The godchild

So he come to me, he come up to me and sez, "Babeh Girl! Why don't I see you down the playground no more? Tony and Johnny and Franky are all there, all mixin it up on the monkey bahs, and we look around and we say, What's up with Babeh Girl? She too good for us? She don't think we're like family no more? Fuhgeddaboutit."

So I sez to him, Mario, look at me. Do I look like someone who has time to be fiddlin around on some monkey bahs with a bunch of chumps like yous? Do you have any idea what kind of bologna I have to deal with, with my mudda, my fadduh all breathin' down my neck to eat some more meatballs? I'm pounding six bottles a day and all they give me is more hawtache. A load of poop, I tell ya. Somebody bettah gimme a break around here.

In Case There Were Any Doubts

Yes we were a stop-off on the US Breakdancing Tour. (Featured CMJ from Southie - holla!)

Yes we do endorse protective headgear for indoor recreation.

Yes we do tell our daughter that hens lay pastel-colored eggs.

Yes we haven't opened the Pizza Dome yet because the box is too much fun.

Yes we do die laughing when Vera Bradley is on parade.

Yes we do love this trollop of a dirtball of a little girl.

Madiganecdote

Saturday, during potluck after church, Baby Girl sidled over to a boy who is easily a head taller than she, and certainly a year older. Compelled by an inner voice that shouted giddily, "It's Girl Scout cookie time!", she reached for the Thin Mint in the boy's hand and wrestled it right out of his clutches. Then she looked up at him as if to say, Seriously? You didn't even fight me for it, chump.

The boy's face immediately scrunched up, the mouth opened wide to bear his full set of 2 year-old teeth, the arms shot straight down along his hips like straws shaking in anger. A little cry crescendoed so that soon everyone in the room looked over to see the little boy falling apart and Baby Girl still standing with the Thin Mint, wondering if it was time yet to take a bite or was she going to have to inevitably give it back.

The boy's mother rushed over, reminding him there was no need to be bullied by a pipsqueak over a cookie.

Baby Girl stood still as though waiting for further instruction.

And I sat at a potluck table, powerless to rebuke or intercede as the tears streamed out of my eyes in a bellyaching fit of laughter.  I had become that parent.

***

To think she was still resisting tummy time one year ago.