Woohoo!

I passed the gastroenterology boards! Yipee! Now I don't have to take any tests until 2013!

The boy is a little odd

Owen and I were playing in the living room tonight, and I told him that I thought it was time to go to bed. He looked at me seriously, said "nap", reached into the toy box for his small Viking helmet, set it squarely on his head and proceeded upstairs.

Why you should always look inside the toaster

Photo evidence of what happens when a certain young gentleman puts a clothespin in the toaster.

Caffeine Free

To complete a really old post (I started a few months ago and it's been way too long since I wrote).

I think it’s time to reduce my caffeine intake. On Wednesday I drank 6 diet cokes and actually had the jitters and couldn’t sleep that night. This can’t be good for me.

Update (present day): So now I’ve been diet coke free for more than a month. I drink one small cup of hot tea in the morning and rarely a regular coke. Turns out decaf irish breakfast tea tastes a lot like the regular stuff. And no more jitters or insomnia. Does this count as a New Year’s resolution?

New year, new O

Owen is 18 months old now, which among other things, means that we now leave the pediatrician's office without having the next periodic checkup already scheduled. What else is new with the Young Gentleman?

He's a boy, so we knew pyromania was in his future at some point. We haven't gotten the "mania" yet, but perhaps pyrophilia: Owen managed to char a clothespin by sticking it in the toaster. Cunningly, he did this while the toaster was unplugged, in the pantry. Thus his move was only revealed the next day, when toast time produced an unusual amount of smoke and burning smell.

I was in London for a couple of days last week. Thanks to red-eye flights and my early departures for work in the morning, two days of meetings lead to almost four days away. When I got out of the car Thursday evening, I could hear him across the driveway banging on the window in excitement. So it seems he's developed enough perception of time that 96 hours away is different than 12.

And admittedly, it was good for my ego to receive such an enthusiastic welcome home. But lest I think I was too wonderful, within minutes, Owen turned to my shoes, specifically, removing the laces. And while that was interesting, trying to put the laces back in the shoes was absolutely engrossing (as in, in the teen years, receive-a-lecture-about-manners-because-you're-ignoring-all-the-human-beings-around-you engrossing). You can tell when he really is concentrating. First, he starts huffing and puffing (all the firing neurons are hogging the oxygen, I guess). Then he starts talking to himself (no clue where he gets that from; maybe Kerry or a former roommate of mine could offer some insight).

Shoelaces