holding my breath from the time I heard the cough until I let it out in a manner to rival the terror inspired by a pissed off silverback.  AC went from laughter to hysterical sobs as I roared God-knows-what, dragged her out from behind the couch by whichever appendage that was within reach, and tossed her on the couch.  She, of course, did not want to hug me, but I was clinging to her straining and flailing body alternately admonishing and kissing her.

Clayton came inside to affirm that we had found her so we wouldn't have a fleet of police out looking for her.  She ran to Daddy, probably to flee the psychotic nut-job that invaded her Mommy's body and I crumpled on the couch in racking sobs of relief.

Now, I know that some may titter while reading this because they, themselves, have experienced this with their children, but I have to tell you, I don't know if I will EVER think back on this and laugh.  From AC waking up to my breakdown, no more than 10 minutes passed, however, it was the longest 10 minutes of my life.

Until then,

AC 'n' Rory's Mom

The Mom's Night Out Revolution

Declaration of Momdependence

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all moms are created Capable, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are a Life, some sort of Liberty and the pursuit of  Non-Motherhood related activities.  To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world; you know you're a Mom in need of Momdependence if:

1. You've ever crawled around on the floor at 2 a.m. looking for a pacifier as if the fate of the free world depended on it.
2. You've not hesitated and caught the vomit of your offspring in your hand.
3. You've ever been applauded by your toddler for going in the potty.
4. You're daily "me-time" consists of frantically folding laundry, picking Cheerios up off the floor, and putting away toys while the kids nap.
5. You've ever called your husband "Daddy" when alone.
6. You've ever finished half a children's program before realizing your kids are napping/at school/not home.
7. You've engaged in a 15 minute discussion about your children with total strangers in the grocery store.
8. You believe that grannie panties are one of life's little pleasures.
9. You know that no amount of determination or positive thinking will prevent the "windsock boob".
10. You've ever found yourself locked in the bathroom with a piece of chocolate cake telling your children that "Mommy just needs a minute".
11. You've ever found yourself singing "Party In my Tummy" while eating something particularly tasty.
12. You've ever had to consciously stop yourself from telling your husband "no, sir" and sending him to time out.
13. You have no issues sniffing another person's butt for a poopie diaper.
14. You've had serious and prolonged conversations about the contents of said poopie diaper.
15. You've had to transfer your personal items from the diaper bag to your purse before going out without the kids...wait, where IS your purse??

We, therefore, the Representatives of the united States of Mom-dom, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Families, solemnly publish and declare, That these united Mothers are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent People, that they are Absolved from all Motherly duties (at LEAST one night a month); and that as Free and Independent Mothers, they have full Power to levy a Group of Like-Minded women, conclude Dinner with reckless dancing, contract Daddies or Babysitters for said Night, establish a No Phone calls unless there is Bloodshed Rule, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent Mommies may of right do. — And for the support of this Declaration, for all other days and nights apart from Momdependence Day, we pledge to each member of our family our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor.

Until Then,

AC 'n' Rory's Mom