All About My (SAH) Mother

Growing up my mother was a tour de force. She taught science, music, theatre, and art. As a musician she rocked on guitar and piano and wrote music for children's theatre. As an artist, she sculpted and sketched, our house wallpapered with her framed oil paintings. She worked and stayed home with us. As a mother, she attended every one of my school plays, all of my sister's flute concerts and brother's sporting events. She was always there. There to bust me when I did something stupid (which was often). There to comfort me when I was angsty and depressed (also often). She was the personification of comfort and safety. When I came through the double doors of our home she was always there to welcome me with a kiss.

My sister is going away to college in the fall and my parents will be alone for the first time in 25 years. Last baby to leave the nest, first grandchild born. We were discussing her future. Whether she would start working full time. Whether she would devote her days to her painting, concentrate her efforts on her music.

While most of my friends and other women my age are just beginning their careers, I am home with Archer. I am happy at home with Archer, with the life I have chosen, my spit-up soaked days, working when I can, trying to do it all. Like my mother, I do not feel deprived of an independent life (she never once regretted the fact she ended her career as a Biologist to hang with her kids.)

Because the point that seems to be missed with all of the mommy war bullshit is that the mother who chooses to raise her child(ren) herself, at home is not the antithesis of the "independent, modern woman." Beyond the tired stereotypes of women who define themselves soley as "mommies"(which I think is fine, btw) and the women who look upon children as "sacrifices" there is the happy medium of women, like my mother and a great many of you who crowd the space in the oval of the Venn diagram. I am inspired by these women and I believe our children are as well. I was. Still am.

It seems to me that through the history of society it has been proven time and time again that the ripple moves farther than the splash. It rippled from my mother, and her mother before her, still working full-time, writing books and touring the world at nearly 80. I come from a long line of working women who stayed home with their kids all the while. Perhaps we were all just lucky to have the flexibility to do so. Making a living while raising a child, making a life raising children for a living. All I can speak from is experience, my childhood and the life I lead the best I can. I do know that I am glad my mother was home for me and I hope I can be home for Archer as well, because for me it made a difference.

I suppose all little girls want to grow up and become their mommies, but I have grown up and nothing has changed. I look upon my mother for the same support and guidance. I look upon my son with the love passed to me through her eyes.


First Times

Yesterday I had my first date with some of the lovely ladies I have met online c/o Girls Gone Child. BMC was kinda the reason I started the ol Momma blog (Fuck Mom/Mommy, I'm starting a new "club" where everyone is invited! Dads, Grandparents, Circusfolk, Tibetan Monks...) and MIM has been a pal dot com pretty much since i started blogging. I also got to meet awesome fellow-blogging mamma and new friend, Domestic Chicky and her two handsome little boys. It was a much needed, way-less-awkward-than-I-expected jamboree of fabulousness and I'm still high from our rockin' good time. It's not every day a GGC gets to hang out with a crew of sexy-as-shit, sharp, intelligent and witty women, especially of the Mommy-persuasion. In fact, yesterday was pretty much a first. Lucky for me I have a second meeting planned for soon, soon, soon with another fabulous talent, mother and friend dot com. Sorry to boast but I'm feeling lucky, people.

I was a teeny bit worried that Archer's shyness would cause a bit of drama but alas, his "playing hard to get" was magnetic...Which brings us to another exciting milestone: Yesterday Archer had his first kiss. It was maybe the cutest thing I have ever seen and we have photos to prove it. Foo is one forward baby-ista and on the way home from our meeting, Archer whispered, "I shall never wash this cheek again" and the truth is, so far he has not.

Thank you for a wonderful day, ladies and thank you, Foo for making the first move. Archer may be shy but he sure appreciates a woman who knows what she wants. Get some!


Sorry, BMC for stealing all the pics from your post. I was an idiot and forgot to take photos. Duh!

Momma Needs a Girls Night Out... FUAAAAAW!

Okay, so I was unable to rally the peeps for 100 comments but I decided to write a GGCRapz anyway because I currently have 69 comments (snicker) and it's about quality over quantity. It has become apparent that I have some seriously word-to-the-mofo readers. (Thank you all for coming out of the woodwork and introducing yourselves.) I'm also feeling slightly uncomfortable with the "I take myself *very* seriously thankyouverymuch" vibe that's fluttering around the blogsosphere like a butterfly on Prozac. Oy to the effing vey.

Anyway, thank you for all your humorous comments and for introducing me to all of your wonderful blogs. It's good to know that a lot of you wear a size 10 shoe or larger which makes me happy because I am a 10 shoe myself and often feel alone in the world/Nordstrom shoe-sale rack.

Chag, I got some Public Enemy for you coming up next but for now, I had to go with LLCoolJ and "Mamma Needs a Girl's Night Out" to the tune of "Momma Said Knock You Out..."

*GGC Rapz Presents: Momma Needs a Girls Night Out.

Yo! Don't call in a curfew
I aint been out in a while
It's not my style
Now I got me a Chil(d)
Making a Girl grow up real fast
The pabst beer-drinking groupie shit be all in the past
From chickster to a brief stint as childbearinghipster
Tonight I gotta get out of the house, really quickster

I need a girls night out- Fuah!
Mama needs a girls night out- Uhhuah!
I need a girls night out - Pshaa!
Mama needs a girls night out- Falalala!

So my homegirl callz
She be busting my ballz
Let's rock The Wiltern and write our names in the stallz.
"Yo who's playing?"
"Yo it's a good. show."
She says, "Belle and Sebastian," my fave band so I'll go.
I dial some friends on the celly.
"Yo it's time to get wild!"
But they don't know who I am.
"Who is Girls Gone Child?"
I say, "peeps, that's my stage name. Now its time to get ill.
I've been indoors for months and its high time to chill."

"You must need a girls night out. Sha!
Mama needs a girls night out."
I need a girls night out. Huah!
Mama needs a girls night out. Huah! Huah!"

So we park at the meter and light up some pars
Then we walk in the venue and head to the bar.
My friends see me in line. "Yo! Where you been?"
I say "peeps, go to hell-y. I'm so over the scene."
I got pants that are smelly, do you know what i mean?"
We take to our seats.
Pointy shoes on our feets
"The last time I saw'em play
was in Spain on the beach."

I had a girls night out. Huah!
Mama needs girls night out (once in a while)
I had a girls night out. Huah!
Mama needs a girls night out. (once a month, maybe?)

So Yo! What's the deal? I may be a mom
but i been representin' myspace since before there was Tom.
I got an IPOD in my wagon
and mad style on my spawn.
And yeah, I like to play with building blocks on the lawn.
Sometimes I Covet Strollers
Of local high rollers
Freezing toys for the future of little man's molars.

And I need a girls night out. (again.)
Mama needs a girls night out. (tomorrow, maybe?)
I need a girls night out. (Please?)
Mama needs a girls night out...

Say word...


*Previous GGC Rapz have been added to the sidebar for all interested parties.

Oh. Thank. God.

I recently posted about Archer's rebellion against my favorite accessory: the hat. Well, well, well, we're back, ladies and gentlemen. We're back with a serious vengeance and you can bet your ass I'm going to post a lot of photos right now. AND they're really cute. I think.

Haha. Yeehaw! Yippppeeeee and hooray.


A Vindication of the Rights of Women Bloggers

Regardless of what one personally disagrees with, the way a person parents, their ideas be them subjective, opinion or etc, it is wrong for one to be insulting. It is wrong to lash out with cruelty and disregard. It is one of the reasons women do not trust each other. It is one of the reasons women seek refuge in their own heads. Blogging is a way for us to reach each other as well as articulate our opinions and what works/doesn't work for us, as in, the blogger. Let's keep the blogging world respectable, be it Mommy-blog, Mom-blog, Daddy-blog, dog-blog... Whatever "war" is being waged because of our competitiveness and all the other so-called regulations.

We all have our differences and great! Sharp-tongued insults are for those with feeble minds. Power to the people who can read and discuss with a little respect and some etiquette. It is wonderful to be passionate, but not at another's expense.

Peace. Seriously.


Ten Months, Two Teefs, One Boy...

The Gratuitous Ten-Month Letter & Montage:
(click larger to view new teeth)

Dear Archer,

Today you are ten months old. That's right, you have hit double digits. You are growing into a toddler, even though you are not yet toddling. Your favorite thing to do is look out the window. You like to kick your legs out of your stroller when we walk down the street. You like to play with spaghetti and finger paint with whipped cream. You like when I perform puppet shows with my feet and you nuzzle my socks with your face. You can kiss now. Extraordinary. You lean over with your mouth wide open and slobber on my nose or my cheek or my lips and make a mamamamalajklsadjlka sound. You like to be read stories but only at bedtime. Any other time you try to eat the books and though your teeth are tiny, they are very strong. Very strong indeed. You aren't afraid of people anymore. The other day you smiled at a baby girl and tried to pull her hair. You looked coyly away when she waved at you and said "Hi, baby." You can crawl now, which is exciting. (Just kidding. You're not even close but it's totally fine. Take your time, little dude.)

You talk to every object and toy. Your favorite food to eat is avocado, which is adorable and a little bit worrisome. You have the early signs of expensive taste. I'm afraid you got that from me. You mimic us and can shake your head for five minutes straight. You like to have screaming contests so I seldom have a voice, hoarse from screech-communicating with you for an hour. You laugh when I cross my eyes and you stick your tongue out when you're excited. You smear your hands in my food at restaurants and hum along to music in the car. You can give me five. You are learning how to give me ten...

...Happy ten-months. Yup! Very happy indeed.


GGC's 100th Post Festival De La Lurker

Here ye! Here ye! Girls Gone Child proudly presents: The 100th GGC post!

So the goal is this: One hundred posts from me = One hundred comments from you. I don't even know if this is possible or if I even have one hundred readers but if I do, I promise the hippest-hoppest GGC Rapz yet. And yes I know I'm a one trick pony.

Introduce yourself. Where are you from? Do you have a website? Shoe size? Joke? Can I take your order? Bueller?


P.S. thank you all for reading.

My First Poem: GGChildhood

Being that my entire teen-angst oevre has been publicly viewed for the past ten years, a constant reminder of forlorn teenage heartbreak, "it's just not fair"ness and the constant "picking up of pieces of my former self" and the "mirrors, mirrors, everywhere", etc.

It sucks to be "that girl who wrote all of those sucky love poems in CS4TS" so I'm going waaaaaaaaaay back. Inspired by the posts of Mrs. Fortune and Reluctant Housewife, I present the very first poem I wrote in first grade. Pre-angst. Pre-middle school. Pre-boys. Pre-puberty. Pre-everything. When life was simple and quiet and I had imaginary friends and a pet rat named, Kevin.


Bye: Rebecca W
Age 6

The sky shines brite like candil lite.
the good things like the wings of horses,
That makes them all so grate and small and sends them a joyful day.
The moon is out like the trout
everything is sleepy
I think I saw a animile paw sounding like a saw
so if you ever see it watch out?

*spelling and punctuation authentic to piece.

Do you have a first poem? A teen-angsty piece to share? Is your child old enough to have their own? I'm MeMe/SheShe/HeHeING all y'all. Dust your diaries and spill the words... Word.

And in other more recent literary news, I finished my manuscript last week. Muchos gracias to this man. If any of you are looking for an editor... The great American novel, anyone? The great universal parenting book? Poetry anthologies about death and the cute skateboarder who plays guitar in the school quad circa 1989?

Write on,


Torturing for Kicks Since 2006

There is nothing like the pediatrician asking for a routine blood-test to freak a mother out. There is nothing worse than holding down your kid while some stranger pokes and prods and baby screams with rage-filled eyes and cries and does the kreplock-lipkey-frowny-face. No fun. No fun at all, which is why we procrastinated nearly one month before we finally took Archer in for his nine-month bloodwork at the local Quest Diagnostics.

Correct me if I'm wrong and maybe it's just Los Angeles but the scariest, most unattractive women work in the "blood test" world. (I have yet to meet a man-diagnostic-person.) They spit when they speak. They're mean and sweaty and messy and their nails are always long with little rhinestone flowers, chipping at the edges. They smell like hamburger meat and so far I have yet to walk into a diagnostics office and been proven wrong.

When I was pregnant and suffering from hypertension I was tested almost daily. I was strapped up to machines and monitored and I had to drink the chalk drink and the glucose drink and get blood drawn and take it like a man. I was a perfect gentewoman all but once when the mannish blood-maiden literally leapt from behind her blood-stump of a reception desk and poured the remainder of my glucose drink down my throat because I had "thirty seconds before my time was up. I'm serious, lady. If you don't drink up I'm going to have to pour the damn thing down your throat." I was livid. I was petrified. I told the bitch to step back. After leaving the diagnostic dungeon I made a few calls. "Take care of it," I said. But nothing worked. The bitch was there the next time and I sweetly asked to come back when she wasn't working. I was THAT upset. I hated her stinking guts.

Beware the scary, hairy bitches for they drag their haggard selves from the depths of every diagnostic space in the greater LA area with fat hands and pooorly-manicured claws. One would think that in Beverly Hills, a half block from Kitson and The Ivy and every other US weekly, paparazzi hot spot, shit would be classy, or at the least, kinda sorta nice.

Ha! Not so much.

We walked inside, signed Archer in and waited, fuzzy-radio blasting in the background, receptionist arguing with her boyfriend on the phone. "No you didn't..."

The nurse/blood-maiden stuck her neck around the corner. Finally it was our turn.



We followed the NBM to the plastic chair in the windowless cubicle.

"Sit down, mom. Now hold your child down."

I held Archer on my knee and bounced him up and down. "Okay. We're ready."

"Stop bouncing. Dad? Hold his hands so I can take these three vials of blood."

So we did. Archer's cries turned into screams. Screams turned into hysterics and just when we thought we couldn't take it anymore, twitching to hold back tears. "It's okay, babe. It's almost over..." the woman pulled her needle from Archer's vien. The three vials were full and the NBM thanked us kindly. She rubbed Archer's head and gave him a kissy face.

"Poor baby. Your parents done torture you, didn't they?"

"Um.... heeeellllooo? We didn't torture him."

"Well that's what your son thinks, trust me."

"Well, it's probably because torturing our son is a great hobby of ours."



Thanks Nurse/blood maiden. We will back to torture the baby as soon as possible and I can't wait! Wooooooo! Blooooooooooooood!


Please Blogger, Don't Player Hate on a Mother...

Hey guys. Is it just me or has my site looked a little fucked up today? What do you see when you are here? Can you even read this?


Sorry about the technical difficulties. I'm doing what I can over here.


Hot Momma Alert!

My girl at Hot Momma Drama Gossip recently posted the following pics on her Mommarazzi blog. Is it just me or do these pics inspire pregnancy-lust in you as well? These bitches are just way too cute.


Luciana Borrosomethingsomething carrying Matt Damon's spawn:

Angelina carrying Brad's too-good-to-be-true, don't-even-need-to-list-last-names, sexy-spawn:

Gwen Carrying "what has he done lately?" Gavin Rosdale spawn:

If you haven't already checked HMD out, do. She's funny and has the best celeb gossip site around. Plus, she's pregnant with babe #2. Perez Hilton, eat your heart out.


The Things We Take for Granted

For the past two years I have hosted an online chat room for kids with chronic and terminal illness. I love my job and am extremely lucky to have the opportunity to chat daily with some of the most inspiring human beings on the planet. Some of my kids have passed away and some of them have fought their illnesses against the odds. They have healed themselves with the power of their courage, optimism and faith. Their stories are beautiful, a testament to the human spirit and the power of love.

Some of the children in the chat room have rare illnesses that paralyze them, keep them bed-ridden, have no cure. Many of them were born with HIV, Cystic Fibrosis, Cerebral Palsy. Many have Cancer. Recently I have grown close to one girl in particular. She has been in and out of the hospital for several years and has the rare form of chromosome-defective Leukemia. Her sister died from the same disease ten years ago and her mother has lived in and out of hospitals with both daughters all the while. She flies from Los Angeles (where her family lives) to St. Jude hospital and back, weekly. I have never met this mother. I have only heard her story through her daughter, who is sick and who I chat with. Today she got some bad news and her mother was a basketcase. The girl told me that she wanted her mother to feel better so she fixed her a bed in her hospital room and warned the nurses to stay away so she could sleep. The image in my head overwhelmed me. Little girl in hospital bed, taking care of her mother. I started to cry.

When I asked her how she was feeling, she said that she was okay with whatever happened to her. She was as fearless as all of the children I have met, embracing death and the idea of mortality with the kind of wisdom adults are not capable of. "The only thing that worries me is my mother. I keep fighting for her."

As a parent I can't imagine what it would feel like to lose a child. I cannot imagine how it would feel to lose a child and then hear bad news about your second. What struck me most about our conversation was the love this girl had for her mother. She did not take it for granted like most teenagers. "My mom is the coolest mom in the world. I am so lucky," she said. And she is lucky. So many of the children I have met are not. Loving parents are hard to come by these days. It's amazing how many sick children do not have the love and support they need. It breaks my heart. It makes me fucking scream.

I don't know where I'm going with this post. Maybe to remind myself and all who read here that with all the technology and advancements in medicine, health is still something to be grateful for.

Hug your babies tight.


Laughter Will Get you Everywhere

Growing up I was lucky to have a really, freaking hilarious Dad. I never really gave him the credit he deserved so this post is for him.

Let me paint of picture of my Dad for you. He's a physicist. He looks like a cross between Weird Al Yankovic (my father's biggest hero second to Richard Feynman) and Groucho Marx.

My Dad was the kind of father that worked hard all week and came home to his kids every night, open-armed, loving, helping us with our homework. All through his three kids' childhood he coached our little-league teams even though we all sucked at sports, showed up to school events and was never late. He tucked us in to bed every night, and he never scared any of my boyfriends away. Instead he made them laugh. He made all of us laugh. He still does.

My senior year of high school, my Dad with help from his fly-honey-bitch (my Mom) dressed up as gangstas and performed a rap in front of the entire school. It was meant to embarrass me, instead it was one of my proudest moments. I lead the standing ovation myself and laughed until tears came.

"Yo Becca, me and my wife
Want to Rap about you and your life.
Your life, we wanna rap about your life.

You called up some people to party at our pool,
Next thing you know, we had the whole school
Whole School, we had the whole school.

You know how you got such a talent for words?
Cause you come from a Family of nerds
Of nerds, you come from a family of nerds..."
And then it goes on... and on...

For my eighteenth birthday my Dad wrote and performed a three-page rap for me which included the following:

"Since today you are turning eighteen
A birthday you never have seen
I thought I would write you a poem
Although at this type of writing I am kind of slow-em

I will never forget your actual birth-
Your mother was quite a bit large in the girth
You came and brought so much delight to my life
That jumping for joy were me and my wife

Those precious few years, you were learning to talk
Eating and growing like a fertilized stalk
Your love of letters and words and language was clear
Reading books with you was a time that was dear

Entering school you were shy and afraid
Home with parents is where you'd rather have stayed
In fact in our bed you wanted to camp
But alas, I was forced to tell you to scamp.

I still feel quite bad about making you go
Back to your room with your blankie in tow,
I sometimes had to close the door on your room
Or else to our bed little Becca would zoom...

... It goes on and is still front and center on the fridge, torn on the edges, faded from the sun. I still laugh out loud when I read his words back to me. I imagine him dressed up in his backward hat and bling-bling and say, "word."

With all the horror in the world and the helplessness, laughter is something that I always took for granted. I was lucky to grow up in a household where jokes were cracked regularly and we laughed until milk came out our noses at the dinner table. One of the reasons I had such a happy childhood was because we were encouraged with humor. We raised the roof, so to speak.

These days, making Archer laugh is my greatest success. I make a face or do a silly dance or make a noise and if he cracks up I have done my job. I am the champion!!! Just like my Dad was for me.

So I'm taking the torch and I'm running with it because laughter is the reason I married my husband, the reason I adore my Dad and the reason I look upon my child with such wonder. I'm pretty sure humor is the "untold secret" of parenting. At least one of them. A laughing fam is a happy one. Hee, hee. HAHAHAHAHA.

A giggle is worth a zillion words. What a gift. Thanks Dad.


GGC Mamma Does Preach: Mother(s) Against WalMart

As a California city-dweller I know very little about the WalMart shopping experience. I have never shopped there or driven past the store in my daily life. One of the many luxuries of living in the city is that there is little room for corporate battleships to park their ugly asses. And when it tries?

I know a great many of you and I know that you are very active politically and have your own personal causes, but if you are looking for a new one, please look into Wake-up WalMart. You can find information here and/or here This isn't a political battle. This has nothing to do with liberal and conservative thinkers. This has to do with maintaining our democracy. This is a battle every consumer is just to fight. This has to do with strip-malls stripping our communities of soul and character, not to mention rights and ethics. For more information, go to: Think before you save a few dollars. You get what you pay for, people.

The bastards at the top want us to think we're at the bottom, but au contraire. WE're the ones who do the shopping. WE're the ones who make the choice to forgo the behemoth and take our business elsewhere. And WE're the ones that can make a change. Pass the word.


Who You Gonna Crawl?

We're closing in on ten months and still no hands and knees action. I'm not one to throw a hizzy or over react (ahem) but I have had the following recurring dream for the past few nights.

Archer is a man. About my age. It's his wedding day. I pan out and see myself holding Archer in his tuxedo as his wife comes waltzing down the isle. I switch hips, distributing the weight and start to hyperventilate, drop him and help him sit up. I wake up in a cold sweat.

When Archer was a wee witty winkie-woo, I used to shake my head. "I can't imagine him ever walking! That is going to be so strange! And can you imagine him crawling around the house? Too crazy!" Now I resent the fact that I said that. I could have jinxed it without knowing better.

The pediatrician told us to set him up on hands and knees and sort of move his body in crawling motion, but it's a lot easier said than done. He flips out, gives me pouty-face 2006 and I sit him back on his butt and hit my head against the wall. Then,he laughs. I crawl on hands and knees all over the house, trying to lead by example. The boy is all about the monkey-see, monkey-do. "Hi!" "Hi!" "Plthhhhhhhhhhh." "Plthhhhhhhhhh." Bounce, bounce. Bounce, bounce. Crawl. __________. Crawl. __________. "Oh, come on, dude. Please? Follow the Cheerio trail to whipped-cream, finger-painting bliss." But he never does. Not yet. One day, maybe. Maybe not?

I have read articles about babies who forgo crawling as well as the wives tales about babies who don't crawl, become developmentally challenged. My brother didn't speak until he was something like three years, and the kid's a bonafide Harvard genius now so I guess there is a silver lining if I want to get all presumptuous.

I guess I was just hoping for a little momentum in the Archer Crawls Chronicles but the kid just likes to chill, I guess. He doesn't squirm or push himself around. He just sits in the same place, leans for his toys and if the damn thing is out of reach, he sighs and goes on talking to himself. He is happy. I should not be complaining, or worried. In fact starting right now, no pressure, Archer. I'll stop crawling around the house now. Stay where you are. In fact, don't crawl. It's all good! I'll carry you down the isle, if need be...

...Okay, now you can go ahead and REBEL! That's it. One knee in front of the other.


GGC Rapz: It's Hard Out There for a Wife

With much controversy surrounding the Oscar-winning, Three 6 Mafia's "It's Hard Out There for a Pimp," GGC presents, an illustrated rap:

"It's Hard Out There For a Wife."
(Reluctant Housewife, this one's for you.)

It's hard out there for a wife (this i know)
SAH, married with kidz is a tough life (this i know)
Yeah it's hard out there for a wife (this i know)
Holdin' it togethez can bring quite a lot of strife (this i know)

We got station wagon payments and mad co-pays for the 'Trician
We got kids that pull our hair while we be baking in the kitchen
Changing diapers, bathing babies, and our tits be like fast food
We gots to keep our minds in order and our bodies in the mood.
Done seen wifeys pull their hair out
Done seen wifeys just break down
Done seen wifeys run a screaming
Down the lamp-lit streets of town

Keeping pretty out in public, workin' part-time on the side
Walking dogs and burping babies from the backseat of our ride.
Being married with a kid or two is real rough on the back
But finding time for a massage, for real, girl, are you wack?

Martha Stewart is a felon
and Desperate Housewifes rock the mike
But fuck those stupid bitches, that aint really how its like.
Terri Hatcher isn't married and Martha Stewart lives alone
With a staff of eighty pool boys and a platinum mobile phone.
Done seem Mommies calm as cucum's,
Done seem Mommies hard as pavement,
Done seem Mommies who got peed on
Work it like a fashion statement.

It's hard out there for a wife (raise the roof)
Staying home, married with kids is a tough life (new baby toof!)
Yeah it's hard out there for a wife (no self-tanner)
Holdin' it together can bring quite a lot of strife (thanks for the banner.)

Word to the mothaz...


Girl's Gone Facelift

As you can see I look a little different. Thanks to Reluctant Housewife I have a smokin hot new banner, and I toned ma'template down to match. I have also added a few extras in the sidebar including a Best of...

Thank you, Chag for offering your expertise. I ended up winging it, and ignoring the six or so lines at the bottom of my sidebar, I think I worked it out. (BTW, any idea as to how I remove those lines would be appreciated. Hee.)

Thank you again, RH, and expect your GGC Rap in the next couple of days.

Peace in the Middle East,


Banner Banter

I'm in the market for a new banner. Everyone is doing it and the GGC face is about as exciting as a Blogger template allows. Sooooooo... because I know nothing about graphic design, I am asking GGC readers to help me out with their creative genius. If you have any ideas and/or can whip something up with little effort, the winning banner will be featured in the NY Times, Vogue, The New Yorker and Highlights for Children. Just kidding. The Winner will get a GGC Rapz all about their blog which is a totally lame prize but the best I can do at the moment when Dadz is jobless and the Gay TV Network owes him three months pay. Not kidding. We're drinking ground cardboard right now.

Kinda wanted to play with the Girls Gone Child/Wild title but superimposing Archer's face on a half-naked woman is kind of pushing it. Ideas?


Dear Archer,

Please warn me next time you're going to throw-up in my mouth.

Thanks, bugsy.


The Threesome

This post is rated PG-50 so if you are over 50 (my parents) read at your own risk

This post is about sex. The wondrous act that brought us here in the first place. There are 7981798789729871982931882 articles published weekly about "Sex After Children" "Keeping Your Sex Life Fresh and Exciting" etc, etc, infinity, everywhere from Christian Family Digest to The Economist to MSN news and beyond I'm sure. Not that I read Christian Family Digest or the Economist but I know a couple Christians and one Economist contributor and they told me so.

This post is not about "Keeping Your Sex Life Exciting!" yawn. There are about 56879823791873291832 ways to do that. In my opinion the real problem is keeping the little one(s) out of your bed. And shit, mine isn't even crawling, let alone jumping between Mom and Dad post coitus.

For the first few months Archer slept in our bed between us. It was a cozy little family sandwich and I loved every minute of it, almost. After all, a GGC does have needs, dudes and just because a baby came out my vagoogoo, doesn't mean I'm out of commish. Me and the hub were nervous that sex would be like throwing a hotdog down a hallway after baby. Hard not to think such thoughts during childbirth, especially when they cut your shit so the baby can enter the world without tearing you a new one. Phew!

Dadz: "Doctor? While you're down their sewing her up, feel free to sew a few more stitches, you know... heh, heh."
Me: Yeah, Doctor. Shit, why not!?

We were kidding, kind of.

For the first few months the following conversation took place pretty regularly in le bedroom, baby sleeping soundly on the pillow in the middle of the bed:

"Ahem. How do we? Um, i'm kinda feeling like we should consummate our parenthood. Okay, well why don't we surround him with pillows and, yeah, down here! I'm on the floor and I'm soooooo hot and naked. Seriously. Come down here. Fuck. Was that you're stomach or the baby? Just turn the lullaby music back on and he'll be fine. No, that wasn't him screaming it was me. Waaaaaaaaaah. See? Look at me. Great. Close your eyes then. He's fine. Humpa, humpa, hump. Sounds like he started crying. Great, talk dirty to me now! Shit. I need to buy more diapers. Oh, really? Did you boil the bottles? Never mind. Humpa, hump. Okay, enough. I can't think about anything but the effing h'ing baby right now. I lost it. Maybe later. Um, goodnight. Should be get back into bed? Yeah. (climbing back into bed) Goodnight. Wait, did you see how the baby totally smiled at the photographs on the fridge. Totally, that was so cute. Okay, goodnight. Goodnight. Babe? Yeah. Your tits are leaking all over me right now. Oh, sorry. I'll turn over. Thanks. Goodnight. Goodnight."

These days, Archer is a whopping nine months old and please don't slap me, has slept through the night since two months. Twelve hours straight, kind of. He likes to wake up at 1am when we are getting into bed to play with us and sometimes he is so stinkin cute we refuse to put him in his crib. Refuse. Too cute. Too snuggly. Too cozy in the big bed being sardines. Cut to an hour later. Baby asleep. Mommy and Daddy wide awake and ahem.... AHEM.

The thing about having sex after baby isn't so much being tired (okay, unfair because my kid is a sleeper and not quite at the curios crawler stage, but in my defense I work an average of 14 hours a day so there) but having someone SO on your mind that getting amped for sex can be hard. There is nothing like the cold shower of a dirty thought or sexual fantasy being interrupted by the thought of your child. Humpa, hump. Is baby warm enough? Humpa. Ahhhhhhh, shit! I was never religious and I STILL feel guilty. Pre-pregnancy I was a crazy little freak. Now? I just can't concentrate like I used to. No more spontaneous sex a la carte.

I can't help it. It's the kid's fault. He's too damn cute not to come between us once in a while. Three is a crowd, but I'm okay with it. After all, it could be worse. I could be tearing through the arbitrary pages of Good Housekeeping Magazine searching for "How to Have Sex with your Husband Like you did Before he was your Husband" first-person editorials. At least I still got that. I think.


Dr. Happyface & Mr. Grumpalicious

"Two faces are better than one." I admit, as a Gemini I have always said so. But now that my spawn has inherited my charming characteristic I am beginning to change my tune. One face is fine. One face is enough. One face is simple and wonderful and easy to deal with.

Last night we went to an Oscar Party for twenty minutes. En route to our friendz apartment we were all sunshine and light. Dr. Happyface played peek-a-boo with me and we sang songs about rainbows and gave eskimo kisses and laughed and laughed and laughed. We parked the car and skipped to the door of our destination, smiling and babbling in the elevator. Dr. Happyface was as charming as he looked, dressed to impress in plaid and baby-trenchcoat.

But as soon as the door swung open and faces appeared, fingers outstetched to shake Dr. Happyface's hand, Mr. Grumpalicious took over, possessing our sweet, gentle creature with the shrieks and wails of a frenzied pyschopath. Suddenly Mr. Grumpalicious grew claws and clung to me with such will, my arms bled. (Okay, my fault for not cutting his nails this weekend, but still.)

We watched the beginning of the Oscars, rocking Mr. Grumpalicious, making funny faces, introducing him to Hollywood hotness. "Look, Mr. Grumpa, Jessica Alba! Not your type? Kiera Knightly? Too old. Rachel Wiesz' fetus?" unfortunately, even the promise of a Jewish girlfriend (suffice to say Wietz and Arofonski are having a girl. Whatever, we're liberals.) wasn't enough to stop the insanity. We scarfed down cheese and chilli, determined to capitalize on our cameo appearance. When nothing was working and the baby screams were no longer "Aw. Sooooo cute", we waved goodbye to our single friends, accepting the award for Most Fashionable Temper Tantrum in an Oscar Party.

"Mr. Grumpalicious, a few words?"
"Raaaaa, raaaaa, raaaaaaaaa, rarararararraara. raaaaaaaaaaaaaah. Sniff, sniff, raaaaaaaaah."
"Thank you, sir. And that's our time."

As soon as the doors closed behind us, the rainbows appeared and the sun and candy fell from the rafters and all was sing-songy and cheerful again. Dr. Happyface smiled and cooed, tears still ripe in his eyes. The boy laughed down the elevator and giggled all the way home. Dadz and I looked at each other and shook our heads.

"Our son, the misanthrope."
"Sure sign of genius."
"Actually, I am hoping this is just a phase."
"Um, yeah. Me too."

Back at home Dr. Happyface played with the dogs, kicked his little legs and scrunched his nose at me like the perfect angel he is. At home. Alone. I swear.


GGC CrIBZ! With Archer Sagebrush

Yo Ma Peeps. My name is Archer and Welcome to my Crib in da Hollywood flats.

First of all, dis my favorite place to chill. I like to watch birds and the trees outside. Once in a while, character actors. You know how we do.

...The REAL magic happens here, in my plush bling-bling bathtub you heard? Yeah. This is where I get cleaned up nice for da club. I know I got my clothes on but I'm not about to pull a Mariah Carey here.

Follow me and I'll show you where all the magic happens. This is my ride. Only room for one, so ladies better back up off me.

Where my frogs at? That's right. We about to make it into the west wing: My nursery!

As you can see, I like to chill out and sit on the floor. I can't crawl yet or anything like that so I usually just sit here for hours and talk to myself or rhyme about Enfamil and my drum...

And with looks like these who needs friends, anyway?

Where was I? Oh yes, my wardrobe. Fashion is very important in my household so I try to keep the threads nice and organized. My mom is pretty nuts when it comes to what i be wearing out of the house...

...Especially, the shoes.

A nursery aint a nursery without a vintage bookshelf stocked full of literature. Knowledge is power, peeps.

A nursery aint poop unless it's stocked with real expen$ive artwork! This one was a Sothebys Estate-auction purchase. Sweet deal.

The magic happens here: My changing table. In fact, it happens several times daily. Sometimes I just chill here with my Momz standing very close by.

...Because every little man needs his moisturizer (and this shoe I refuse to let go of)

And lastly, the most important part of my crib would probably have to be MY CRIB. This is where all the magic happens... for my parents.

This is my mobile cuz, you know, I like to have a good time...

I like to pull shit, sometimez, you know.

Damn. I fell. I gots to practice that, later...

So now you've seen my crib. Hope y'all come by and visit me sometime. That would be nice. We could sit on the floor and stuff, or whatever you want. Just don't crawl away.

So now I'd like for you, baby friends to show me yours! What? I wanna see your Cribz... If you in my blogroll I'm she-she, he-he-ing you. Serious. Wait! Where you going? Peeps? Aw, shucks, guess I'll catch you on the flipside...