B-man and Tourmageddon

You hate to see your friends suffer, so I am feeling bad this week for Cute Barritt, whose young, tender heart has been broken by the Tour de France doping scandal.

Dad wouldn't let me read the Jan Ullrich blog that you posted, Barritt, because he was concerned it would teach me bad English such as this headline: "Quit being harshing the Jan's buzz." But it does appear that Ullrich and bunch of others are big fat cheaters. Well, big skinny cheaters. But that's all I know about that.

I just want to suggest, Barritt, that you consider sticking with soccer. I don't think anyone takes illegal performance-enhancing drugs in soccer. Consider: Ronaldo is in terrible shape, so he needs to get his money back if he's taking something. Zinedine Zidane? A Frenchman's idea of performance enhancement is switching to Gauloises Lights. Beckham has already achieved the pinnacle of human existence by marrying a Spice Girl, so what does he have to gain? The U.S. team can't be doping, or else they wouldn't be so bad. And everyone seems to get so tired in overtime that they can't score any goals. Heck, the Swiss were so tired they couldn't even convert a single penalty kick. (Sorry, Miriam!)

--Maddie

p.s. You could also watch Wimbledon, where no one is doping because they couldn't hope to beat Roger Federer on grass anway.

When Stuffed Animals Attack, Vol. 27

A visit and a new discovery

Well, Aunt Kristen has been here this weekend, all the way from Connetti-- um, I can't spell that state yet, but it's one of the many where Dad used to live. Anyway, she's awfully nice. She lets me yell at her all I want and never gets impatient. And she seems to be a source of fun toys.


As you can see, I was wearing my tennis whites today in celebration of the beginning of Wimbledon.

Also, this just in: I have discovered that I have feet, although I am not sure what to do with them yet...

...based on my expression in this photo, the likely answer seems to be: Something nefarious.

--Maddie

The debut of Madelinho

Since I've been watching a lot of the World Cup, I have decided that my youthful fascination with pop culture has been a bit misguided, and that I will instead dedicate myself to becoming the next great futbol player (you may know the sport as "soccer").

I figured the first thing I need to do is come up with a good one-word name to go by, since that's what all the great players do. So, in honor of Ronaldinho and Robinho, I have dubbed myself Madelinho.

I'm already quite good...



--Maddie

Gearing up

If you're a new parent, or about to be a one, you know how much stuff is absolutely essential for raising a child today. If you were a new parent a while ago, you might be surprised at how much there is. Today I thought would discuss two of the new products without which a baby's life would be merely a constant sorrow.

1. Behold The Randomizer:

The microwave infuses formula with millions of little air bubbles that make baby's tummy blow up like the Hindenberg. So once upon a time, parents had to painstakingly warm bottles of formula in pots on the stove. That would just take a few minutes, you say? You are obviously a bad person who would not give baby what baby wants with proper immediacy. Thus, enter The Randomizer.

The Randomizer is a wonder of modern engineering. With a heating element in its little hole, it steams small amounts of water to heat the bottle. How small? Ah, there's the rub. If you put an 6 ml of water into The Randomizer, you get cold formula; but if you put in 6.5 ml, you get boiled formula. Or maybe not. It all depends on the composition and initial temperature of the formula, the room temperature, the barometric pressure, etc. Or maybe it is merely the mood of The Randomizer on that particular night. As you can see from the photo, my parents have tried to propitiate the Randomizer by sprinking offerings of Mylanta at its feet. But its thoughts are not their thoughts, nor are its ways their ways.

In any case, usually The Randomizer makes the formula so hot that it has to be placed in an ice bath to cool the formula in order not to scald baby's tender mouth. My parents keep a Big Gulp cup on hand at all times for just this purpose.

Sometimes if they get distracted, the ice bath cools the formula to refrigerator temperature again and the process begins anew! How did former generations survive without such conveniences?!

2. The Sling:


Rustic, don't you think? We have a Baby Bjorn, but really -- it's overkill. We're not going for any backpacking trips just yet.

Also, Mom has never quite gotten over missing Woodstock, so this is her attempt at looking like a granola-eater. No, I take that back -- she's not posing. Do you know what a recycling Nazi she is?

Anyway, all it really is is an adjustable sash. I sit in the pocket formed by its sag at mom's hip. I'm an outdoorsy kind of girl, so this enables mom to haul me around the neighborhood without her arms falling off.

I think mom chose this hippie pattern because it was on sale. Fabulous it's not. I'm trying to convince her at least to stitch "Miss Georgia Girl" on it. I'll be eligible in 21 months, and you can't start campaigning too soon.

--Maddie

Good news / bad news

The good news is, at least one author is already sensing the potential greatness of my life:


... I am already a bit nostalgic for my youth. How about you?

The bad news is, this is probably only the first of many times my name will be misspelled.

--Maddie

So competitive!

When Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie's baby heard about my blog, she promptly registered a whole bunch of her own domains.

Darling Shiloh, it's only charming if you make it look effortless and natural!

--Maddie

Ursprache

I was pulling hard for my homegirl Finola Mei-Hwa Hackett last night in the Scripps Howard National Spelling Bee last night, but she hadn't studied her German as hard as her French, and "Weltschmerz" bit her.

After spelling "kundalini" (which sounds like something that would be nice with a marinara sauce), Katharine Close showed her how German is done with "Ursprache."

I'm practicing for my turn in about nine years:

"Can you please tell me the origin of that word?"

--Maddie

I'll tumble 4 ya

Boy of summer

For Memorial Day, Mom and Dad took me to see Cute Barritt in The Classic City. After playing hard to get by mostly ignoring him the first time we met, I couldn't help but notice him this time.

He was a little forward...


... but did I mention that he's very cute?

--Maddie

It's apparent he's a parent...

I'm not even three months old, and I already know The Family Circus is lame. But Bill Keane might have had a point. Not only is there a certain family resemblance, look what the few weeks of taking care of me has done to him -- check out the dark circles!


--Maddie

Dog days of summer

I went to my first pool party today, at Katie and Jamie's palatial apartment complex. I also dipped my feet in a pool for the first time. Have you noticed how easy it is to have a first when you're only 11 weeks old?

Anyway, when Mom put me in the pool, for a second I though it was bath time and she had really messed up the water temperature. Then I thought maybe I had been crying too much and looked around for the burlap sack. But there was none -- and there wer a lot of potential witnesses around -- so I was OK.

So the last thing that happened was I met someone my own age (see the last picture). As you can see, he was slightly friendlier than me. He can also walk, which made me really jealous, because you know, people drop food all the time.

Which reminds me, I didn't get the hot dog. Next time.

My first burrito, almost

"Mom, I'm facing the wrong way. Mom! I can't see the menu!"

Mom surfs the Web, and hil-hair-ity ensues

Gram commented on my last post that I seemed to be having a bad hair day on the 20th. To which I say: Ha! That was mere bedhead. When I do bad hair, I do it fabulously:

There is, in fact, a story behind this photo. No, I am not trying to steal hits from my friend Barritt, who recently solicited advice about his own hair. Actually, in the ongoing saga of my medical adventures, I was diagnosed (by mom) with something called "cradle cap," which is a cute way of saying "dandruff."

So mom read on the Internet that Vaseline, applied to the scalp, cures cradle cap. Miraculous! What this helpful Web site did not mention is that Vaseline is impossible to remove from the hair, which is (inconveniently) attached to the scalp.

So then mom went on the Web again (are you catching the trend here?) and discovered that cornstarch removes Vaseline, leading to another adventure....

No, there is no truth to the rumors that she was trying to color my hair like dad's or Taylor Hicks'.

Anyway, all this was about a week ago. I failed in my efforts to convince mom and dad to fly me to New York for a consultation with Kevin Mancuso, (they thought I was just hungry! Note to self: must learn to speak more clearly!), but my hair is pretty much back to normal.

--Maddie

What a week of firsts...

I turned myself over in my crib today, and I have proof:


What, you say that's not proof? Come on, how could you doubt a face like this:


For all you other babies who are reading this who maybe haven't yet turned over, let me just tell you, it's amazing. One second you're face down on your crib sheet, and the next you're staring at the ceiling, the light fixture -- your whole world just really opens up and it's like, wow. When it happened to me I was so blown away I actually forgot about the bottle I had been, um, requesting.

Chris

Give me a hand...

...no wait, I don't need one! I learned how to hold my own bottle this morning.

This is going to come in so handy for when dad and mom fall asleep during those 2 a.m. feedings.

--Maddie

My parents would Nevaeh do that...

This just in: If you name your child after one who appears on MTV, you are probably not as original as you think...

--Maddie

Mother's Day-catur

We spent Mother's Day in downtown Decatur, which is becoming sort of like Berkeley, except ... well, it's not really like Berkeley. But it is all left-wingy like Berkeley. Dad found out that Decatur was named for U.S. naval officer Stephen Decatur, who is ultimately responsible for the phrase "My country, right or wrong." Most Decaturites would be mortified, no doubt.

But they don't know that, so it was a pleasant Sunday afternoon. I was taking it all in, as you can see...


Things got more interesting for me later on when we went to the Brick Store Pub. (And that name is a lie, by the way, because they don't even sell bricks.) Anyway, Dad ordered the chicken and biscuits and then foolishly turned to look elsewhere. I had my chance... Let me tell you, once I get control of these hands, I'm going to be so much more effective.


--Maddie

Thanks, MTV!

Dear Readers,

You may recall that some weeks ago, when I was young and impetuous, I wrote to the MTV family of networks to invite them to include me on The Fabulous Life or Cribs. Well, it's funny how life works. Although I didn't make the cut for those shows (I blame my parents' lack of fabulosity) I did win my 15 minutes of fame after all.

Yes, that's right: this week I received a visit from my main man, Xzibit! And he and the crew at West Coast Customs pimped my stroller!


You can't see it from the photo, but there's a mobile, a bottle warmer and a wipes warmer built into it.

This was me when I saw it:


Thanks, MTV, for pimping my ride!

--Maddie

Hello, my name is Madeleine, and I'm a milkaholic

Five shots today -- my backside has taken more abuse than Bush's approval ratings! Only one thing to do -- head home and find comfort in the bottom of a bottle...