Max and Miles who, to Me, Will Always be Secretly Named "Gus"

The blog about Max and his little brother, Miles. Stunningly cute boys and future leaders of the rebel forces.

Monday, August 28, 2006

Max: Being Tired is Funny!

Folks who have met Max, know that he is a pretty sober baby. It takes quite a bit to get the kid laughing. Some people take this personally, and they should, 'cause they're not funny. However, you get ahold of Max near bed-time and, heck, getting him to laugh is about as difficult as breathing! Make a slight effort and you've got a baby-shaped laughing machine on your changing table.

So, next time you're feeling some low self-esteem 'cause you can't make Max laugh, just come over to our house around 9 o'clock any night of the week: Max'll give your life meaning again. Or just search "laughing" "cute" "baby" at YouTube and pretend you're the one making the kid laugh.

Saturday, August 26, 2006

Everybody's Got Their Somethin'

Whatchya got here is Max in his Johnny Jump-Up. I have no idea if that's the brand name anymore or what, but that's what my Mom calls it; so that's what it is. There must've been some sort of crazy, post-war, technological breakthrough that resulted in the Johnny Jump-Up technology 'cause it seems like, in fact, all the baby boomers (aunts, uncles, moms, dads) seem to be pretty pumped over the Jump-Up. It makes total sense, really: It took the Manhattan Project to figure out that you could clamp a spring to a door frame, attach a seat, and walk away from a bouncing, happy baby for half and three-quarter hours at a time. Give it up for the bomb and America!

Anyhoos, Max is really just fulfilling some bizarre, genetic destiny: according to my Mom, my Uncle Bill basically lived in his Jump-Up. And, yo, Uncle Bill was a righteous dude; so if Max wants to live in his Jump-Up, he is welcome to do that. Besides, there is something awfully hilarious about putting Max in the Jump-Up, doing the dishes, and coming back to a kid lolling in the jumpee, blissed out on some Jump-Up induced endorphin, staring off into to space. . . but still hopping, hopping, hopping.

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