Straight from the Bottle

Potty Training is Actually Kind of Fun. Is That Weird?

2008-05-15T20:12:00Z

So here we are. Naked from the waist down. Brand new Cars underwear and pull-ups as far as the eye can see and a toilet that sings when you lift the seat, which sounds kind of like a recipe for disaster but no. I'm actually really having fun with this whole potty situation. Maybe because for now, we're keeping it indoors. Underwear is reserved for after school only (for now) and when we go on walks around the block Archer's rocking pull-ups again. But diapers? We are weaning those babies for good!

I was not so excited about the prospect of potty-training (come on, like who is?). I was especially unstoked because of Archer's communication issues and his difficulty articulating his needs re: toilet time. But now that Archer's talking more (and more) and I can understand him: "I go potty mommy! I go pee-pee now!" I figured the time had come. And apparently so did Archer.

Archer thinks going pee in the potty is the coolest thing ever. Poop? Not so much. He cries for his diaper when he has to go and I get sad and confused and don't know what to do. So I went online and bought these books:

Where's the Poop by Julie Markes and Everyone Poops by Taro Gomi.

I have learned that the secret of parenting Archer well is to let him take his time. He is not someone who should or can be pushed. In fact, the day he decided to use the potty was the day I stopped asking him to. He's like a teenage girl that way. So I don't want to scare, push or upset him into pooping on the potty. I just want to excite him by the awesome prospect of potty-pooping.

Potty-time excellent! Woo! Woo!

In the meantime, I'm enjoying this phase of Archer's life. The pleasure he takes in the simplest of tasks. The pride my son has in his pee on pot accomplishments. And the hope I cling to dearly that come October, Archer will be (pretty close to) potty trained. Surely one babe in diapers is enough.

***

As always, potty training pointers and "pooping-is-fun!" children's book recommendations are quite welcome. Also, for those of you who are or have potty-trained your kids, do/did you bring a portable toilet with you on outings? Is there a toilet that folds and fits into a large purse or diaper-bag or should I invent one?

Thank you in advance for your toilet-tips!

***

On the Eve of Knowing

2008-05-08T19:27:00Z

*UPDATED BELOW*

I'm closing in on nineteen-weeks pregnant which means, tomorrow, during my ultrasound I will most likely find out the sex of my baby. I am not one for surprises. I have no patience in this life and can't help but obsess over ALL of life's little question-marks so, ho-HO! The sex I will know.

"Do you have a preference," people often ask, which is one of those questions that makes me very uncomfortable, mainly because I don't know what I'm having yet. And I kind of just want to have whatever I'm having, you know? I prefer whatever is.

"I'd like a boy or a girl," I usually say. And I would, both for very different reasons.

When I was pregnant with Archer I absolutely had a preference. I wanted a son. I couldn't imagine myself mothering anything but boys, probably because socially I always felt more comfortable with boys and in a way, the thought of having a daughter scared me. In my experience, girls are, uh... more difficult than boys. I feel like I would have a hard time controlling a daughter mainly because I'm stll having a hard time trying to control my self.

This pregnancy all my dreams have been daughter dreams, which doesn't exactly gel with my doctor's prediction that I'm pregnant with another boy. My 12-week ultrasound my doctor said he thought he might have seen a penis. He even said he was "80% sure you are having a boy" but for whatever reason, in every one of my dreams: girl. So now I'm just feeling very confused. I have no clue what this baby is. My subconscious, obviously thinks girl. My practical-self believes the doc and is going with boy. Tomorrow, of course, I'll know for sure.

The last several weeks I've spent with friends who have daughters. I've helped their little girls get dressed. Played with their hair. Read them stories. And kind of in a way, hoped that maybe one day I could have that, too. That mother-daughter, girl on girl, slumber-party-in-barrettes thing. I honestly, for once saw myself mothering a daughter and being, well, not so bad at it.

Reading books with BMC's Foo in Portland

This is not to say I'd be absolutely tickled by having all boys. (We're planning on stopping after two. Er, at least I am. Hal wants, like, a thousand kids. Uh, yeah right, dude.) I get giddy at the thought of brothers rolling around in the dirt, playing kick-the-can, racing each other on skateboards. Not to mention them not hating me in highschool (or at least not HATING hating me.)

But for once, I'm not afraid of the alternative. Which means that maybe in a way, I'm growing up-ish.

***

Guess the baby's sex, below! I will pick one winner at random and send you a signed copy of my new book, Rockabye: From Wild to Child. All I need from you is to place your guess in the comments and link me to where you can be reached by email. Stay tuned for tomorrow's update and chosen winner! Good luck!

***

UPDATE: In classic true-to-life form, I do not have an answer. The doctor did say he was almost 100% percent postive I was having a girl, but I cannot trust an "almost" (especially after the 80% sure it's a boy prediction last ultrasound and uh.... well...) so I will wait until the next (more high-tech) ultrasound where I have actual photos of genitals and proof positive. Even so, I was shocked to hear "girl"... Shocked. And maybe I'm still a little shocked and that's why I want to absolutely certain before I start shopping for vintage sailor dresses and gingham bonnets and such. HOWEVER! To be fair, I will be choosing one "It's a boy" voter AND one "It's a girl voter," sending both picked-at-random winners a book and a GGC mix CD. I will be emailing both winners later this afternoon. Thank you all so much for playing and stay-tuned, for some photographic evidence and hopefully, an accurate call on le sex of le baby!

Congratulations to Lisa L. and Heather V. for winning GGC Mx-CD's and a signed copy of Rockabye. Rad of you all to participate! Stay tuned for more fun contest-like drawing-things!

Baby, I'm Coming Home (I Promise)

2008-05-04T05:54:00Z

Archer has long stopped ichatting with me. He refuses to speak to me on the phone. He's pissed and with good reason. I haven't seen Archer in over two weeks and it will be a few more days more before I come home. He's stopped calling for me at night and asking for me in the morning and going to the window and waiting for me after I tell him I'm coming home. Which makes me sad because I feel like the mom who cried wolf.

"Tell him I'll be home soon! Really! I promise"

On the road. Still....

But I think Archer's just over me. I think he's sad and I'm sad, too, honestly. I'm ready to come home. It's been really fun and fantastic and all-out amazing, don't get me wrong but it's been a long time now and living out of a suitcase away from my boys is starting to bum me out. I'm literally sick from burning the candle at fifteen different ends. Trying to hit up 10 cities in one month is rough on any bitch, but pregnancy doesn't make it any easier, I'll tell you what. And now that Archer's literally turning away from my face on ichat screaming "NOOOOO!!!" I'm feeling this crazy guilt/exhaustion combo situation.

The one person I love the most in the world is over me. He thinks I've ditched him, which is one of the worst feelings ever on earth. Sucks.

Three days and I'll be home, Arch. I promise and pinky-swear and regular swear. THREE DAYS! I love you infinity much...

***

Rockabye Appearance Update:

PORTLAND, OR: Monday, May 5th @ 7:30, Powell's Books: Main Store (on Burnside)

(Hope to see you there!)

Road Trippin'

2008-04-26T04:39:00Z

Life on the road is a pretty surreal place to be. I’ve been gone almost a week now and I feel like I’m operating in some kind of alternate, dream-like universe.

I speak to Hal every day and chat with Archer on the computer. But we’re all very busy and Archer seems to be more interested in playing with his train or riding his bike or coloring his CARS coloring book than kissing the computer screen when I ask him to.

He misses me of course. He calls out for me in the mornings to fetch him from his crib, Hal tells me, and at night I dream about him smiling at me from fogged-windows.

But still. At the end of the day or the hour or the moment, after I hang up the phone with Hal or close the computer on Archer's smiling face, I’m with someone else’s family. Being cooked for and cleaned after and cared for. And then at night I read about my kid and my husband and my family in front of friends and strangers and people ask where Archer is and I say “he’s with his Dad” and people ask if I miss him and I say “yes” because of course I miss him. It’s impossible not to miss him. But at the same time, whoa. This is a really special experience I’m having and it kind of feels right that I’m spending it alone.

I keep reminding myself, whenever I feel sad or guilty for leaving Archer, that this is my time. My moment. My experience and how very important that is. That just as important as it is for me to support and nurture my family I must also support and nurture myself. So I am. And I’m having a grand old time. Getting dressed up, getting manicures with Kendra. And having slumber parties with Erica and spending time with cousins and friends and meeting incredible people who show up to my events, true blue.

And it’s damn cool. It really is. I hope to do it again one day. It’s kind of like living in a dream.

I’m having this Carrie Bradshaw moment right now, typing away at the Oakland terminal in a beret and very high boots, smoking a water bottle and staring longingly out the window overlooking the long security line.

And I can’t help but wonder if one appreciates her solitude that much more after she has a family. Before Archer I don’t know that I ever would have felt so moved by such a mediocre airport café, drinking (let’s be honest) a pretty godawful smoothie and watching people follow one another through a metal detector.

But right now? I feel like this may just be the high point of my life. Or at the very least, one of my all-time top fives.

***

This Week's Appearances

Saturday, April 26th, 4:30pm Elliott Bay Books: SEATTLE

Tuesday, April 29th, 7:00pm Sophia Books, VANCOUVER

Packing Without a Suitcase

2008-04-17T16:59:00Z

I leave Sunday for two and a half weeks to promote Rockabye up the western coast. And I'm going by myself. At first, I had this fantasy of bringing Archer, of having a sort of caravan situation, but it wasn't realistic and if I've learned anything these past few signings, a book signing is no place for an almost-three year old. No place for my almost-three-year old.

Archer at my Book Soup reading in Los Angeles. He insisted on reading an excerpt himself. Cute but the kid's heavy and underneath those lights, man, was I ever sweating like a wrestler.

So I'm packing my stuff, even though I don't have a suitcase. My suitcases are all down south in San Diego in my parent's garage which is where I still store my stuff because I'm, like, eighteen still. Trapped in the pregnant body of a twenty-six year old. It feels weird packing for myself. I'm so used to packing for all of us. For Archer. His duffel bag remains empty. He's staying here with Hal, who still hasn't found a job since the writer's strike happened back in December. It's a struggle right now for all of us but the silver-lining is that Hal gets to be with his son. They get to have boy time, which is a lucky thing. We're all grateful for that. Hopeful that the job market might smile down upon us but grateful for the time it has allowed for my boys to bond like homies.

The last time I went to San Francisco I was pregnant with Archer so it feels kind of neat to return, pregnant with #2. It feels kind of like I'm going on an adventure not alone. And when Babe II is born I can tell him/her about his/her pre-life adventure up the coast with me in my pocket. From San Francisco to Vancouver and all the places in between and how I rubbed my belly for good luck.

If only I had a suitcase, though. Packing without a suitcase is difficult. I tend to over pack and without limitations I have, well, no limits.

I'm excited and nervous all at once. I have that poopy feeling in my stomach and it isn't gas. It's hard to pack alone. It used to be all I knew. And now? I can't stop glancing back at the empty red duffel with Archer's initials on the front pocket.

It would seem that life as a rent-a-car vagabond might not be as easy as it was before I became a mother.

***

Tour Update:

April 22nd: Oakland Reading/Signing @ A Great Good Place for Book @ 6:30pm

April 23rd: San Francisco Reading/Signing @ Books Inc, Marina Location @ 7.30pm

April 24th: Grass Valley Reading/Signing @ The Bookseller @ 5pm

For more dates and locations, click here.

Make New Friends

2008-04-11T02:52:00Z

Every day the same thing happens. I drop Archer off at school. He kisses me, waves and scurries off to the playground. I watch him from the window as he lands in the sand, looks around at the other children and suddenly becomes shy. Quiet. A very different boy than the one I see at home.

"Hi Archer," the other children say.

"Hi," Archer says back, kicking the dirt, looking down sheepishly.

I watch him until my five-minutes of parking in a drop-off zone are up and occasionally I cry because Archer's got that whole loner in the trenchcoat thing going and it's heartbreaking to watch my child sit alone, when the other children seem so happy to be together. I remember how it felt, as a young child, to be shy. Overwhelmed by crowds of children, I wandered aimlessly as well.

In the car, I always remind myself that Archer's happy. He's glad to be at school and on the playground even if he's playing alone. He's smiling. Always smiling. No need for me to worry about my happy little child.

"Does Archer have any friends yet," I ask.

The teacher always answers me in the same way. "All the children love Archer. He's like everyone's little brother... We all adore him. He's a gentle little soul..."

"But does he have a friend? Is there anyone in the class that he sits with or..."

The teacher smiles. "Not really," she says. "But he's happy. He loves to hold the flag and read books and he participates in all the activities."

It was true, of course. Archer is a sublimely happy child so it would only make sense he would be the same kind of happy at school. He loves school! Every morning Archer rushes the door when it's time to go, always thrilled to see his teachers and kiss me goodbye.

Last week, when I went to pick up Archer, I asked the teacher how he was doing.

"He's doing great," she said. "Oh! And guess what? He has a friend."

"He does? A real one?"

I wanted to cry. His very first friend he made on his own! Someone to play with at school! Who was he? I had to know all...

"This other boy, he is just like Archer. He's quiet and shy and usually plays alone. But one day! All of a sudden? These two boys were not alone! They were together! Sitting together and playing together and it was like they found each other! Two boys just the same!"

I listened, gathering Archer's lunchbox and stack of art-projects, crying behind my giant sunglasses. The thought of Archer making his own like-minded friend was too much for me to handle. The thought of two little boys, wandering the outskirts of the playground only to decide, one day, to wander together was just... yeah. Yeah.

Tonight, before bed, I asked Archer about his new friend. About school and whether or not he was excited to go tomorrow. Archer repeated the name of his new friend and smiled. And so did I.

I probably would have cried again, too, had I been wearing my humungous sunglasses.

***

Throwing Speech Therapy Out With...

2008-04-04T03:06:00Z

Last week we decided to pull Archer out of speech therapy, mainly because in the last six-months of speech therapy, no one has done their job well. We went through four therapists all of whom flaked on us half the time. I haven't decided who I want to blame. Regional Center or the therapists themselves. At first we had the speech therapists coming to us. But like I said before, only a fraction of the time did the therapist actually show. Traffic was always sooooo bad. Maybe next week!

Because of our issues with flaky at-home therapists we decided to go into an actual office once a week but the flakiness continued. Several times not even an hour before our appointment, I was called and canceled on. And when we weren't (canceled on) the therapists seemed to have no idea what they were doing.

Archer es muy frustrado. His mama tambien.

"How's he doing?" I asked after our last session.

The therapist just shrugged and giggled. "He's doing fine," she said.

Uh... and?

Ironically, our speech therapists seemed unable to articulate what was going on with Archer's progress. No "he's getting stronger ever week!" or "Sorry, sister. Outlook not good." Just smiles and shrugs and "see you next week!"

Honestly, I really wanted to be open to speech therapy. Lordy knows Archer needed it. He still needs it. He's making progress of course but still has major speech-issues. He's about a year-and-a-half behind, we think, which is cool, but help is surely necessary at this point.

The final straw came last week when after three weeks of being flaked on, we were flaked on a grand total of four times in a row. Deservedly pissed off, Hal called to cancel therapy for good. We decided to instead put Archer in school five days a week. Because preschool doesn't call and cancel an hour before it starts and anyway, school seems to be working FAR MORE than speech therapy ever did.

Come on, Mom. Let's blow this popsicle stand...

Right about now I'm feeling pretty bad about Los Angeles' state-funded speech therapy (can you tell?). I really wanted to give it a chance but frankly it's been nothing but a waste of time for all of us. If we could afford to hire a private therapist I would do so but alas, we must depend on state-funded intervention and apparently, you get what you pay for 'round these here parts.

So preschool five days a week is Archer's only speech therapy. He sings songs. He paints pictures. He attempts to communicate with the boys and girls in his class and he's happy.

I couldn't be prouder of the progress Archer has made. Progress that hasn't been interrupted by flaky incompetents who cannot even make eye-contact with a concerned parent and/or do his/her job. Free preschool has been the silver lining of this whole experience. We love Archer's school and feel very lucky to have the support and aid of his teachers who have been nothing but patient with Archer and his delays.

It's hard enough for a parent to acknowledge that his/her child needs professional assistance. Harder yet when professional assistance isn't at all professional. Oy to the ARGH.

So no more speech therapy for us. Not unless we decide to hire someone out of pocket who will actually show up and you know, therapize.

***

Appearance Update:

Los Angeles: Book Soup (this) Saturday April 5th, 5pm

San Diego: Borders Carlsbad Wednesday April 9th, 7pm

for more appearance dates/times click here.

Twelve Weeks Pregnant, About to Give Birth

2008-03-31T16:46:00Z

I haven't really slept for the past week and when I do I have the same recurring dream: I'm reading my book without my glasses, squinting and straining and trying to make out the words, to an audience of no one. And I'm trying to smile and speak as I would if I had an actual audience. When I've finished reading my passage I close my book and ask the empty chairs if anyone has any questions.

As it turns out, I am more insecure than previously realized. Which is annoying. I want my confidence back, please.

I've been sick all week and not because I'm pregnant. I've been paralyzed with a kind of fear that's unfamiliar. The kind of fear that makes me want to turn away from everything and sleep. I can't put my finger what most scares me about tomorrow, about the book coming out and in the hands of strangers. I have this blog, which exposes all kinds of in-grown hairs to many people I don't know... never will. But there is something safe about publishing online. Perhaps because when I catch a typo I can easily correct it. If a post is poorly-wrought, I can delete it. Erase it from the record. No one will ever know I thought such things. Wrote so poorly... Make bad jokes.

When the books arrived on my doorstep on Friday, I was supposed to be excited. When I sat down to read the book for the first time since I sent in my completed manuscript last summer, I was supposed to be happy. Instead, I had a panic attack. Asthmatic and gasping for breath, I put the book down and spent the next hour staring at the ceiling, hoping it might fall on my face. Then I passed out.

The Internet has spoiled me with its code-of-armor. It's "disable comments," and "delete" and "create a new post" buttons... Every day I can post about something new. I can mature as a writer, be a better mother, a more interesting person. I can grow up. Change my settings. Contradict my own waterfall of consciousness. (Because lordy knows, there's no stream here.) That isn't the way with a published manuscript. There are no such things as red pens and new drafts. There is no way to disable comments. The end.

Frankly, it's insane to be doubting myself now. And stupid. I should be excited. True, I'm not publishing the Great American Novel. But there's plenty of time for that, yes? Life is long. This is a good start. A hopeful beginning with many more books to come after a good decade of pushing and straining and creative breathing techniques. Keep pushing. There you go. Push harder! That's it! One more big push and...

...It's a...

BOOK!...

...All bloody and covered in guts and shit except it's not really mine. It belongs to everyone now. Out of my body and my hands and my control. Goodbye book. Take good care. I hope you make a lot of nice friends out there. Just remember there's a lot of bad and beware...

Maybe, then I just pinpointed what is most scary. Why I feel so sick. So vulnerable and weird and self-conscious. Because contrary to my recurring dream, there are people listening in the audience. People who paid the price of the book to listen. You and you and you. And you in the back with the purple scarf. You're all here in the audience even if I can't see your faces.

You're here and I so badly want you to be glad you came.

***

He Can Read! Music!

2008-03-23T04:34:00Z

No, really. My kid may be a few years behind as far as speech is concerned but who needs words when you have music? Archer's taken to sitting down with Hal's music books and just... reading. Humming along as he goes. Ch-check it:

Okay, okay, so he isn't *really* reading the music. But it's still cute and makes me wonder at what age music lessons are most common. Hal and I both played piano as children. I guess it's probably way too early (Archer turns 3 end of May) but the kid has been interested in music since the beginning. In fact, he can speak almost perfectly when in song. (If life was a musical, there's a good chance Archer wouldn't be so slow to the language scene.)

I can't help but wonder if perhaps music classes will help his speech. It kind of makes sense. Archer's confident when it comes to music. He responds to melodies in a unique way. (I think?) Does one nurture such passion, even at this early age or is it more appropriate to shoot mini-movies and gush over them on the internet?

I have no idea. Do you?

***

Puff The Most Depressing Dragon Ever

2008-03-15T03:11:00Z

I'm afraid Archer's going through his Morrissey phase (musically, I mean.) He has a new-found love for sadness and hauntingly depressing melodies and lyrics. For example, Archer knows all the melodies to the Once (Swell Season) soundtrack. He can even sing half the lyrics to Falling Slowly and did so during their moving performance at The Academy Awards. The room went silent when little Archer started singing along to the television, the only child in attendance (per usual) belting out "raise yo hooodoo voooy you ahhhh a dooooice" (raise your hopeful voice/ you have a choice) and any one who wasn't wiping the tears from their cheeks probably and most likely left their souls in El Segundo. With their wallets. Seriously. I was sobbing in my dip.

Usually, parents can rest assured that their Children's Music will be jubilant and even silly! In fact, in my experience kid's music is (usually) sublimely happy to the point of annoyance. Songs about Octopus' gardens and shaking one's sillies out, etc. But Puff the Magic Dragon? I wonder how many people offed themselves listening to Puff the Magic Dragon: the saddest, most depressing song ever written. And guess who's obsessed? OBSESSED. Archer could not be more in love with a song.

"Puff! Again! Puff! AGAIN!!!"

"Archer! NO! I cannot listen to that song again. I can't bear it!"

"Again! PUFF! AGAIN! AGAINAGAINAGAIN PUFF PUFF PUFF!"

"Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!"

Because, seriously folks, could anything be more depressing for a parent? To be reminded of the most certain fact that someday our children will grow up to be dragon-killers? Sheesh, louish.

A dragon lives forever but not so little girls and boys? Painted rings and giant's things make way for other toys? (Oh, God! No!) One gray night it happened, Jackie Paper came no more? (Why? Jackie Paper! COME BACK!!!) Puff that Mighty dragon he ceased his fearless roar? (Come on, Puff! Roar! Please roar!!!) His head was bent in sorrow? (God, noooooo!!!) Green scales fell like rain? (Can't you glue them back? Oh, Puff! Say you can!) Puff no longer came to play upon the cherry lane? (Somebody do something! SOMEBODY!) Without his lifelong friend, Puff could not be brave. So Puff that mighty dragon sadly slipped into his cave? (NOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooo x infinity...)

I'm sorry, but if this song doesn't make you cry you have no soul. NO SOUL, I say!

Anyway, in the spirit of emo-Archer, do any of your kids have a heartbreaking favorite song? Anyone's kid rocking out to Nina Simone singing Mr. Bojangles? or Elliot Smith's Waltz #2? Gimme something to cry about, people.

***

Not Your Teacher

2008-03-09T23:19:00Z

Remember that one time, or maybe, if you're like me, it was many times, when you accidentally called your third-grade teacher "mom"? I can recall the very first time I did this. I was in fourth grade and mortified, especially because my teacher was a man. He was a man who wore a fanny-pack, if you must know. He was also the North American Cupstacking champion. So anyway, I called my fourth-grade Cupstacking-champ, fanny-pack wearing teacher "mom" and everyone laughed.

I went on to call every single one of my teachers "mom" until I graduated from High School, and had I not dropped out of college on my first day, I would have likely called my professors "mom" too. But I digress, I don't have this problem anymore. I don't confuse authority with my mother. I do call Archer by one of the dog's names, sometimes, and vice-versa. But whatever. Archer doesn't seem to mind.

I'm the one who minds. I mind that Archer has decided it's cool and kosher to call Hal and me "teacher" and not on accident. On purpose.

He seems to think all adults are "teacher" and since Hal and I are (kinda sorta) adults, we get to answer to "teacher" as well. Lucky us. Or not. Being called "teacher" sucks. It was kind of funny for like two minutes, but now it's just annoying. And a little bit creepy.

Archer, not surprisingly, woke up this morning screaming, "Teacher! Teacher! Ahhhhhh! Teacher, up! Hal and I argued over which "teacher" he was referring to before I vollunteered to act as early-morning martyr*.

"I'M NOT YOUR TEACHER! I'M YOUR MOMMY! MOOOOMMMMMMMY! OKAY? MOMMY! I WILL NOT TAKE YOU OUT OF BED UNTIL YOU START CALLING ME BY MY NAME! AH!"

Of course, Hal is used to being called "Hal" but even so, he's been just as annoyed as I by this whole "teacher" thing.

"ARCHER! I'M NOT YOUR TEACHER! I'M YOUR HAL! OKAY? YOUR HAAAAAALLLL."

I'm trying to understand what the hell happened. Is Archer just trying to spite us on purpose or did he misunderstand his real-life teacher and now think "teacher" is the "aloha" of grown-ups. You're a teacher. I'm a teacher. We're all teachers. Which is kind of true if you think about it, but come on, son. Why can't you just call us "mommy" and "daddy?" Is that such a crazy request?

I can only hope that one day Archer, like me, ends up calling all of his teachers, "mom." Just, you know, to achieve some kind of balance. Or it would be awesome to just drop the whole "teacher" thing and go back to the way it was. When life was simple and I got to answer to "mommy."

Sniff.

***

*Oooo! Good band name!

The Twenty-Two Hour Nap

2008-03-02T22:38:00Z

Uh... So... Yeah. I just slept twenty-two of twenty-four hours. I wish I were lying.

It all started when I accidentally slept until 1pm. I tried to have a day but, man, that plan backfired after passing out in front of full frontal fashion an hour later, dragging myself back into bed and waking up again at 7pm for a nice hour before going all narcoleptic on myself.

Archer says: wake-up and play with me, Mommy!

I wonder how people do this without help. Be pregnant, work, take care of a kid. I have a newfound respect for every woman who can fight the urge not to sleep for twenty-two of twenty-four hours. I obviously don't have it in me at all. Which is going to prove interesting next month when I hit the road for two and a half weeks of coastal driving (San Fran to Vancouver) all by myself. I have no idea how or why I thought I could pull off a pregnancy during a book tour/promotion but I wasn't thinking with my real brain. My fake brain, yes. I suppose I was just expecting the same no-nonsense pregnancy I had with Archer. Ha! Yeah, right! Not even close! Hence the twenty-two hour nap and me being totally out of commission during a time I kind of have to be on my game.

I'm not on my game. I'm gameless, people. Totally minus game.

My goal for today was to stay up an entire day without crashing out on my face. It's 2:43 in the pm and I'm still going strong. I think I'm safe so long as I steer clear of couches, beds and/or any comfortable places/locations. Today's goal is to make it to dinner. As in "eating dinner" because lordy knows cooking dinner is pretty much out of the question.

I'm extremely lucky that I work from home or else I would probably have to go all Clockwork Orange on dat ass.

Seriously, ladies? How the hell do you work/parent/work and parent while being pregnant? Do you have any tips for a pathetic unable-to-do-much-of-anything ladyperson like me? This is just a first trimester thing, right? (I realize I should know the answer to that, being that I've been pregnant before, but I honestly don't have the energy to remember what is typical behavior for each trimester.)

Okay so now it's 2:53 and OH MY GOD. Would it be cheating to take a one-hour power nap? Just an hour I swear! I knew it was a bad idea sitting in a chair to write this post. I should have written this standing up.

***

Bribing for Brotherhood

2008-02-26T01:19:00Z

"Hey, Archer. Guess what! There's a baby in Mommy's body!"

"Baby?"

"Yeah. Right in here. In my belly, see?

"No baby, Mommy."

"Yes, baby. Just really small baby right now. Grape-sized."

Archer flashes me his "what the hell kind of drugs you on, woman" face

"Do you want to have a baby?"

"No!"

"You don't want to have a little brother to wrestle with?"

"No!"

"Do you want a little sister to play with in the park? You can frolick and--"

"No!"

"You don't want a little friend to build forts with and draw on walls with and--?"

"NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"You know what? When you have a baby you get ice-cream. All you can eat ice-cream. And cookies."

"Ay-Keem? Yay! Ay-keem!!!! Yay!"

"So do you want to have a baby and cookies?"

"Yays!"

"Do you want to have a little brother to wrestle with and ice cream? "

"Yays! Ak-keem baby!"

"What about a baby sister to push on the swings and cookies?"

"YAYS! YAYS! OKAAAAAAAY. Coo-KIE COO-KIE. YAYS, MOMMY! YAYS! Wheredigo-Ak-keem-COOkie?"

So I'm really happy to report to all who've enquired that Archer can't wait to be a brother. And ice-cream. And cookies. And... yeah.

***

The Sleep Pattern is Always Greener on the Other Side

2008-02-18T21:32:00Z

I can't believe I was just complaining about Archer's sleeping habits, about him sleeping "too much" and how I had to wake him up to go to school and how his naps were four hours long and oh woe is me. Was I smoking crack when I wrote that post? Ugh! I seriously want to tackle myself for being such a jackassian idiot.

This is the eighth consecutive day Archer has decided naps aren't for him. It was like a light-switch went on and now sleep is something that happens between the hours of 10pm and 6am ONLY and the rest of the day is for terrorism. Karate chops to Mommy's face. Screams that don't stop and timeouts that Archer uses in his favor, stripping down his sheets, tearing books apart and screaming for as long as he can hold it (my poor, poor neighbors).

Yesterday, when Hal came home from being gone all day, I was speechless.

"Did you guys have a good day?" He asked

I shook my head, passed Hal the sippy-cup, got into bed and cried. Now, mind you, crying is my major pregnancy symptom thus far. (I can't even listen to NPR right now because every person interviewed, every story told, makes me cry. Bawl. Howl. Oh, God, it's so true. That was so beautiful. Life is so... heartbreaking! Wah!) And now that Archer isn't sleeping, napping and/or mellow like he was, oh, a month ago! I'm an emotional disaster area who wishes it could go back to the way it used to... When naps were long and mornings were late. Twenty, twenty, twenty-four days ago, I want to be sedated.

Hurry, hurry, hurry? Before I go insane?

***

(Not) Very Superstitious. Writing's On the Blog

2008-02-15T01:16:00Z

I realize that announcing one's pregnancy in the first trimester is contrary to most rulebooks. And customs. And advice from parents, friends, strangers, pets, and with Archer I'm pretty sure I waited, well, a couple months at least before I told anyone (besides my immediate family) but here's the thing-- I'm excited. I'm excited and let's be honest, people, I'm kind of a tell-all kind of girl.

"Aren't you supposed to wait three months before you tell anyone?"

"It's too early! You're supposed to wait!"

"I would congratulate you, but it's kind of too early, isn't it?"

"Aren't you afraid of telling people?"

All of these are valid questions and/or philosophies. After all, the first three-months can be risky, and I totally understand a couple's choice to wait before announcing their pregnancy to the universe. If it was up to Hal, we would have waited but you know me, I'm just crazy! I blame blogging. I'm a public diarist who cannot wait to dish her own dirt.

But, hey! I'm excited. I've already read through two baby name books, dusted off my old maternity clothes and convinced myself that I'm already showing.

I've calculated my due-date (first week of October) and am counting down to my first OBYGYN appointment. Nothing says pregnancy quite like spreading dem leggies for the speculum and flashlight! BRING IT, Doc!

Sure the babe's the size of a lentil bean, has no limbs and looks like a tadpole, but It's my lentil-bean limbless tadpole, and I'm thrilled to know it's there. And I'll sing it songs and name it names and announce its existence before I'm supposed to.

Because ~~I am physically unable to keep my mouth shut~~ that's just me.

***

Never Mind the Last Post. I Wasn't Crying.

2008-02-09T17:49:00Z

Hooray!

****

The Girl Who Cried "Pregnant!"

2008-02-06T06:13:00Z

"Do I seem pregnant to you?" I asked this afternoon.

I also asked the same question this morning, this evening and about 65 other times in the last twenty-four hours. I feel like a total idiot admitting this but not not trying to get pregnant is turning me into a preganoid weirdball. On Superbowl Sunday I took one sip of beer and "OH GOD! What if I'm pregnant. No! I can't! I shouldn't!"

Because what if I'm pregnant, you know? Of course, there's a good chance, I'm not. We're not really doing anything trying-to-get-pregnant people are doing. No post coital handstands or rocking my ass above my head, Big Lebowski style. No testing my ovulation. No all-day marathon sex. Just the occasional boot-knock-sesh and "goodnight!"

Except for some reason, I have become the girl who cried PREGNANT, assuming that I must be pregnant at all times, even though I have a good week before I would even think to take a test.

"But my tits are HUGE!"

(Plth.) "Sorry! I'm so gassy right now."

"I feel nauseous! Wait... Never mind. Actually! Wait! Yes, I feel sick, again! I swear!"

"Did you get that baby name list email I sent you yesterday. To me choice #1 is a no-brainer. But in the case of twins, perhaps we should have two choices for each sex, doncha think?"

"No. I'm not eating that. I have no appetite for anything leafy right now. But I will have another jar of green-olives..."

"I'm exhausted..." Yawn. "Early to bed for me!"

"I hate you!" Wahhhhh "Oh my God, I'm so hormonal"

These and about a thousand other annoying sound bites have come out of my mouth in the last two weeks. I've become totally delusional. I even stopped drinking my usual double-helping of cafe con (soy) leche in the mornings because I'm convinced my body is saying "No! There's a baby in there! Fill it only with organic non-controversial items!

Uh... maybe. But seriously, can I just shut the hell up and behave like a normal person? After all I'm supposed to be all laid-back-whatever about this whole getting-knocked-up (maybe) thing.

Except, for some reason...

Aw, I think I just felt the baby kicking!

(Oh, for chrisskaes, I'm hopeless.)

***

Moments When Everything Seems Worth "It"

2008-01-30T04:16:00Z

I guess "it" would be relative. We all have different lives and situations and crap we're dealing with, so you can fill in the appropriate words (stress, chaos, depression, fear, instability, confusion, did I say stress?) for "it"...

As I've written ~~ten-squillion times~~ before, parenting is tough, marriage even tougher (or any committed relationship, especially when a child's in the mix) but there are times, moments, when "it" kind of melts away... These moments are seldom caught with a camera because... like SNAP! they're gone.

I used to call these moments "rainbow moments" when I was little, because they were so "colorful and quick to fade." One minute: an upside-down smile across the sky and before I knew it... "Wait, what was I looking at again?"

I experience such moments of ephemeral emotional bounty every now and then. I can only describe the feeling as one of great spiritual? high followed by the absolute fear that such a feeling might soon be forgotten. (Perfect moments often are.)

It took me until writing this post to remember the night, years ago, when an ex-boyfriend and I drove home from Las Vegas the night of a meteor shower. The top of his convertible was down and we shivered in our coats, the heater full-blast in our faces. (I had insisted we watch for shooting stars all the way home.) Or an afternoon, eight years ago, when I got lost in Paris only to find myself in the garden of some obscure palace, a wrong turn and POW: Paradise. I have a picture in my travel-journal to remind me: a badly-drawn sketch of a bench overtaken with vines. More recently, there was the moment Archer said "I love you Mommy" for the first time, at which point I fell to the floor like Amelie, a puddle of water in the middle of the room.

The other day I was lucky enough to catch one such moment on my camera. A moment so perfect I was knocked almost out of breath. The photo is mediocre at best and most likely doesn't translate but I felt that same rush of "ohmygod! life is fucking awesome!" when taking this photo (a "rainbow moment" indeed):

It was such a joy to watch my boys hand in hand watching The Hollow Trees rock out, Archer in awe of the lights and how he didn't let go of his dad's hand all afternoon.

I would love to hear the stories of your moments (or see them if they were captured on film), that is if you're willing to share. It's amazing how easy it is to forget how beautiful life really is.

Rainbows fade, even when we swear to ourselves we will remember them. And before we know it, we're once again trying to navigate the "its" of life, forgetting all too soon the shooting stars and hidden chateaus, the lights that flash red in the shadows, transient moments spotlighting permanent love.

***

A Whole New World

2008-01-24T05:57:00Z

Pardon the Little Mermaid reference but the life of a preschool parent is going to take some getting used to. Everything is so serious, now. So many new rules. Is it wrong that I just want to sneak out the back door and not buy into any of it?

...Outrunning everyone but his shadow...

Apparently there was some drama at the end of the year when a teacher left Archer's school without notice. Parents were livid and still are it seems, deciding to create a sort of "parent's union" and hosting underground meetings about their children's well being, voicing their concerns, etc. I RSVP'd for the meeting because I didn't know how to say no, and then I felt bad that I even wanted to (say no) because I really should be concerned with my child's well-being, too. And I am, but not in a "parent's conference" kind of way. It gives me a poopy stomach just thinking about it, getting together for lemon squares and chitchat about playground etiquette or whatever. It's times like these when I wonder if I'm even cut out for this parent-stuff. I think I'm a good mom and I love my son more than anything, obviously, but the bureaucracy of parenting is intimidating as hell, not to mention something I'm very uncomfortable with. I want Archer to make friends and learn stuff. I want his preschool experience to be as amazing as it possibly can be... but. Butbutbutbuuuuut... All the drama. Drama! Why!? WHY!?

Which kind of in a way brings me to my next point of weirdness: birthday parties. I almost forgot the whole "when it's your birthday you have to invite the whole class" thing... I hated it when I was a kid because for one, I didn't want everyone at my birthday party and two, I didn't want to be invited to some kid's party if he/she didn't want me there. Of course I understand that this "invite the whole class" thing is standard procedure for parents these days. No one wants to exclude anyone or hurt any child's feelings, which I realize is a kind gesture of loveliness. But it feels so... phony? Then I take a step back and think, "What the hell is wrong with you, Rebecca?" Seriously. What is wrong with me? Why am I so wigged out by this stuff?

Maybe I'm just reeling from the shock of sending Archer to school. Dropping my baby off in tears every morning is no picnic, and although he's wonderfully happy every afternoon when I come to pick him up, I'm starting to think my previous apprehension sending him to preschool early had less to do with whether or not he was ready and more to do with whether or not I was. The truth is... I'm not ready. Everything feels like it's moving way too fast, all of these milestones like butterflies I can't catch and I'm sort of standing here, dumbstruck, watching them flutter away...

...Why do you have to grow up so fast? Huh?...

I'm not ready for secret parent meetings and RSVPing for 4th birthday parties and trying to make small-talk with real adults in their adult houses with three (plus) bedrooms and backyards. I'm intimidated by the Angeleno elite who send their children to Archer's school and their fancy cars-- parents who have the space and monetary means to invite a whole school to their children's parties without flinching.

I feel like a child in her mother's high-heels trying to act way more grown-up than I am. It's one thing parenting a child in a world I'm familiar with. Quite another dropping Archer off in a new place where things just seem so, I dunno, different.

And a little sad, too.

***

He Sleeps Like a Teenager

2008-01-18T21:57:00Z

This morning for the second time this week we had to wake Archer up. I figured eventually he would make his little stretchy-sounds and rise to his feet but uh... not so much. 9:00am this morning he was still Audi5000. I pulled the blankets off of him like I did yesterday (and the day before)...Like I have done on and off for the past couple of months when Archer's sleeping habits somehow went from early-bird gets the worm to, uh... late-bird gets the... perm? His hair does look a bit curltastic in the mornings, or shall I say... afternoons, when he finally wakes up.

wake up and smell my coffee!

This morning was supposed to be Archer's first day back to preschool since the Ear-Infection-of-Doom (EID) but of course, getting up at 7:00am was out of the question (can I really blame him? 7:00's still pretty early) and then come 8:00 = still out of the question. I gave him until 9:00 (which was way ultra-generous, I say) and finally picked him up and pulled him out of bed. He was NOT happy. So unhappy in fact that he cried all the way to school and then on the field trip which we had to leave early from because we were upsetting the local celebrities at our undisclosed location (Gotta love Los Angeles) not to mention the other children in the class who kept asking "why is Archer so sad?" (note: agreeing to chaperone a field-trip on child's third day of school is not a good idea. You will be clung to and cried at... for hours. Or maybe that was just me. Sigh...)

Pajamas at noon...again.

I guess my conflict lies in trying to adjust to this new sleep-schedule. It used to be so that Hal and I let Archer wake us up. He was our alarm-clock every morning. But now? We're back to setting our alarms and then sleeping through them, waking Archer up when we have to and/or letting him sleep in 'till 10:00 because we don't have any idea what to do with this new sleeping-in version of Archer. Who are you, strange boy? The thing is? Archer doesn't go to bed late at all... 9:00pm at the absolute latest! And we can't really put him down earlier because he gets up from his nap around 6:00. (3-6 naptime, typically. I know! The kid can SLEEEEP, man. Hardcore.) So what to do? Wake him and deal with his attitude or let him sleep in and lose half the day?

Does anyone have any answers? Because there are no worms being had 'round here. Just teenage-angst to the max. Thirteen years early.

***

Ear Infections Suck

2008-01-14T02:27:00Z

Early Wednesday morning Archer woke up with a smoldering fever. Two days later it was still going strong so for the second time in a week, we took Archer to his pediatrician to figure out what was ailing our poor son. This last month has been a coldisaster for all of us. First mad cow disease, then Avian Bird Flu, etc, etc. But this week was the worst of it. When I woke up to tend to Archer's fever, I found that I was also sick. Again? Damn! Archer wasn't eating or moving. He just wanted to cuddle in my lap and watch Little Einsteins for 67 hours straight. Brutal, man. Brutal. No offense to Disney (or...) but Little Einsteins is the most annoying show I've ever seen (minus the intro song which is EXTREMELY catchy)... But Archer loves it. And sick children get what they want. (That's kind of one of the unspoken rules of parenting I am finding.)

Friday I put the call into the pediatrician, feeling like one of those crazy parents who takes their kids to the doctor every five minutes.

"Heh, hello. It's me again. Archer's mom. So... Archer's really sick... again. And I swear he's really sick and I'm not just..."

"Hold please."

Archer represents hair metal and snot!

We were asked to come in right away and Archer's pediatrician went straight for the ears.

"Aha! Just as I suspected! His ears? Well they're infected." (That rhymed!)

"No!"

"Yes."

Our doctor turned her attention to the giant poster of "The Inner Ear" on an elephant-wallpapered wall.

"Here you have a normal eardrum. Nice. Healthy. Pink... And here you have Archer's eardrum: white, swollen, pussing all over the place."

I inspected the pus-filled eardrum with the pediatrician for a good minute, as she explained what happens when a child gets sick and then gets better and then gets sick again and how it often times leads to an ear infection. She said a lot of other stuff too but I didn't really understand what she was talking about. I just knew we were in trouble. (Sad face.)

Our pediatrician went ahead and wrote Archer a prescription for Amoxicillin and directed us to give him 7.5 ML three times a day for ten days, which didn't seem like that big of a deal at the time until...

The gallon of Amoxicillin, better known as "the pink stuff" arrived at the pharmacy counter with an equally giant syringe. The syringe we were told was for "injecting medicine into our child's mouth."

Lovely.

To spare you the suspense and gory details. 7.5 ML three times a day is A LOT of pink stuff. I always figured there was nothing worse than a sick child. Ha! Now I know better. Having to hold down a sick, feverish, sad little baby while force feeding him pink medicine THREE TIMES A DAY is about as bad as it gets. (And I thought that measly Tylenol dropper thing was bad. PIECE OF CAKE compared to the pink stuff in the giant syringe. Piece. Of. Cake!!)

Two and a half days down. Seven and a half days to go.

The good news is that Archer's fever has dropped significantly today and he's starting to eat again which means less Little Einsteins, more chasing the dogs around the house, screaming bloody-muder-crazytown. Ah, the life of a healthy two-year-old. Of course, after all the force-feedings, Archer's totally scared of me. I am the Pink-Stuff Villain.

Of course that's the price any parent is willing to pay for the well-being of their child. I just hope one day Archer will Iove me again. I know I still haven't forgiven my mother for shooting my mouth up with pink drugs as a child.

Ah, the circle of life... and it moves us all.

***

Fast Times at Montessori School

2008-01-08T07:14:00Z

"I'm going to sneak away, now" I whispered to Archer's teacher, just as Archer was making himself comfortable with the other boys and girls at the snack table.

"Sneaking out is a bad idea," she said. "Then he'll think you left him. Tell him goodbye, instead. Tell him that you'll see him in a few hours."

"But he'll cry!"

"Yeah, I know. They always do. But after a while he'll be fine. And pretty soon he won't cry at all. You'll see."

I crouched down next to Archer who was enjoying drinking his water from a Dixie cup.

"Archer? I have to go now but I'll pick you up in a few hours, okay? Have fun at school! Bye-bye!"

"Bye-bye," Archer said, as I scurried away.

Don't look back. Don't look back. Don't look back...

But of course... Because I couldn't help it, I looked back. A frown was forming on his face and I knew any second he would cry. I pushed through the front door just in time to miss hearing his wails.

His preschool was the one and only school we looked at, a little Montessori school up the road. I didn't even know what Montessori meant, to be honest. I still don't really. I just liked the teachers and the children and had a feeling it was a keeper. I liked that the school was painted red and the schoolyard had an area of dirt for the kids to roll around in. I liked that the children were from all backgrounds. I liked that classes didn't believe in parent-carpooling for fieldtrips, instead taking the children to and fro by way of the Metro bus. I liked that there was nothing neurotic or phony about the place. It was laid back. As preschool should be, me thinks.

I never bought into the whole preschool hysteria. Maybe I missed the gene, but I just don't get it at all. Reminds me of waiting in line for an hour outside the "cool club" which is only "cool" because Jared Leto's band played there once or something. In my experience the "coolest" clubs usually suck. But hype is powerful and parents want to do the right thing for their kids at all costs and sometimes that means visualizing the emperor's robes. (I'm not discounting the probability that I too will compliment the emperor on his invisible platinum jock-strap. I've most definitely done it before. )

After leaving Archer, I sat outside the school in my car for several minutes, waiting for the teacher to come get me but she didn't come. So I drove to the gym and worked out. I went home and took a long shower. Wrote some emails. Did some errands. Had a quiet afternoon to myself, checking the clock only sixty-seven (thousand) times. Not bad.

When I went to pick Archer up he didn't see me right away so I stood in the back of the class and watched him. He was eating his lunch quietly, surrounded by the other children. He was smiling and humming and pointing. He was happy as I've ever seen him.

"Archer. You're mommy is here," one of the little girls in Archer's class screamed.

All the children waved. "Hi, Archer's mommy!"

(Last month Archer and I visited the school two days a week to get him acclimated, which was why all the kids knew be my name. And by name I mean "Archer's Mommy")

Archer looked up from his lunch and smiled at me.

"Mommmmmy!!!" he shrieked, running to me. He put his little head on my shoulder and looked up at me again. "Aw, Mommy yuv."

Then he proceeded to drag me around the room, pointing out a puzzle and a peg board and showing me the rug he sat on for storytime, before waving to his teacher and the other children and saying, "bye, bye cuel!"

On the way home I asked him what he thought of preschool and he pointed out the window.

"Cuel! Cuel! Cuel!" he shrieked. "Cuel!"

He was beaming with pride and so was I. We both made it out relatively unscathed. Some tears shed on both sides of the school-door but that was to be expected.

"Gimme five!" I said.

Already one-step-ahead of the game, Archer held out both hands and gave me ten.

that wasn't so bad after all!

***

Unprotected Sex

2008-01-04T06:21:00Z

It would seem "summer" has come (heh) early in our household because our plan to toss the contraception come (heh) June out the window and run free like schoolgirls/boys was a giant psyche! Gotcha!

Just kidding, actually. It was kind of a last minute decision.... Kind of like how we got married:

"Hey."

"Want to go to Vegas next weekend?"

"Sure."

"Cool"

"Goodnight"

"Goodnight."

We kind of just woke up and were like, "hey! I love you! How about instead of bleepity-bleep-bleep-bleep (my parents read this blog) you just bleepity-bleep-bleep-bleep bleep-bleep!"

"You mean..."

"Oh, yeah..."

"Okay."

"Fun!"

"Yeehaw!"

"Aw, aw, Awooooo!"

"Who's your baby's daddy! Oh, yeah."

"You're my baby's daddy. Uh!"

I'm kidding of course. I would NEVER talk like that. Ever.

So yeah. No big deal. I mean, it's not like we're "trying" per se... We're just having unprotected sex.

Except rumor has it that's the way babies are made. Seriously. Someone told me that once.

***

Greatest (And Not So Greatest) Hits, 2007

2007-12-29T23:25:00Z

(Cue ballad-esque music.)

2007 has been a year of highs and lows. Agonies and ecstasies. Moments both predictable and surprising. Good times and bad. Smiles and frowns. Bad days and good nights. Tears of joy and depression. (Insert bad High School graduation speech cliche, here.) So it is with great honor and gratitude that I present you with the top ten high-points of Straight From the Bottle! Followed by this year's "stinky diapers" or low, sad, and/or difficult moments:

Ten Tasty Tushies (Good Times) 2007

1. All Those Wonderful Outings (Even if by the time we got there it was over) Better late than never, as they say. (And high-fives to "they" who "say".)

2. Freedom Isn't Free (It's actually pretty expensive after airfare, hotel, etc, etc.): My first solo-trip away from Archer made me realize the importance of having a life outside the mother hood.

3. I Fall In Love... With a Friend: Who also happens to have a son Archer's age. (And I'm happy to say, we're still going strong, today.)

4. Archer Turns Two, Wins Hearts: Another gushy letter but how can I help it? I mean... Really.

5. Penis Balloons! Ah, Very Festive!: This was one of the highlights of the year fo sho: Archer's 2nd Birthday Party. And this post? Maybe the most I've ever laughed while writing. Gotta love that.

6. Viva Los Camino De Sesame!: Finding out that because of Sesame Street I could sleep in? Praise Jeebs, that was a beautiful, beautiful day.

7. Better Really Late Than Really, Really Late: Archer starts talking. A little bit. Finally. (And never a sweeter sound...)

8. Archer Blows Out the Fire: The most touching moment of the year for sure and a moment I will never forget. Not that I ever doubted Archer's quiet wisdom, but still, I was floored by his eloquence.

9. Halloween and Halloweeve: This is kind of a two-part hit because Halloween deserves two thumbs-ups for sure. We went as the Ernie and Bert family, complete with Rubber Ducky. I looked more like a freaky clown but Archer's cute and Hal's unibrow were so impressive nobody cared about my failed "look". Halloweeve was just a good excuse to be a poet. (And, yes! I know it!)

10. Holiday. Celebrate. (It has been so nice!): Still home for the holidays, here. And it's been great. Even though we're all still sick. Can't nobody hold us down...

Ten Stinky Diapers (Bad-ish Times): 2007

1. Archer Literally Gives me a Piece of Poop: Oh, man. Nothing says parenthood like clutching a piece of poop in the shower. That about sums it up.

2. Judgment Day: After judging parents who use toddler-leashes, I almost become one, myself. Almost.

3. Acquiescing to Archer's "Testing": I've written about this at length on both of my blogs, but the hardest part was having to swallow my pride and "seek help when I felt I should be giving it..."

4. Archer's Nightmares, Same as My Own: I was going through a really rough time when I wrote this. Bad. Bad. Bad. In retrospect I'm pretty sure that's where Archer's nightmares were coming from. I couldn't sleep most nights, haunted by my own demons that no one but I could make go away. And that was rough. Realizing that I was an adult. On my own. In the bed that I had made. Unable to help myself and therefore unable to help Archer.

5. The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Mother: I think it's safe to say we've all been there... in the movie theatre alone. Or the bookstore. Or the party... surrounded by people and yet, lost, out-of-our element: alone. Of course, none of us are alone in our feeling this way. And that's kind of nice to know. Really nice, actually.

6. Terrible Tantrums (He's Two, Folks.): Nothing says toddler like a good old-fashioned tantrum in a public place. Make it a daily occurrence and, well... sarcasm certainly helps.

7. Realizing That I'm Annoying as Shit (And you realizing that you're just as annoying): Hal and I take our first vacation together without Archer which was awesome but what was not so awesome was how much we talked about Archer, like, to strangers. Uh-Noy-Ing x 9891283.

8. Yummy Mummies? What a Crock: I was not stoked after reading the Yummy Mummy essay is Harper's Bazaar and am finding it a lot annoying at the categorization of modern mothers. Are you a hipster parent? A yummy mummy? A SAHM? WHO CARES!? Anyway, I ranted a teensy tinsy bit about it, here.

9. Nicole Richie Steals Archer's Name (in my dream): In a recent dream Nicole Richie named her unborn baby, Archer, which sucked but not as bad as the epiphany I gained from said dream. (Damn subconscious! Ahhhh!)

10. Hellmerican Airlines: High School Musical 2? Archer up all night pressing buttons and driving us all mad on the red-eye from LAX to Fort Lauderdale. SUCK to the Y. Still recovering from that one, actually. Road trips on the other hand, we're damn good at.

***

Now, if I may... a toast. Let us all lift our glasses in celebration! For we have survived 2007 as parents and/or humans. May 2008 be just as survivable! Here's to a future of memories and moments both tasty and stinking of poo! (Because that's what it's all about, people. That's what it's all about.)

***