Guilt

I don't think it's wrong for adults to go to bed a mere hour after a two year old hits the hay. In fact, I'm pretty proud that we manage to stay up until the clock strikes 8 o'clock. But when ambulance sirens can't wake us-- that's when the shame hits. What if BB was crying? Or an earthquake hit? Or those sweet elderly neighbors who I just blogged about last month had a medical emergency?

Oh wait. That actually happened.

Last week, our cool neighbor ended up in the ER, and we didn't even wake when the ambulance arrived.

Here's the guilt. I did wake up as the medical team was preparing to leave. The engine must have revved, or a door must have slammed-- and I got out of bed to peek through the blinds to see what the noise was. What I saw was a fire truck and an ambulance, and I froze. I knew I should run outside to help, but I told myself I wasn't even sure the hubbub was about our pals.

Oh the lies we tell ourselves.

This isn't a terrible story. Our neighbor is okay. But this is one of the moments I'll regret. A time when bad judgment and weak character got the better of me. Like the childhood pal I didn't invite to the wedding. Or the friend's father who came to visit from out of town, took a train 40 miles to meet BB, and who I did not drive back to his hotel. Or my roommate's unaffectionate dog who tried to nuzzle into my lap for a rare cuddle, and who I pushed away-- he had a seizure two seconds later.

I think about these moments all the time. I run through my action and inaction and I grunt a little in shame.

That's what I'm doing now. Grunting in shame.

My New Year's resolution: don't take the unaffectionate way out when it comes to other people. Even if you have to get out of bed.

Beer & Pizza

The two things BB says to me after we get home from work/school every day are:

"Put on comfy clothes, mommy?" This means my gray sweatshirt and striped jammie bottoms.

"Want beer, mommy?" From the bottle. Straight.

Yep, she learned my routine through observation. Mommy shame.

I made these nice quinoa pizza cupcakes the other day and although she refuses to eat them, I feel in my heart that my efforts to provide healthy food cancel out my affinity for elastic waste bands and beer at 6 p.m.

Quinoa Pizza Cupcakes

3 cups cooked quinoa

2/3 cup pureed spinach (sauteed in oil and garlic first)

2 eggs

tomato sauce

mozzarella

Mix the quinoa with the pureed spinach and eggs. Scoop into mini cupcake tins. Top with a dollop of tomato sauce and some mozzarella. Bake at 375 for 15-20. Cool and serve.

Celebration Drink

It's been a gnarly month. But then someone died and left my non-profit a nice generous gift so it looks like I won't totally fail the organization that hired me to raise money for them. At least not this month.

To celebrate, I took a deep breath and invited a girl from work out for a drink.

That came out wrong. We weren't celebrating the death of my generous donor. In fact, the girl from work probably didn't know we were celebrating. But I was shouting all over the inside of my anxious, neurotic self.

Only hitch about my party plan-- I had BB in tow. Now in Chicago, this was no problem. I could take my 1 1/2 year old daughter out just about anywhere give her some cheerios and enjoy a single beer before 7 p.m. bed time.

Two year olds are different. And I forgot to pack a diaper. So we started the evening off with a real bang and I spent most of our chit chat time trying to keep the stink bomb I call "lovebug" away from my almost-friend's smell detector. Then came the dumping of the rice on the floor, closely followed by the scooping of the black beans on my silk skirt.

Friendliness wasn't at aces either. BB wouldn't smile at my friend. She banged her metal spoon on the plate. And she blew our cover by telling me to change her poo poo.

Kind of eroded my credibility from earlier in the evening when I was all braggin' that I haven't let being a mom change my social life-- no, not at all. (Actually true since my social life's best moments from the past five years include ducky slippers and Rooster repeating back the last sentence of my latest monologue to prove he was listening).

It was all sort of awkward-- the trying too hard, the rearranged food, the...perfume. But fun. As was the long soaking bath BB got once we got home.