Rubber Buggy Baby Bumpers

Crib bumpers. Yes? No?

Some say they’re a bad idea from the start. The SIDS people have their own version to prevent SIDS deaths.  Some say they’re great and cushion baby’s head when he snuggles against the crib slats (reinventing the womb feeling).  Some say they’re another way for baby to suffocate when he snuggles against it. Some say they couldn’t have lived through the crib years without out it.  Others say they’re glad they never used it.

They have a new shorter wedge version out now.  Bumper “protection” for little heads without the height of a regular bumper to possibly help propel your baby up and over the side when he stands.  They have slat bumpers now that are like pipe insulation that you wrap around each individual slat.  And, for those who deem the crib bumper as a necessary part of nursery decor, they now sell “flags” that hang along the tops of the crib rails, just for decoration.

No matter what your view, though, everyone seems to agree that bumpers should be removed when your baby starts pulling himself up to stand to prevent the risk of him launching himself up over the rail.  So, with that in mind, I removed Abby’s crib bumper.

Now, every night and every naptime her legs get stuck between the slats and I have to rescue her.  So, what am I doing?  When I lay her down I now roll up her comforter and lay it along the crib rail so her feet don’t go through the slats.

You know.  LIKE A BUMPER.



Today I was creative…

WIN: I used our coffee table to make a gate to keep Abby in the living room.

FAIL: I have nowhere to put my coffee.

I’m Still Learning

…well, everything, but I am specifically trying to learn Abigail-ese (Abbese? Abigese? Abspeak?). I was online this morning during her much sought-after (by me) nap and was startled into panic mode by a screaming wail from her bedroom. I assumed it meant:

“HELP! Something big fell on me! My legs are crushed” or

“There’s blood everywhere, call 9-1-1!” or at the very least

“My leg is stuck in the crib slats again!”

So, suddenly terrified and being Supermom (riiiiiiiight), I run into the bedroom both prepared to lift a misplaced car from my baby and beat back an intruder (who obviously scaled the building next to us and crawled into her locked window to borrow a cup of sugar, being broad daylight and all) and I discover to my relief (glad she’s okay) and disappointment (I really wanted to kick that burglar/axe murder/wayward chef’s ass) her mommy-mind-numbing scream of terror actually meant:

“I’m standing and I can’t get down!”


Her: more standing practice
Me: less caffeine

Through The Looking Glass

As women we are in constant search for the Fountain of Youth.  Barring that we will try just about anything, no matter how strange it sounds.  Jenny, The Bloggess has been known to wear cat turbans. (LOL. I *heart* her.) But I read somewhere that to see what you’d look like with a face lift you should lie down and hold a mirror above you. (Gravity pulls all the nasty extra skin flaps back over your ears.  Then you look like Dumbo.  Who wants to look like Dumbo post-surgery??)

Anyway…. The trick to younger is head back, facing up.  However, this seems to be in direct clashiness (yes, that’s a word.  Cause I said so, that’s why.) with blow drying your hair upside down to get more volume.  I have very straight, very fine hair.  It’s so fine it doesn’t hold a curl until I get out of the bathroom.  The only way to even pretend to have normal looking hair is to blow dry upside down and product myself silly. (Sillier)

This morning, I’m bent over in the bathroom blow drying my hair (where’s the paparazzi NOW huh??) hoping to look normal when I’m done.  But what I’m also doing is holding my face down and forward. 

So now I have big hair and I look 15 years older.

What the hell??

You Can’t Take Us Anywhere

You really can’t. Last night Matt and I decided to go out for dinner for the first time in…well, it’s been a while. I like to think we just choose to stay in. We’re people who prefer to hang out together at home and watch movies or…and watch movies. (Geez, are we boring!) Last night reminded me that we don’t go out simply because when we do we embarrass ourselves or each other.

We drove to a local Chinese restaurant. Neither of us had been there before (we’ve lived here a year and a half. I know, I know…) and were overwhelmed at the sheer size of the place and the volume of people. We were completely confused as soon as we walked through the front door.

“Do we seat ourselves?”

“I don’t know. Do we pay first?”

The man at the cash register asked, “Two?”

It was the only thing we DID know. “Yes.”

The man finished what he was doing while Matt set Abby’s car seat on the floor and walked over to the coat rack. I picked up Abby’s seat and put her on a chair and stared at Matt who was not removing his coat and seemed to be casing the joint.

“What are you doing?”

More casing.

“Are you taking off your coat?”

More casing. Finally, “No.”


The man moves over to the hosting podium (is there a word for that thing?) and instructs us to follow him please. Thank goodness because I don’t know how long we would have stood there staring and looking like lost sheep.

We get settled and take turns getting food. We’re no longer lost out in the world. We KNOW what to do with food.

Because its busy and its buffet, people randomly walk past our table. An older man slowly makes his way from the buffet and heads to his seat. I was facing the buffet, Matt was facing toward the wall, so when the man walked past Matt looked up and watched him as he passed our table. He must have seen me looking at him in his peripheral vision because he said, “I love you” but his eyes were still watching the man walk to his table.

“Me? Or HIM?” For some reason I found that incredibly funny.

Matt glared. “You, you idiot.”

“You weren’t looking at ME.” I dissolved into a fit of giggling as Matt rolled his eyes and wondered for the eight millionth time why he’s with me. “Oh that’s going in the blog!” I laughed more.

Two minutes later I decided I needed soy sauce. The bottle on our table had a cap with small spouts and holes on each side for sprinkling sauce. I did not know this. I mistook the small spouts for a hinge and a lip to flip open a lid that isn’t there. I picked up the bottle and shook it. It was a soy sauce fountain! There was soy sauce on my hands, running up my arms and in small puddles in the middle of the table.

Victory flashed in Matt’s eyes. We were now even.

He laughed and told Abby, “We need to take Mommy out more.”

Abby just stared blankly at both of us, probably wondering why she’s stuck with us and not, oh, you know…competent people. Matt and I laughed at the look of sheer disappointment on her face.

We made more trips to the buffet (it was huge) with Matt telling me where certain things are and vice versa and we took turns heading out on our individual quests. Then Matt came back with a foot high pile of crab legs and an ear-to-ear grin.

I turned green.

He made me taste some, and it was good, but what bothers me is having to rip open an animal right there at the table. I can’t do it. I can’t even eat fish unless its in patties, battered filets or sticks. Matt crunched his crab legs, slurped meat out and discarded leg shells in a pile while I tried dessert.


I took what looked like a small piece of chocolate cake, a brownie, a sugar cookie and some kind of other cookie. The chocolate cake was actually a brown sponge with mocha frosting. (Blah.) The brownie wasn’t a brownie — it was more brown sponge but with sprinkles on top. The sugar cookie was fine. The other cookie was pastry squirted into a cookie shape and fried. It was like the pastry that creme horns come in, and just as stiff. I took my first bite and a piece of stiff pastry wedged itself firmly between my two front teeth.

So. Our night out: Matt was hitting on old men, I was showering with soy sauce and smiling with crud in my teeth.

I couldn’t stop laughing. Matt asked what I was laughing at (I was keeping my mouth closed until the pastry went away) and I could only laugh and shake my head. He and Abby looked at each other and shrugged.

Just then our waitress rushed past the table and set down two wet naps in front of Matt. Not, at the table, not in the middle; in front of Matt. Matt looked confused. I laugh harder.

“Maybe it’s as close as she could get to a bib.” I wiped at the tears in my eyes.

“Oh, I’m gonna get her.” He turned around in his seat to see where she was. “Should I get her? I don’t know. You Northerners have no sense of humor.” He thinks for a minute. “No. I won’t say anything, but man!”

I giggled until it was time to go. We ran into our friend Patty on the way out the door. Patty was at the buffet near the sushi.

“I didn’t know they had sushi!!” Matt looked totally crestfallen.

“You can have some the next time.”

Matt pouted, Patty waved goodbye and we were back in the world, both having decided that we can’t take each other anywhere and resolving to do so again. Soon.

Hell Phone

Last week I had to get a new cell phone. Mine couldn’t remember who I was, locked me out and demanded I take it to AT&T (No joke).

We (me, baby & delusional phone) go to the AT&T store where I thrust my phone at a rep and say, “Fix this.”

She smiles, “I can probably fix this for ya. Usually they just need a new SIM card and they’re back to normal.”

[USUALLY?? AT&T has a lot of phones that suddenly develop aversions to their owners?]

She opens my phone and notices the “liquid damage indicator” is red. (ACK!) I panic. If I damaged my phone insurance won’t cover it and I’ll be making monthly payments on NOTHING.

Then I panic: “Will I lose my pictures?”

(I have a very photogenic baby.)

Rep says, “No. The pictures are stored in the phone unless you have a memory card.”

I have no memory card. Maybe that’s why the phone doesn’t remember me?)

New SIM card is in place and my phone demands the password (which I know). Then it demands some other password I’ve never heard of (which I don’t know) and says it wants to go to AT&T. Rep says, “Let me put in my SIM card from my phone and we’ll see if it’s a faulty SIM card or if it’s the phone.”

(Repeat steps 1-3 with same result.)

Rep stares at my phone. “Huh.”

“Let me call Customer Service.”


Customer Service listens, takes info while I move away from the desk to play with my adorable baby (see pic above). Five minutes later (!!) I ask Rep what’s going on.

“She transferred me to Tech Support.”

Oh shit.

Tech Support listens to tale of woe and Rep’s snide, “…and there’s water damage” while I sigh, roll my eyes, and wonder where I’m getting money to buy a new phone that won’t have Alzheimer’s Disease.

Rep hangs up saying, “We’ll have to call the insurance company.”

I try not to faint.

She relays info, tale of woe and water damage (damn her!) and hangs up. (Apparently insurance company is used to psycho AT&T phones.)

“They overnight phones so I wouldn’t be surprised if you had it tomorrow.”

The voice in my head starts singing, “I’m gettin’ a new phone, I’m gettin’ a new phone” and doing the banana dance. Then, realization dawns.

I just lost my photos. And my games. And my ringtones. And the couple of songs I had. Rep gives me ten dollar credit to make up for losses. Ten dollars. TEN.


Rep also tells me if my phone ever mentions that password again to “drop everything and come right down here.”

What the hell?

Later, Matt wonders just what the hell I do while he’s at work and asks, “So how’d your phone get water damage?”

“The other day I defrosted chicken for dinner and I accidentally set it in a puddle of chicken juice…”

(Matt rolls his eyes, sorry he asked.)

“…so it had LIQUID damage…”

“…and also salmonella.”



UPDATE 02/22/10: *sigh*  I got my hell phone bill in the mail today.  Instead of the usual >$75 (is that less than??) it also included the $50 deductable that no one mentioned when I went through the replacement process so I didn’t think I had to pay.  AND, it also includes the $21 I spent on games for the new phone since I lost all mine.

SO.  Instead of my regular bill, it’s DOUBLE this month.

Holy Hell.


I’m not as dumb as I look

I’m waaaaay dumber than that. Let’s start with this blog for example. It’s taken over a month to figure out that I can’t post anything unless I use the “edit HTML” tab (vs. “compose”). I mean really. Who’da thunk? I couldn’t get the iPhone to type in the compose box (even by registering it as the account related cell phone) and I still don’t have a computer. I told myself “I’ll just do it from the library from now on. It’ll be ok.”

The library’s steroid-addled cyber-patrolled computers won’t let me anywhere near Obviously I am in the presence of Evil. (Bad, Blogspot! BAD!!)

I’ve got it now though. HA!

But I’m too frustrated to share anything else with you right now so you’ll have to wait. I need an Elisaccino.

P.S. Happy birthday, David Uosikkinen! 🙂