These pacifiers have been recalled because the base can easily separate from the nipple.

But my question is, who the hell fills up a nipple with corn syrup?

Nothing like a direct pipeline of pure sugar into your little one’s body, not to mention the tooth decay factor.

In my never-ending quest to expand my son’s dietary repoirtoire, I took him to the grocery store.  He still seems to eat the same ten or so things, and I’m trying to get his portfolio a bit more diversified.

We trekked through the entire store, with no luck.  I would suggest items, only to have them rejected.

Fine.  I know better than to try to force someone to eat something.

Finally we reached the freezer aisle, and again, nothing caught his eye.  Until, that is, we reached the very last case.

At the bottom of it, rather fittingly, were these:

“Ooooh, Mom!” he said excitedly, “I want to try those!”

Now, I am well aware that there is no anatomical part of a chicken lableled “nugget” but for some strange reason, my mind rebelled against this particular incarnation of pressed, formed chicken meat.

To have chicken rings in my freezer would feel oh-so-very-wrong.

I stand by my decision to ban them from our house completely.

In their infnite wisdom, Italian design house Gucci has decided to introduce their first clothing lines for children in the spring of 2011. Because nothing celebrates a double-dip recession like a Gucci-logoed bib!

To be honest, I have a “thing” about paying to have my children be walking advertisements for clothing companies.  In short, I try really hard not to.  Although I have to say as the Munchkin is getting older, that is getting harder.  But those wanna-be Vans? No way.   I cannot see any boy over the age of 5 wearing those without some sort of bribe being involved.  And the muti-colored belts? Really?  Those look exactly like the ones that come free with off-brand cargo shorts. 

But, if this preview is the best that Gucci has, you’ll have to excuse me.  Because I can’t stop yawning.

via

They lost me at the scantily-clad adult dancers. Drinking out of baby bottles.

Should be fixed so you can see now. If you’re a glutton for punishment, that is.

Due to Memorial Day last week, the results for the Lost poll are a bit late.  A full fifty percent of you stated that you never even watched Lost to begin with, much less having a reaction to the series ending.  Or perhaps the reaction was simply one of relief that nobody will be talking about it any more.  Seventeen percent of you liked the ending, and only nine percent joined me in being bitter about it.   Six percent were sad their weekly ogling sessions were coming to an end, and another six claimed to be a bit befuddled as to what it all meant.

This weekend the men in my family went camping, and us girls stayed behind and enjoyed the air conditioning, as it was unusually hot for this early in the summer.  For the record, Glinda does not do camping.  I have never camped, and have absolutely no intention to ever do so, despite the pleas of my husband.  And by being home, we also managed to avoid heat exhaustion, not having access to a shower, the rumor of a bear in the vicinity, what were thought to be possibly leeches in a stream they were mucking around in, and mosquito bites.  Please explain to me how this is considered “fun.” Because anyone who thinks that kind of stuff is fun has a very different definition than mine.

I might be the only one, but watching babies speak with adult voices creeps me out.

I didn’t like it so much in “Who Framed Roger Rabbit” which was the first time I remember seeing the concept. But at least it was understandable as a plot device, and it was an animated baby, which made it a bit easier to swallow. And maybe because it was just an awesome movie in general.

The E*Trade commercials are the ones that really freak me out, because it is a real baby with a (poorly) CGI’d mouth, and some snarky, slacker-sounding dude doing the voice. The dissonance is what is supposed to get your attention, but it makes me actively loathe them in a manner that just isn’t seemly.

The jury, however, is out on this one. I find it strangely compelling, but it certainly doesn’t make me want to buy Evian.

Actually in watching that again, I think the scariest part is the French voice at the end, which sounds like a parched, chain-smoking adolescent. Which come to think of it, makes me think of drinking water. So touche, Evian, touche.

A couple of weeks ago, I was at Target.  I’m at Target a lot, a lot more than is probably healthy, but it’s close to my house and I can’t help myself.  Anyhoo, for some reason I had never bought the Munchkinette any infant’s Tylenol. Which makes me fairly lame, because it really is sort of a basic that you should always have on hand.   Well, the thought crossed my mind and I casually tossed the box into my cart.

Fast forward to one day later, and the news is all abuzz with the children’s Tylenol recall, and how some of the medicine may contain too much active ingredient, some may have not enough active ingredient, and I quote from the recall site, some may contain “tiny particles.”

WTF?

They never elaborate on what TYPE of tiny particles may be floating around in the medicine, so my mind is left to wander, which is always a bad thing.  Are there tiny particles of glass? Of plants? Of fecal material?  Hey, if Tylenol chooses to be deliberately non-specific, then they deserve whatever my fevered brain can imagine.  And a mom’s brain can go lots of weird places, I assure you.

Then I check the number on the box against the one on the website, and sure enough, I’ve got a tainted box o’ poison.

The next time I visit Target, which is fairly alarmingly soon after this, I try and see if there are any infant drops with acetaminophen. No dice.  The shelves are completely bare of Tylenol and any other type of off-brand that may have been previously lurking.

Fine, whatever.  I’ve gone this far without it. I’ll be fine, I thought.

Well, the Fates must have been extremely bored during that nanosecond, because what happens two days later? Yup, my daughter has a fever and there isn’t a store within a ten mile radius that has infant acetaminophen drops.  So my husband and I spend the night trading off getting up with her every three hours because that is the longest she can sleep because she is uncomfortable.  Yeah, and the lukewarm baths that are recommended to lower the fever?  Those don’t do anything except really piss the kid off.   Because who the hell likes lukewarm baths?

So thanks, Tylenol. Thanks for totally ruining my week.

I hope you and your tiny particles are happy.

I wonder who the first person was that thought it was a fantastic idea to take disposable diapers, stack them like layers of a wedding cake, and put flowers on them.   Oh, and then charge a small fortune for them on top of it.

Here you are, having your perfectly nice baby shower, when someone waltzes in with one of these creations. I’m sure they look nice, but then what? Obviously, you can’t eat them. “Diaper” just isn’t ever going to be a viable cake flavor.  Then, I’m sure the thing is a pain the the ass to take apart, because the whole concept just isn’t natural and can only be achieved by what must be quite a bit of tape.  So to get to your perfectly useful diapers, you’ve got to unwind the ribbon and take off all the flowers, which sounds like a very un-fun way to spend the time.

I’ll just take a regular pack of diapers, please.  No need to even gift-wrap them.

Oh, and a real piece of cake.