I am of the mind that dogs are allowed on beds…  What are they there for if not for cuddling and keeping my feet warm?  And normally Beau stays on the foot of the bed, even when we are not there.  I guess he figures we have our hands full with the new little one and will let him slide because this is how I found him:

Full on pillow usage.  At least he looks super comfy.

buybye now, going to join the puppers.

So, ok, maybe I’m the weirdo that puts my baby in a basket in front of the christmas tree and wraps a scarf around him and takes photos, but they turned out damn cute, am I wrong?

Cally made me a scarf for Christmas and I used it for a prop.  I love the fringe!

“Dear Santa, forget the presents, can I just keep your little helper? kthxbai!”

doesn’t always love daddy kisses.

AND  the goggies!

this took so much work and you can tell beau’s head is about to implode from the force of it.  Not quite the picture I was trying to get, but I used up all my patience for dog positioning.

Christmas time is almost upon us and I can’t help but wonder what cool new things I should buy Sebastian’s love with get for Sebastian.  As I scoured the internets I was instead struck by the number of things I will NOT be buying for my baby.  Save yourself the trouble and if you are tempted to buy any of these, turn and run.  far, far away.

The Top Ten Worst Baby Gifts

First of all, let’s set our parameters.  Here is what we are trying to avoid. This is a photo of me with a traumatizing toy from my own childhood.  Can you guess which one it is?

While the freaky half-naked ginger kid on top is a little awkward, the one that haunts my dreams is definitely the creepy ass clown.

Perhaps the worst part was that the body was made of a solid wooden block… I think it was so it could sit on a shelf, but somehow my parents thought it would make a good toy for me.  Honestly, it might as well have been out of concrete.  Goodbye, childhood.  Hello, concussion.

AND SO, without further ado,

The Top Ten Worst Baby Gifts

(subtitled, things I will not buy Sebastian this year)

10. These stuffed toys

What? You will say to me.  That is cute, what is it, a stuffed sun?

No, I will say, it is not.  It is not a stuffed sun.

It is herpes (as demonstrated by the photo to the left). Cute Herpes.  And now, meet Herpes’s friends, Chlamydia, Syphilis and Gonorrhea.  Adorable!

And while this may not be the perfect gift for the child in your life, it just may be for your ex’s new significant other.  Whore!  Ordering Info here. Just please don’t give me the clap.

9. “Where’s the Poop?”

At first glance, this appears to be a book about constipation, which is no laughing matter, truuuuuust me.  Looking closer, however, the little boy appears to be wearing a bib and he is eyeing the penguin suspiciously…

The Amazon review describes the book: “This engaging lift-the-flap book shows children that all creatures have a place to poop: tigers in the jungle, kangaroos in the outback, and monkeys in the rain forest”

Wait, wait, let me get this straight, we are encouraging little boys to search for hidden poop now?  Last I checked, that’s all they do.

8. Baconnaise

As seen on the daily show, baconnaise is perfect for those times it is just too much trouble to fry up bacon, slather it in mayo, and then blend it until you can drink it with a straw.  As tired as I am of babies never getting to sample the truly gourmet products in life…no…  yeah.  just no.

7a. Baby High Heels

Aptly titled “Heelarious” I can just see two women sitting around, eating caviar off ridiculously tiny crackers,

“You know what babies need?”

“A pacifier slathered in baconnaise?”

“What? No.  A little sex appeal.”

“Oooooooooh, fershuuuuure!”

And while there is a good chance at some point Sebastian will want to try his hand at cross dressing…  I’m not going to get that ball rolling for him.  Also–bonus–check out the baby’s static induced mohawk.  that barrette is fighting a losing battle, hun.

While we are on the subject of gender specific items:

7b. Boy-rettes

Barrettes for the little long-hair in your life.  At only $8.50 from Kidcosmic.com, it’s hard to resist… but..

Reason the number one I will not buy them for Sebastian: our baby is hella bald.

Reason the number two: dude still looks like a lady.  also, did I mention Sebastian is bald?

5.  Anything related to Muppet Monsters, in particular, Sweetums

Patrick is (to this day) terrified of Sweetums.  Sometimes when, “Not tonight, honey, I have a headache.” doesn’t work, I pull out the “It’s yummy yummy time!” and Patrick forgets all about it, what with the curling up in a fetal ball and being hysterical and all.

Also, is it just me or is his nose distressingly phallic?  Although he does make a pretty convincing action figure.

4. Bib-a-roo

OK, I get it.  Babies are messy eaters, but this full body bib…

a little creepy.  It’s like a midget jumper mated with assless chaps…. for babies.  Here’s a child actually using it…

Functional?  I don’t know, I guess if your child is more likely to spill on his pants than his sleeves…

3.  Peekaru – ie the baby snuggie

Seriously dudes, wtf?  Before it was an internet meme, it was a real product, called a Peekaru.  As if a regular snuggie were not creepy enough.  For obvious reasons, you can not just upload a picture like that to the internet and expect it to remain inviolate.  My favorite photoshop jobs:

and this one, which expertly isolates the products value

My one question is, why photoshop a product that looks this creepy normally?

Now for fat kid/caterpillar hybrids!

2. This Teddy Bear

It seems innocuous enough, right?  Wait, what’s that?  It looks a little weird?  Well, maybe that’s because it’s made of placenta.  That’s right, bitches, while in some cultures it is customary to eat the placenta, in ours, you can send it off to have it tanned and sewn into a creepy as hell teddy bear.  And when your kid is all, Mom I don’t want to play with it, it says weird things when I’m sleeping.  You can say, “Don’t act like your too good for that bear, it nourished you for nine months.”  And then your kid will throw up in his mouth.

Although it does answer the age old question: what to do with all this pesky afterbirth that’s just sitting around here?

1. My Dinner With Andre Action Figures

Although, if he were old enough and got the joke, that would be awesome…   But still probably the lamest Christmas gift of all time… I’m sorry, I’m just imagining him sitting around trying to play with his “action figures.”  Classic.

BONUS – I will not buy this:

As much as I want Pat to bond with the baby, not like this folks.  Not like this.

Also that is a f-ing lot of milk.  Also Also, these warnings accompany the device:

• Studies were inconclusive as to the future psychological problems that arose in men that wore Mr. Milker
• It is NOT recommended that Mr. Milker be used as a sexual aid. (no shit, sherlock)
• Weaker men may experience back problems from the use of Mr. Milker
• Mr. Milker bladders have been known to explode in pressurized airplane cabins at altitudes over 15,000 feet  (good to know when I’m traveling to those international male breastfeeding conventions)

yet again i have missed a monday update!  We have been going through some family troubles so if anyone cares to keep us in your thoughts/prayers of any sort, it would be appreciated.  On to the matter at hand, dog blog monday!  Beau has been too busy playing games to pose for pictures.

what a party animal.  Of course, with those cards, I might be snoozing too

unless of course the word was hizzot in which case, perfect!

You had me at “NuQneh”

Although if you know what it is, you should be as embarrassed as me.

Santa had lots of helpers decorating the tree this year!

our favorite little elf:

I didn’t have my good camera for these next two, I might try to repose beau with the hat later…

(notice the reappearance of the peppermint schnapps hot cocoa)

Hey santa, I’ve been good!

happy berfday to me!

Cinnabon and coffee – breakfast of champions

Pat also got me this:

That’s right, my husband got me liquor for my berfday.  Does he know me or what?

Dear Winter,  meet fancy hot chocolate – all day, every day.

There is no shortage of Christmas oranges in this household!

Please sir, can I have some more?

I’m a day late, but I’m on vacay, bitches.  And so is Beau – kicking back with the fuzzy robe.  Also possibly a prize fighter.

Best part of visiting family?  Three Thanksgivings.  3, folks.  and Chickfila.

It would seem I never learn my lesson.  I have the bad habit of starting conversations with the question, “Do you want to hear something gross?” even though I know that no rational person is going to answer that question, “Yes. Yes, Summer, please tell me something gross.”  (Especially considering since it’s me and all, it might be a story about the dog farting or it might be something that no one wants to know, like I found a raisin and I ate it and turns out it was poop… just, you know, as an example.)  The reason this question presents a problem is because it provides a false sense of security, as if you could answer no, and not hear the “something gross.”  Nothing could be further from the truth.  Rest assured, if you are unfortunate enough to be in my vicinity when that question is uttered, you will be hearing the “something gross.”  Don’t try to resist.  Just open wide and take a big spoonful of TMI.

Case in point, the other day I was speaking to my mother, the woman who birthed me, and asked her the above question.  To which she replied, “no” (ironic, actually, considering that this is a woman who feels free to discuss her bowel movements with me)  But I proceed to tell her anyways, because that is what I do and I really need to communicate to her the following fact:  quite often, our new apartment inexplicably smells like spicy diarrhea.  You know the type – the kind that comes after one too many tacos.  Or as we in the industry (ie, former Chili’s employees) like to call it, The Chicken Ranch Shits. I have come up with the following possible reasons for my predicament:

1.) The upstairs tenants have a weakness for spicy food and their bathroom vents into ours.

2.) There is a fat maintenance guy who, being as he can’t always make it back to the office in time, lets himself into my apartment when I am gone and fire shits into my toilet.

3.) My cat has kitty fart parties when I am gone to get back at me for his countless humiliations, see below:

4.) I just have really bad karma..  (see above)

And my mother, lord bless her, immediately goes to the following dark place,

“Oh, do you have ethnic people living around you?”

Now I know I have not always been the most culturally sensitive (see my experience with the shart donut) but I try, I really do.

This is also the woman who doesn’t believe me that calling people “Oriental” is offensive.  When I told her, she acted all annoyed that I had corrected her and then called me a week later to tell me she had asked some of her friends, and none of them thought that it was offensive.

Yes, mom, your white, middle-class, middle-aged female friends, in the south, are very likely the most culturally sensitive people you could go to for advice on this one.

Although it did almost make up for it when I asked her,  ”If you are calling someone oriental, then where are they from?”

and she responded, “…   …  the Orient?”

All this to say, that I am on my way to GA to visit this crazy lady and introduce her to her little grandson.  Mr. Man is maybe going to need a lot of therapy.