Text Messaging Madison

It’s official. Madison knows how to text message.

I don't know what's happening in this picture.

I don’t know what’s happening in this picture.

I often get messages from Lynnette like this one. Generally photos of Madison doing something cute, or asleep with her eyes half-open and her mouth full-open. Sometimes, they’re pictures of Abby curled up atop the couch, in the beanbag, or in the comforter on the bed.

On the rare occasions when I am out late, I get a text asking if Madison can sleep on my side of the bed. Of course, this means I am banished to the Pink Room alone, without even the white and black Aloha Pup to keep me company. I generally say yes, then get home, shower, and pass out without having to worry about elbowing Lynnette or catching an elbow to the face  or knee to the groin from Madison.

I didn't believe them.

I didn’t believe them.

Though the messages had always been written to sound like Madison – the it is rather than it’s, for example – I always thought Lynnette wrote them, or at the very least, Lynnette was writing down what Madison dictated to her. “It’s really her,” Lynnette said when I voiced my suspicions. “Madison, who text messages daddy?” Lynnette said. Madison smiled and pointed to herself. It’s not that hard to fake it, I guess. Also, I love conspiracy theories, or at least thinking about conspiracy theories. I simply didn’t believe Madison was sending me text messages. It’s not that she’s not smart or capable. I guess maybe I just didn’t want it to be her. I mean, if she’s text messaging, puberty’s right around the corner, you know?



On my way home last night, I received this series of texts from Lynnette, but supposedly Madison. I felt like the all caps on COME ON! was a dead giveaway. She can’t possibly know how to capitalize the text.

When I called Lynnette on Madison’s fake texts, she again asked Madison who sent them. “Me!” Madison  said, tapping her chest. “Show him,” Lynnette said. Madison took Lynnette’s phone. “Tell dad what you want for your birthday,” Lynnette handed Madison the phone. Minutes passed. They seemed like hours. Finally, my phone noisily alerted me to the presence of a new text message. Well, maybe my baby isn’t all growns’d up just yet.

Yes, this.

Yes, this.

“Why do you want snakes for your birthday?” I asked her. “NO, DAD. SNACKEEEZ!!” she snapped back. You know those As Seen on TV product commercials? I’ve come to the sad realization that Madison is their target market. Every time she sees something aimed at kids, she looks at me dead in the eye with an extremely serious face and says “Dad. We have to get that.” There was her short-lived fascination with Well, this is her latest desire. It’s a cup that’s a drink AND snack holder. I give you the Snackeez cup. Now, let me regale you with Madison’s arguments:

1. “But dad, now I can carry my snacks and drink with one hand!”

2. “But dad, now I won’t spill in the car!”

3. “C’mon, dad!”

4. “Look, dad, it has fruit! It’s healthy!”

5. “I love you, dad.”


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