It's Still Hanukkah so I have an Excuse...

not to blog. I am very busy lighting the candles and fitting myself for Joe's jeans at the Nordstrom half-yearly sale. I am very busy cooking matzo ball soup and dressing Archer up in suspenders. I am very busy with family activities and catching up on my reading and eating like a maniac and going to see movies while Archer hangs with Momz momz. I am very busy working on the manuscript that i told myself would be finished by Saturday and will not. I am busy planning all-night Scrabble parties for New Years Eve and playing with blocks on the floor with little man. I am so busy that I have no time to blog. Not yet. I'll start writing after the holiday. The Jewish holiday. Shalom.


Seven Months OId, Son : A Rap

My name is "your mommy" and seven months ago today,
You busted on the scene in a quite dramatic way. (Ouch)

It was really, pretty bitchin when your eyes looked up at me,
All freshy to the world and shit, with so much ish to see

I dressed you up in FUBU and we strolled out of the room,
Onto the streets of L.A., son, in the midst of the June gloom.

We rolled to see L.A. Philharmonic, cause (word!) that's how we do
And we got all crazy cultured at Getty, LACMA, and the Zoo.

I was really quite impressed on the day you got your shots,
You looked at me like "bitch, that's nothing! now put back on my socks!"

Every day when we together, I'm so proud to call you mine.
Even at the very start when I hadn't slept in nine (days.)

Now you're sitting pretty, next to me while I be rhyme'n
More than just a son, you are my muse and partner in cri'ime

Seven months ago today, I knew you were the one,
That I would die for, Bugsy. (True) I'd kill for you, son.

I love you, little man, more than any thug before
You give my life a meaning that is wicked-fresh hardcore.

Say, word...


P.S. Merry Holidays to all.
We out...

Snowpeople Gone Child: A Holiday Joke


GGC Does Not Recommend: Goodnight Moon

WTF is so great about Goodnight Moon???

Goodnight Moon is arguably the most well-known American Baby Book which says a lot about America I think. For one, the book sucks. It says nothing. It barely rhymes and although the pictures are fine, it's just very ho-hum booooooring. No diss on Margaret Wise Brown. Runaway Bunny is genius. I love everything about that book but Goodnight Moon just sucks. Ass. It's an overrated piece of baby poop-pop-lit and I am pretty sure I am the first to say it. (try googling GOODNIGHT MOON SUCKS. Nothing comes up... until NOW!)

We received many books at Archer's baby shower. Being voracious readers many of our friends/strangers bought Arch books. Not surprisingly we received 12 Goodnight Moons. Over 50% of Archer's library. No offense if you bought us a Goodnight Moon and are reading this but how unoriginal are you? Psh. I exchanged all but one of the GNM's for books like Outside Over There (my childhood favorite) and Aesop's Fables. Books with at least *some* substance. I mean. Good Dog, Carl says a whole lot more than Goodnight Moon and it doesn't even say anything!

Anyway, this has been a recent epiphany because last night as always I collected Archer's board books from his bookshelf. We opened Goodnight Moon and I stopped mid-(the following) sentence:

Goodnight moon/
Goodnight cow jumping over the moon

Yikes. How the hell did this book get so popular? Moon and Moon? Not only that but the iambic pentameter is totally off...

I kept reading, slowly until I ran into the climax:

Goodbye nobody/
Goodnight mush

Unless I am missing the pre-post-modern, existential significance, I am pretty sure that the author just ran out of ideas and stuck in, nobody because of a deadline. I'm not saying that children's books have to mean something, but "Goodnight Nobody?" Pulease.

I will admit that I am a bit snobby when it comes to books. It probably has something to do with the fact that pop literature has made it near impossible to write/sell a novel that does not boast Manolo Blahnik sandals on the cover. Or a martini. Or pink. Authors like Knut Hamsun, Virginia Woolf and Colette would never get the chance to be banned today because no one would publish them. Too much character, not enough story- etc, etc.

I imagine there are scores of children's book authors whose manuscripts have been turned down because of this precedent:

A comb and a brush/
And a bowl full of mush*

Anyway. I am realizing as I write this how terrible I sound. Shame on me, but seriously shame on us for kissing The Emperor's ass. There are wonderful children's books out there. And then there's Goodnight effing Moon.


*wtf is up with "mush?"

Party Etiquette for Girls Gone Child

Saturday night a friend of ours had a party. Being the only invitees with a child we asked if it was okay to bring Archer. Our friend said, "of course!" So we brought him. All dressed up with Archer hanging on my hip, bundled up in his starry-sling. No one seemed to mind and if they did I was too busy macking down on Sushi and Seaweed salad (and picking fallen bits off Archer's hat.)

I had a couple glasses of wine and enjoyed myself as one would at a party. When Archer woke up, he smiled at the people and we made our rounds, cheese and crackers for me, smooshed banana and a ba-ba for him.

After a while, my arm became tired. Twenty pounds of little boy is one heavy accessory. Sheesh! Plus, he had dozed off again and was sweating so I wanted to put him down. We laid him down in our friend's room on my coat with blankets and his nu-nu.

When he started to fuss, we said our goodbyes and exited stage left. Perfectly fine, right?

I guess I'm one of those Momzes who think its okay to bring their child everywhere. Museums, concerts, parties as long as baby isn't screaming his bloody head off/ making anyone's life miserable.

Last night we went with some friends to see King Kong at the Dome* and got a babysitter for the first time. It was the first time I had been in my husband's car in almost a year (the carseat is in mine so...) and I felt naked. Naked!!!

And what about you? Do you have your pie and eat it too? (I prefer pie to cake.) Do you take your kid/baby/ with you or do people like me annoy the hell out of you? It's okay. I can take it. Bring it on.


*the movie was ok. Quentin Tarantino was watching two rows in front of us w/ his entourage of DP's and AP's and PA's. A fight broke out between a drunk man/abusive father (throwing his kid around) and some angry Hollywood hipsters. It was kind of funny because people were literally throwing things and yelling over his head and QT's eyes never left the screen, even as security escorted the entire row behind him out of the theatre. I forgot how dramatic trips to the movies can be in this town. I also forgot how no one can leave the theatre until the credits are finished. It's a respect issue because everyone works in the "Industry," (my husband included) and every stunt-man, craft service worker, 3rd assistant to the gaffer must be recognized... Anyway, I could go on and on but this blog is about GGC not GGTTM.**

** Girls Gone to the Movies

Friday Weekly Pictorial Por la Gente

Because I take approximately 32718729813918371 pictures of Archer daily I have decided to designate Fridays as GGC photo extravaganza for distant relatives and the like. Enjoy!

The Man:

The Music:

The Afterparty!

Wardrobe brought to you by:
Daddy's Baby Wardrobe


My Boobs are None of your Business

Confession #1: I am not breastfeeding
Confession #2: I stopped when Archer was 6 weeks old.
Confession #3: I absolutely hated it.
Confession #4: I hate everyone who gives me shit about it...

Ah, yes. My new biggest pet peeve are people that lecture me on breast-feeding: like the lady in line at the grocery store, like the dude in the elevator and the dozens of others who think its okay to tell me how to raise my child and work my body. Even my pediatrician raises her eyebrows when I remind her that I feed Archer formula. I am not breast-feeding and although I am not denying that I didn't "try hard enough" I have no regrets so don't make me slap you. I think breastfeeding is wonderful and amazing and I really wish it worked out for me but it did not. Not in this life.

"Cute baby, are you breastfeeding?"
"Oh. I see. (eyebrows raise) Why not?"
"I don't think its any of your business, actually." (100 watt smile)

I had two breast reductions which is like having one but a lot worse. If any of you have had a breast reduction you will understand. I would even go as far as saying that childbirth was a breeze compared to the surgical procedure of removing ones nipples, removing several pounds of boob and sewing them back together haphazardly. And then having to go through it again three years later. (They grew back. I know, I am like a starfish.)

There are many excuses I would rather make then go into the truth because most people don't get the whole "removing big tits mentality." Men especially. Most dudes have this picture in their mind but in reality its more like this. I knew from the beginning that having a breast reduction would probably ruin my chance of having a happy breastfeeding experience, if one at all. At 18 years old I didn't care. I just wanted to buy my bras at normal stores like Victoria's Secret instead of getting grammy bras at outlet stores. I just wanted to wear a bathing suit without looking like a hooker, (or being called one.) I wanted to work out without the mandatory two sports bras for support. I digress...

Can you blame me for not wanting to go into this with strangers? I don't see why I should be asked to explain myself in the first place. Even if I had decided not to breastfeed for other reasons, they are PERSONAL reasons, as in... it's no one's business. Gosh! People can be so rude.

This has been the last straw. The next time some asshole asks me, (s)he's going to get a bottle of ENFAMIL in the face. Not kidding.

My son is healthy and that's alllll that matters.


To Christmas or not to Christmas:

It is beginning to look a lot like Hanukkah

After much contemplation we have decided not to celebrate Christmas in our home. I am a little bit sad because I wanted a Christmas tree, to hell with the rest of it, I just am a fan of trees with the twinkly lights. I tried to trick my old man into buying a "Hanukkah Bush" but he was not amused. My dad, backing me up, suggested "A Pagan Pine" but that also was not accepted, so there you have it folks.

Archer will be raised a Jew which means he will probably ruin Santa for the rest of the kids.

"Why, Santa? He's just a big, fat lie the gentiles tell their kids. There is no Santa!"

Just as well, I suppose. Finding out that Santa was a big, fat lie was pretty upsetting. It was Katie Anglestead who broke the news to me in 2nd grade. I was a die-hard Santa fan. I even had an elf named Pixie that Santa sent as a messenger and he would move around the house whenever I left the room. I never was able to touch him because if I did he would disappear and every year I would cry on Christmas Eve because Pixie had to leave me and go back with Santa to the North Pole. One year Pixie fell from a shelf and broke. I was shattered to learn that he was made of glass but believed that it was just his "cover." There was no turning back after Katie broke the news, explaining in detail why Santa was an impossible idea. When I found Santa's gifts in my Dad's closet I knew Katie was right. It was traumatic. Idealism hurts, yo.

My questions to GGC Readers: How did you find out that Santa was a farce? For all non-celebrating Xmas readers: How did you feel about Santa? Did he come anyway? Some of my Jewish friends had "Hanukkah Harry" which is kind of odd, but shit, whatever works. Tell me your stories, people...

Signing off on this totally Torah Tuesday!



It Starts: The Repel Instinct

"Mom! Get the hell off me. Christ, woman!"


"Mother, Tell (the) Children Not to Walk my Way..."

This morning I went hiking with my new friend and baby Lola. Lola is an older woman (by a few months) and quite striking. She likes to hike with toothbrushes in her hand, playing drums with her Mom's hair. Archer could care less. I feel like such a dictator nudging her backpack with the Bjorn saying, "seeeeee. Baaaaaaaby. Frieeeeeeend."

Archer eats his fingers and looks at me like "what the hell, momz. pssshhhhhh." It's true, the little man is going on seven months and he has yet to respond/play/take notice of the other kids/babies. Archer socializes with the dogs and family members. Once in a while I'll suck on nu-nu*'s with him and play with my feet but other than that... nada.

My mom keeps telling me to get involved with a play-group or mommy-and-me class but I just can't bring myself to do such a thing. Call me a snob but joining Mommy-and-Me class is like buying a mini-van. It has FUTURE PTA, PROUD PARENT OF AN HONOR STUDENT, MY CHILD HAS OUTSTANDING PEOPLE SKILLS written all over it like one of those bumper stickers.

Archer comes from a long line of antisocial misanthropes so I am hoping this is not hereditary.

Maybe six months is too early. Boys mature slower than girls do anyway. Maybe Archer is a poet, a shadow-lurking sponge who is taking it all in, watching out of the corner of his eye and trying to find the right words to rhyme with toothbrush. Maybe I should just chill out and let the kid figure it out when he feels like it.



Boy Meets Penis

For the last few days, every time I change Archer's diaper he goes straight for the gold. He hasn't peed in my eye in months, but that squirtgun has become the most exciting toy yet. I try to pretend like I'm not looking, like I don't notice the bond forming between boy and balls and suddenly I remember this song in kindergarten that this boy I liked use to sing before whipping it out on the playground and before I know it I'm singing the song to myself and to Archer and to the dogs who are like, WTF woman!

"My ding-a-ling. My ding-a-ling. I like to play with my ding-a-ling."

Little girls don't have that option. We can't just whip it out. I was always jealous of this fact as a youngster. Mine was all hidden and I couldn't write my name with my pee-pee and pshhhhh, what a rip off!

A few years back I was at the beach when I saw a mother chasing her little boys who were running around the beach naked, squirting each other with their Pen15 guns. She was so embarrassed and frazzled and trying to distract the beach/audience by singing "La la la la, nothing to see here! Doo, doo, doo-doo... WHAT ARE YOU LOOOOOOOOOOKING AT?"

It was quite a scene and we were all slightly embarrassed for her but only because SHE was so embarrassed. When I was a little girl I did all sorts of embarassing things too, and that is kinda the way it works. One day Archer's girlfriend will come to dinner and I will pass the naked baby photos and he will say "Mom!" and I will say, "What? It's just a little penis" and we'll all laugh/ he will kill me. That is how it works, right? Innocence is bewildering sometimes, the fact that nothing phases Archer, embarrasses Archer, shames Archer is so wonderful that it makes me think back to the times in my life when I felt the same. When I was young and lessons were learned, the world opened-up, revealing several layers of dried skin, when innocence was lost. Things change. Quickly. Every year memories are drawn-over with new crayon.

Having a baby is like clicking REFRESH on ones own childhood. Every "first" is another reminder, telling stories forever, generations upon generations, without using a single word. And even though I don't have a penis, these mommy/baby moments still take me back...

GGC: Gone with the Nostalgic Wind

Weekend With the In-Laws

We had a wonderful weekend with my hubby's parental units and brother unit, who were visiting from Nueva York. There was laughter, hugs, scrabble, park-strolls, tasty food and love galore.

I am positive that Archer is the luckiest little boy to have such fantastic, generous, adorable, hilarious, attractive relatives. Lucky, lucky, lucky, boy. (And lucky, lucky GGC.)

Monday Mornings: A Reality Play in One Act

Int: Coffee Bean. Archer, dressed in typical golferesque hat and grin reclines leisurely in his stroller. Me, dressed in typical Jeans and black sweater pushes Archer out the door, coffee in hand when sixty-something overweight man stops us.

Man:I love what you have done to your son
Me: Pardon?
Man: His hat. I just love his hat.
Me: Awww... thanks! Yeah, he looks cute in hats. I just can't help myself. (sigh)
Man: Hats are the most underrated accessory. I like to think that hats are to boys what rims are to cars.
Me: Aha! Like an SAT question. Fascinating point. Hmmmm. Let me.... yes, rims, you say? Yes...
Man: Me, I don't have a child but I do have 24's on my Mercedes.
Me: Impressive. Well, so long!
Man: Until we meet again!
Archer: (spitting up) babababababadorkbabababa

And... Scene


The Other Kids...

Because I must not forget the furrier chillins (Cooper the boxer & Zadie the boston) and I am much too lazy today to write anything clever/thought-provoked. Have a nice weekend.


Archer Sits by Himself!!!!

... and the crowd goes wild! (Not to mention the shutterbug.) These pics are for the fam:

GGC Photo Spreads

The Truth About Denise Richards and Heidi Klum

You know who I am talking about even if you don't follow the rags. If you have ever set foot in a grocery store, or passed a newsstand, you have seen them: the skinny bods of celebs post-baby, posing for Playboy, strutting down the runway in bra, undies and wings, waving from the arms of Celeb husbands, boyfriends, girlfriends...

There was a feature on MSN a few months ago about "HOW CELEBRITIES LOSE THEIR BABY WEIGHT SO FAST." The fact that women are stupid enough to waste their time reading is beyond me. It doesn't take an insider to get it. Um, hellllo? These women are LOADED. They snap their finger and shit happens. I need to lose 60 pounds by Friday. Easy! Breezy! Beautiful, cover girl!

"Swallow a few of these, your trainer will be there at 5am, no eating, and we'll hire ten nannies to assist you with your little one."

These women are NOT breastfeeding. These women are dieting hardcore and working their asses out. That is the secret. I know. Shhhhhh.

And yes, it is possible to lose the baby weight quickly, but as far as I can tell, all of us do not have the cash or star-power to make it happen within weeks.
Working out and eating right can only go so far when you just squeezed a human out of your vagina (or stomach), so give credit where credit is due: to you for doing it the REAL hard way, without a staff of 345 on hand at your beckoned call.

Can I get a "what, what?"

Bitches, please.


To Christmas or not to Christmas

This is our first holiday season as a family and much like my father was with my mom, my hub is hell-bent on the NO CHRISTMAS TREE policy. I married a Jew, just like my mother and her mother before her. What can I say? We have a thing for chosen peeps.

In all matter-of-fact terms, blood wise I am 3/4 Jewish, so REALLY, I am kind of a chosen person too. We grew up celebrating Hanukkah and Christmas. My mom held a neighborhood non-denominational "bible"study in our house and we learned about Buddhism, took field trips to the Self Realization Fellowship and studied the Koran as well as both testaments. We went to temple on Thanksgiving and attended Mass a couple of times on Christmas Eve. My Mom wanted us to know what was out there so we could make up our own minds about God, religion and spirituality.

Every year my Dad puts up the Christmas lights, slightly peeved. As kids my brother and I convinced him that we HAD to have Christmas lights because everyone else on our street had them and our house looked like the black hole/antichrist of excitement and holiday cheer. (I grew up on one of those cul-de-sacs where every house had a giant inflatable Santa on the lawn, and porcelain mangers with life size baby Jesus' asleep in the manger, and the Three Kings of Orient on the rooftop, feeding Santa's foam, reindeer carrots, and the green fog machines sang Christmas carols, etc). When my parents were first married, the Christmas tree was a BIG no-no but my Mom insisted and my Dad surrendered. He surrendered to us (my brother and me) as well and my poor father is probably on the roof as I write this, stapling Christmas lights around the windows, humming "deck the halls."

Now it's my turn. My old man isn't exactly thrilled with my insisting we have a Christmas tree. He never had one so why should we? After this years' tragic events it feels almost sacrilegious to celebrate a holiday where we all give gifts to our non-needy relatives, while the people who are in need, hold out their empty hands, but I digress... I just want a friggin Christmas tree, aight?

"No lights, though!"
"Okay, maybe next year."
"But where will we put a Christmas tree?"
"Anywhere.... Pretty please (cute face) with a cherry on top?"

In all realness, I would be happy to skip Christmas altogether and become a bonafide chosen-one with a chosen-one family, but I'm just not ready to give up old traditions. I honor my father's roots and light the Menorah all eight days of Hannukah. I attend the family Passover Seder and read from the thirty-page book my Grandpa prints out every year, and although my mother's roots were certainly interdenominational, there was a Christmas tree in our house growing up and it was magic! The smell and the sparkling ornaments and the pine needles everywhere. I have never had a white Christmas or a white winter or a white wedding so the Christmas tree gives December a cozy feel. And now that I have a family of my own, I would like Archer to experience the fond memories of my childhood.

It was one thing living with drunk roommates in a three bedroom party house. I was never feeling festive in those days and if i was I just bought a little mistletoe and ran around town. But now...?

The question (argument) remains: How will we raise Archer? With Christmas or without? As Jew or Gentile? I am leaning toward D. All of the above.


Thanks for the Memories

a GGC Thanksgiving weekend pictorial:

We spent the long weekend with my fam in San Diego. Check out the brown plaid golfwear. Arch had suspenders but they kept falling down and we were all getting caught in them. Hope everyone had a wonderful weekend. I am still trying to digest aprox 876 pies.

Dear Archer Sage,

Six months ago, today you were born. I was bursting at the seams and weighed in at two hundred-pounds. I wanted you to be a boy so badly I secretly wrote letters to my boy before I knew. Everyone told me that you were going to be a girl and when the woman gave me my ultrasound and told me that I had been right all along, I burst into tears. Being pregnant with you was my most amazing experience. I leaned over and spoke to you every day so you would know my voice. And even in that last month, bedridden, swollen, anxious I adored knowing that you were growing inside of me, my little vine.

I had no idea what to expect and neither did your Dad. We boycotted lamaze class and decided to wing it like the cavepeople, except I wasn't as brave. (Your Dad wasn't either. He almost fainted twice.) After two hours of active labor I succumbed to the epidural (western women's pain is nothing like it was a thousand years ago when painkillers were leaches or whatever.)

With four big pushes you were out. You looked up at me with your huge eyes and I was in shock. I could have sworn we had met somewhere before. You know, before all of this...

I slept with you in my arms in the hospital because I didn't want you to sleep in a plastic thing. I stared at you for days, sleep deprived and totally in awe of your beauty. I talked to you like we were old friends. I cried in your hair and whispered secrets in your ear. You listened and fell asleep while I rubbed your nose.

When you smiled for the first time I couldn't believe that such a thing was possible, a little person, part of me, so new, experiencing such a feat! You were awestruck when your Dad made up songs for you on his guitar and when he played Debussy on the piano you kicked and cooed because you recognized the melody your Daddy played for you every day in the womb. (Reverie was playing when you were born.) Reverie, to daydream and you did. Staring into space, even now, oblivious of people oohing and ahhing and waving at you. Too busy thinking, understanding, dreaming. My thoughtful little boy.

The first time you laughed was when I did bicycle with your little legs. I couldn't believe it and called everyone, wanting then to hear it firsthand but you were shy when I held up the phone and you still are. You only laugh for people you know. I was the same way when I was a baby. I was quiet. I had secrets too.

Some of my favorite times have been waking up with you in the middle of the night and bringing you into bed with us. You snuggle close and fall asleep with your hand on my face. We took you to the Monterey Aquarium at three-months old and you watched the jellyfish for half an hour, waving at the creatures with curious hands. And when I leave you with your Dad, I bring a book of photos with me so I can look at them at stoplights and pine for you. Sometimes I show strangers at parties because I am that mom and one day I'm sure you will roll your eyes at me because I'm so uncool.

And every now and then I sneak into your room and watch you sleep and sometimes you are smiling, dreaming again. And sometimes when you see me get upset you start to cry, because that is what happens when two beings are attached to each other, and it always makes me stop and make a silly face, so that you will laugh, because your happiness matters more than mine does and that is the way it is now.

I love you more every day, my bugsy, my little fish. Today you are six months, little daydreamer, miracle, gentle love. Little nuzzle-dancer, feet-stomping pilgrim, laughing-goose, hoot-owl, head-butting sleepy bear, petit prince. Every day you overwhelm me with joy and wonder. I can't believe you are even real sometimes.




Making Mom Friends...

... is more difficult than I thought. In my single years I was balls-out fearless. Point me in the direction of a man and I would approach him, ask him out, whatever. No problem. I do not feel threatened by men and have had male friends since I was a child with little conflict. Girls? Another story.

I lived in Los Angeles for seven years (minus a few holes) and have only met five girlfriends total. Five girlfriends that I socialize with once every couple months, talk to once every couple weeks, etc and ALL of them I have met through dudes. That's right, all of them. So, um, yeah, this whole trying-to-make-mom-friends thing has not been easy for me.

Our landlords live next door and are about to have a baby. This was one reason I was in love with our house. A local Mommy friend! I do have a close friend expecting but she lives in San Francisco. My only other Mommy friend is living in Japan. A bit of a swim, really.

Every morning I walk to Starbucks with Archer in hopes of meeting Ms. Right. I have met dozens of Mother child duos but none of them have been good enough. There was the obnoxious caked-on makeup Mom with WAY TOO MUCH USC pride. (Every time I see her, both her and her child are decked out head to toe in maroon and yellow. Ahem.) There was the woman who, when Archer was three weeks old, asked me what his favorite book was. When I stared blankly and answered, "Um. He's three weeks old. He could care less," she laughed and explained that HER son LOOOOOOOVED books since birth and how when he was three days old she took him to Borders and how he smiled and laughed and started reading Dr. Suess books right then and there because genius is unstoppable and on and on and...

"I guess my son is just slow then," I said.
"Too bad. Books are wonderful."
"Oh yeah? Well maybe I will try reading one some day, you fucking idiot." (I didn't really say that but I should have.

There was the woman who was shocked that Archer was not crawling yet because her daughter was crawling at, oh something like four-months. And yeah, she was talking at six-months as well.

"I guess my son is just slow then."
"That's too bad."

Some mothers have been too old.
"Wow, you look good for fifty-eight."
Some mothers have been too young.
"Seventeen? Oh cool! What highschool do you go to?"

Today I met a Mom, seemingly perfect and the most promising Mom friend I have met since Archer's birth. In one hour she did not confess that her child was brilliantly speaking ten languages at age one. She did not quote Dr. Sears' methods for healthy modern child-rearing. She was subtle, soft-spoken and as well as being a mother was someone I related to on other levels. A rare find, indeed. I was so nervous I kept tripping over my sentences, blanking on words like "pacifier" and pulling a Dumbass-Dubya -- reading Vogue upside down between bursts of introductory conversation. When she asked for my number before leaving I was so excited I dropped my pen three times.

Now for the first time in a very long while, I am waiting by the phone. Fingers crossed. This may be the one.


It Takes The Village, People, Part Deux:

Let's Talk About Sex, Baby

The whole sex talk thing is something I remember pretty strongly. I was five years old with a chronic masturbation problem. I didn't know what the hell I was doing. It was innocent, really. Embarrassing in retrospect but modesty is sort of a waste of time these days. My mom tried to explain sex to me but I was so confused and grossed out, she stopped herself. (Ewwwwwwwwww, cooties!) and waited until I was a little older to give me the full-on sex talk.

I was seven years old at the dining room table making books. (I started young.) I had just finished stapling my book about animals together when I started another. The title, "Sex." Believe it or not, I was a fairly sheltered little girl. I was only allowed to listen to classical music and no TV except Sesame Street. The George Michael song, "I want your sex" was a current hit AND in my head so I created a book, quoting the song and illustrating each phrase accordingly.

My book read...
Page one: Sex is natural.
Page two: Sex is fun.
Page three: Sex is best when its one on one
I proudly brought it to my mother when I was done.
"This is for you," I said.
Her mouth dropped. She crumpled the book. I was devestated. My book was banned! Literature a disgrace! What had I done?
"Where did you learn this?"
"I think its a song."
"Where did you hear this song?"

I sure didn't hear the song from a friend's parent. Nope. I was friendless in those days. I was the quiet girl, wandering the fields at recess picking dandelions and writing poetry about unicorns. Barking like a dog when kids made fun of me and dressing up like my pet rat, Kevin for Halloween. I was completely socially inept, quietly obsessed with.... sex? Who knew? I might have heard the song from the window of another car or in a store or, I froze...

"...the boy next door."

Just two weeks previous I had walked through the front door proclaiming "Fuck you!" to my mother, sweetly after just hearing it from BJ, the kid who lived next door. I had no clue what it meant, or that it was a bad word. When my mom gave me the sex chat I was so embarrassed, I wanted to hide under my bed and never come out. It was a nightmare.

"Fuck means.... sex means...."
OH GOD IN HEAVEN! It was all George Michael's fault and that stupid boy next door.

The times they have a changed though, and contrary to growing up in the suburbs, city-life is quite a different place to raise a young'n. Even if I wanted to shelter Archer it would be impossible. And that's okay with me. But when is the time to introduce him to adult concepts when he is surrounded?

Exhibit A: Like I mentioned in "It Takes a Village, People..." Archer has more gay influences in his life than most. This makes my husband nervous so it has come to him pointing out hot chicks and saying "Hot chick" to Archer.

Last night I left the room for water only to come back to Archer on my husband's lap, getting a lesson in "heterosexual sex" between two characters. He pointed at the scene, "Pretty, cool eh?"

"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Teaching him the ways of..."
"Um. He's a little young."
"Well he's a little young for hair advice and talk of eyebrow waxing as well."
"He's too young for all of it."
It was silent. The ooooh yeahs of the actors echoed throughout the house.
We both agreed, put Archer to sleep and shook with fright over having to have the "sex conversation" when he was old enough to understand what we were saying.

I tossed and turned all night, while the visions of George Michael danced in my head...



The way to Archer's heart is through his ears. I just played guitar for him for the past twenty minutes and he laughed THE WHOLE TIME. When I put the guitar down he screamed... I kept playing. I had to! Twas an encore and the laughs pursued. Finally, I am a rock star. Such a rock star...


GGC Recommendations...

Ceci New York for all of your announcement, and invitation needs. Lisa Hoffman,(Ceci master in command) designed Archer's baby announcement and it was beautiful!! All of her designs are-- check-it, check-it out...

We all know that chic design is mas importante, especially when it comes to introducing your human child.