Dallymania Sunday

I used to think nothing was as exhausting as shooting a movie. Naive, stupid me. I have no idea how stay-at-home moms do what they do. The days that I have to stay at home with Dally are by far some of the most unproductive* days I have ever had - this coming from someone who can really take the word 'unproductive' to incredible levels (I've lost years watching Lifetime movies). Today was another Paintball Sunday, which meant it was just Dally and me all day. I managed to make the bed and empty two trashcans today. That's pretty much it.

The rest of the day was all about Dally. He plowed the side of his face into a cabinet door so there was some consolation cuddling. Later I made him some macaroni and cheese that he didn't want to eat so I ate it (why let perfectly good food go to waste) and just as I was going for the last bite, he wanted it. And when there was no more, he started throwing a tiny tantrum. I rushed to make more, and, of course, he no longer wanted it.

Shortly thereafter, Dally spilled a bowl of soup and then proceeded to eat what didn't spill out - a piece of zuchini that he managed to drag to the living room carpet. After being indoors all day, I figured we should get some fresh air. I toyed with the idea of going to Walmart but my heart just wasn't into it. So we went for a walk. A three-mile walk. Well, it was supposed to be.

A quarter of a mile into things, Dally saw a balloon.

Balloons have become the bane of my existence. I can't even go to Vons with Dally anymore because every time he sees a balloon he starts going nuts - he's gotta have it. And since I'm one of those asshole parents who thinks kids shouldn't get everything they want, it usually turns into a loud and hurried experience where I forget something important like my powdered donuts. It sucks.

Anyway, once Dally saw the balloon, it was over. He cried his eyes out like I had just poked them - except the little punk would quiet down when a jogger would bypass us. He was torturing me and only me with his wails. So we made it to a stoplight a quarter of a mile down and then headed back home. On the way back, John called and asked how I was doing.

"I'm fucking exhausted. Hurry up and come home."

The next seven minutes walking home, I daydreamed about the conversation we would have when John came home. It would sort of go like this: This wasn't the life I imagined for myself. This totally sucks. I feel like a goddamn babysitter and I don't even like kids. What kind of a weekend is this? What the hell?!?!??!

But he came home and said we should get Norma to watch Dally when he's out at paintball. He said he sensed the desperation in my voice and felt really bad. And then he cooked dinner. That never happens.

* I know all you warm and fuzzy people will suggest that while I may not be productive in terms of getting chores or income-generating work done, the quality time I spend hanging with my son is completely productive in terms of fostering a happy, healthy kid and and making me a balanced, satisfied mother. Unfortunately, I haven't reached that state of enlightenment, thanks.

Jewish Lesbians Irritate Me Right Now

I'm hormonal right now so everything's rubbing me the wrong way. I was watching Oprah today it was all in good fun about how some straight chicks suddenly turn gay and yada yada. What struck me is this one chick, when asked about how her parents took the news said, "Well, my ex-husband wasn't Jewish and Lori is Jewish, and I'm Jewish, so my parents were like, 'Woohoo, bust out the Manishevitz (I know, SIC!!!)." The whole audience busted out laughing. So let's change this statement up and see if it's as funny.

"Well, my ex-husband wasn't white and Lori is white, and I'm white, so my parents were like, 'Woohoo, bust out the Budweiser!"

Is it still as funny or kind of Klannish?

I Heart RMH

I went to bed early last night and now I can't sleep so what do I do? Cross off one of the things on my 2009 To Do List: Buy a raffle ticket for the Ronald McDonald House Dream House Raffle. One hundred and fifty smackers for a chance to win a $1.9 million home (or $1.6 million cash payout). I thought I was going to be all sneaky and pay for it through an automated telephone system, so I was startled when a real lady answered the phone. She probably thinks I'm some mega weirdo or someone in crisis. Who buys raffle tickets at 4am?

But here's the story behind the story. A few weeks ago, I was driving to my office when I saw the side of a building that had been under construction for awhile. It said, "Ronald McDonald House." I thought to myself, "I need to give them money." My brother-in-law had cancer when he was a kid and his family relied on the services of RMH.

There's a saying that says, "You're only as happy as your saddest child." For my mom, that would be my sister. And my sister's happiness was contingent on meeting my brother-in-law. And my brother-in-law's survival was contingent on RMH. So you see? I, on behalf of my family, OWE RMH. Get how that works?

And then I saw a story on the news about the dream house raffle a couple of days later. Proceeds from the raffle benefit RMH San Diego. And if you manage to win, oh snap.

To look into this or buy a raffle ticket, please check this out: http://www.sdraffle.com/Overview.aspx