In My World...

Diaper Bags Are Stupid.

Now that we're in the family way again, I've started to look at all the unnecessary gadgets I won't be able to live without. One of the things I will not be getting is a new diaper bag. While I like the look of Dally's diaper bag, it is the most impractical piece of fabric ever. Maybe I'm lucky because my kid doesn't have monster shit explosions (knock on wood). But most of the time, all his junk can fit in my bag - and usually does anyway.
I should just buy myself a killer new purse.

Monitoring Our Child

Ugh. The most annoying things happened a couple of days ago. Dally's video monitor went kaput.

It was faulty from the get-go. None of the buttons worked from the moment we took it out of the box, but it was a baby shower gift so as long as we were able to see and hear baby, whatever. Didn't matter that the volume was consistently at MAX. We learned to throw a towel over the speaker.

About six months ago, the volume went out completely. My cheapskate solution to this issue was to buy an audio monitor since it was $20 vs. a new video monitor ($100). The picture display was fine. It just had no audio, and sometimes, it's nice to just have picture and no audio - like when the little menace is fighting sleep at bedtime. We can see that he's fine, just screaming his head off because he wants to own the night.

The other day, when I went to plug in the monitor at night, it didn't power on. Turns out, the adapter wires broke off the connection jack. OH GREAT. We tried to MacGuyver it, using an old adapter connection, but then the thing started smoking. I think I done screwed it up even more. I should have just gone to Radio Shack. Anyway, now I'm trying to figure out what kind of monitor I should buy. It seems the monitors like ours - with the full TV monitor - are becoming obsolete. They're being replaced by the handheld ones, which I don't like because the display is too small. In my blindness, all I had to do was squint to see the little noodle at night. I'm afraid that won't do with the smaller video monitor. (Heaven forbid I actually place it on my nightstand, right next to my head. Talk about too close for comfort.)

But for now, it's a lonely existence without the omniscient presence of Dally in our room at night. We miss watching our son, especially when he starts talking to himself in the middle of the night. Even more so when he starts cracking up. You miss so much when you don't have surveillance.

I read this piece the other day about when you should stop using the baby monitor. Some people stopped using it when their kid turned one. I think that's insane. I'm thinking 24. Creepy?

Finding Answers in Playboy

I find golden nuggets of parenting wisdom in all sorts of magazines - Parents, Wondertime, Cookie, and, today, Playboy.

Today while I was spending some quality time with my toilet, I shuffled through a drawer where I keep reading material and I ran across an old Playboy issue that I hadn't read yet. The interviewee was Dr. Drew Pinsky.

I've been loving Dr. Drew since I was in high school. I like that he has a firm stand against women having anal sex, has a superhuman ability to detect childhood trauma, and he has triplets that he would give up his first class airplane ticket to sit in coach with. When I first started listening to Dr. Drew preach the word of safe sex, the triplets were three. Now they're freakin fifteen - or in June 2008 they were. OY.

Anyway, in the Playboy interview, Dr. Drew touched on something that I'd never heard him weigh in on - he had in the past, I just hadn't caught it: What do you say to your child when he asks you if you have ever done drugs?

Dr. Drew says the appropriate answer is, "We don't talk about that." While you and me, as grown ups, might take that to mean something incriminating, to a child, Dr. Drew contends, it means something entirely different. What they might take it to mean, I don't know. But it beats the hell out of saying, "Yeah, I use to smoke tons of pot in high school."***

The truth, Dr. Drew says, is practically giving the kid license to go for it. Go get high.

I don't know about you but I'm ALL ON BOARD for that golden nugget of advice. Oh, by the way, this is a TOTALLY interesting interview that is worth seeking out. Dr. Drew has some really interesting things to say about Tom Cruise, Britney Spears, and, one that really got me thinking, Angelina Jolie.

***NOTE TO DALLY: That was a HYPOTHETICAL statement. Ask ANY of my friends in high school and they will tell you I was a superdork, not a druggie.

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

Speech Pathology? Survey Says, "Leave that baby alone!"

Get this. At last week's well-visit, my perfect little genius was referred to a speech pathologist.

How can this be? We've done everything to encourage his language skills - read, sing, and model behavior. Still, he's not having anything to do with saying any real words, except maybe, "No." Maybe.

Then we all went on language development overdrive. My mom delivered to us some speech therapy resources, we've been over-articulating, to an annoying level, everything Dally shows interest in, and we even plopped him in front of the TV hoping Elmo would teach him how to talk. (IMO, Sesame Street sucks these days - super boring.)

My sister-in-law said I should put Dally in daycare because if he sees other little dudes talking, that'll motivate him. OK, no offense at all to people who rely on daycare, but we're not at Threat Level Red just yet. That'll be my last resort. I have, however, looked into playgroups and Dally went to his first one today. He didn't really feel like socializing with the other kids, but he did flirt with some of the moms. Go figure.

Anyway, per doctor's orders, I called to make an appointment with the speech pathologist. Guess what she said.

"He's too little - leave that baby ALONE!"

They don't see kids under two. It's awesome how Kaiser is in perfect synergy. So I have learned a few things this week (from watching Intervention, reading speech patholgy resource guides, and playgroup):

1. His communication style is: "Has his own agenda". Only communicates when he needs something; plays independently.
2. If I push my child too hard and not appreciate him for his strengths and weaknesses, he may end up on heroin.
3. Who cares if he NEVER talks? At least he has his stunning good looks. (Quote from playgroup mom, "You are just the most handsome guy I've seen in a long, long time." And I'm pretty sure she wasn't talking to me - though this was at a LGBT community center.)

P.S.This is the raddest article I've read all week: http://www.phillymag.com/articles/jon_and_kate_gosselin/page1