Caleb showed some alarmingly mashocistic signs today. He began by getting up at midnight and staying up for two hours--bad form. Later, after I'd gotten home from school, he chose to fall directly on his little face (against one of Paul's special '80s electronic devices), which resulted in a split and bloody lip--very traumatic (mostly for me. I immediately called Mom, and in the time it took to dial her number, he had calmed down and was happily smearing blood all over everything--mostly my formerly white shirt). Roughly five minutes into my conversation with Mom, he fell again and bruised his young cranium. Good heavens, child.

The funniest/most disturbing thing, though, was his discovery of his own hair. He was rubbing his little head, and then found his wee tufts of hair, so then, of course, he started yanking it and he'd cry like I was the one torturing him. It happened over and over and over again. I could almost see the wheels turning in his head: oooh! What's this stuff? *yank!* WAAAAAAHHHHHH!! [Three seconds go by.] Ooooh! What's this stuff?? *YANK!* WAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!! Multiply by twenty. I tried to get him to stop by redirecting his attention, but I was mostly unsuccessful.

So, at the close of today: one fat lip, one bruise on chin, one bruise on forehead, a tender pink spot above left ear. Friday, be kind to us.