Shots hurt.

My little man had to get shots today, at his 18-month checkup. This time, he had the situation figured out before he even got into the exam room. Since he was there not long ago with flu-like symptoms, he knew that unpleasantries were associated with the paper-covered cushiony table... and associate he did. Not! Havin'! It! Luckily, it hardly fazes me anymore when he cries and holds his breath, turning his lips blue. The doctor was impressed, though. "Great show, AJ," he joked. "...Very funny, cruel doctor-person," I'm sure AJ was thinking, "Now stop piercing my thighs with that Heinous Instrument of Torture." (He channeled Angry Stewie from "Family Guy," cussing his pediatrician out -- with that hilarious affected accent: "I cannot believe you would submit me to such criminal attacks, Mother! You. Will. Pay, mark my wuuuhds. Evil Villain! And stay away from me with the pointy sticks, Fat Man.") I hate it for the little ones, though. After today, no more shots 'til we're 5 years old, hooray!

I'm thinking of my friend today, who's starting a new job, for all intents and purposes. She's still at her old job too, but now getting the student-teacher portion of her degree done. Cool! I hope she'll enjoy it -- I hope she'll get to choose interesting, educational books and media for her students, and lead story-time, follow the youth book publishers' websites, and plan interesting Book Fairs and research projects.... and not get stuck updating the hundred-year-old card catalog with a typewriter or running the annual textbook sale out of a non-air-conditioned 6x6-foot "room" (closet) in the dead heat of August.... which is what my Mom did as librarian at my high school. Blech! Poor Mom. Surely M.I. will fare better. Shout-out to ya, girl! Have fun!