Don't make me angry...

It has come to my attention that I have much in common with The Hulk.

For one thing, I am busting out of my clothes. I can't even straighten my legs...



For another, you wouldn't like me when I'm angry...


By the way, in some of the photos on this blog, you may notice that there are distractions, such as other people besides me. Did you know that you can expand any picture on the blog by clicking on it, so as to get a better look at me? No? I didn't think you did. And I'm all about spreading happiness.

--Maddie

Unto the third and fourth generation...

Sit down. Are you sitting down? Good.

You know from this blog that I have parents, and you know that my parents have parents. But it has come to my attention this week that my parents' parents have parents!

Can you imagine?! How far could this parenthood thing go? I mean, obviously not everyone has parents -- think about Dick Cheney -- but it must go back a long way in some cases.

Anyway, my great-grandmother gave me a piano lesson today. It turns out I like Irish melodies, which makes perfect sense given my Chinese-English heritage. GG (great grandma) says I have long fingers and will be playing Chopin by the time I'm five. I hope they make tuxedos that size.

The only other news this week is that I have graduated from antacids with two syllables to ones with three syllables. My gas is much better, thank you. And so what if I glow in the dark and am growing sixth toes on both feet?

In any case, the calm that my improved condition has granted has allowed to be of service to my father's research, as he has long anticipated. The photo at right caught me right as I was commenting, "Father, can you believe how slim the evidence is that forms the basis of redaction criticism of First Isaiah?"

Maddie

One small step for mom...

...one giant step for my plans to take over the earth. Starting with Russell Drive.

It was going to be really hard to rule the world from my bouncy chair. Now the powers and principalities will take me more seriously.

Look on my sun hat, ye mighty, and despair.

--Maddie

"There are only two possibilities: a breast or hell"

It's not every day that I have the pleasure of recommending a truly interesting analysis of the inner life of a two-week-old.

This father says of his son: "He doesn't have a drop of morality, not an ounce." Well, maybe when he's a few weeks older and has been to church (or in his case, synagogue) a few times, like me.

Hope you had a blessed Easter (or in his case, Passover),

--Maddie

Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death...

Dear Readers,

The rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated. But yes, Lordy, I've been down, down so long... although never down for long enough to really give my parents a break.

I was a little loud for a while there. For those who would like to be here, you can simulate the effect by resting a nautical-quality air horn to your shoulder and pressing the button. Dad was about one day away from applying the "Cabernet cure" that I understand is popular in Europe. I personally think I would have enjoyed lolling around in a drunken haze for much of the day, but I'm settling for Zantac and getting drunk only on milk, as usual. It was something about stomach acid -- no more habaneros for me for a while.

So here is the undisputable proof that both Mom and I still exist:

Insert thought bubble: "Am I funny to you? Funny like a clown?"

Thanks to the increased quiet around the house, there has also been more of this:

Peace to my homeez,

Maddie

I went to church, and I have proof

Well, I made my first trip to church today. Do you all have any idea how many people there are out there in the world?! Tons!

But everyone at Central Presbyterian seemed very nice... they were appropriately adoring, and they even gave me this bouquet of roses. At least, that's what they said it was, and since I can't really see colors very well yet, I have to take their word for it.

Maddie

p.s. I lost track of what number day it is. I can't count that high. And besides, I stole that idea from Barritt. I'm giving it back to him as a present since today is his birthday! (I hope he finds younger women attractive... Can you rob the cradle while you're still in the cradle yourself?)

Day 30: I have the hat. Woof.

Dear ASPCA,

Listen carefully, because I only have a few minutes to get this message off to you before my abusive owners catch me and take back the little monster's mind-reading hat.

Did I already mention that my owners are abusive? Well, I can't say it often enough. It's horrible. Let me give you some background. I have seven years of seniority in this household -- or 49, if you're counting in dog years. In all my 49 years I've hardly done anything wrong. (Oh -- like you couldn't spare those Old Navy flip-flops?!)

I've put up with California heat, New Jersey snow and Georgia humidity, guarding my owners on all their mysterious walking expeditions at all hours of the day. I've protected them from all sorts of nefarious threats, like squirrels, geese and maintenance workers. I eat what's put in front of me, and I don't make a lot of noise.

What is my thanks for my years of loyal service? To be unseated by this wailing little interloper. She gets to sleep in bed with them! She cries and they jump! Do you know that they actually warm her food for her? They don't think those Kibbles'n'Bits would go down a little smoother if they were warmed?

You know, she was born in the Chinese year of the dog, which makes her a puppy in my estimation. I feel like a Wall Street wife at 40 -- so sorry I'm not the latest model!!!!

On the other hand, I am grateful that I don't have to wear diapers. But please hear my cry for help!

--Paloma