"Dude," Pär said to me, "let's rent a movie!"

"I love it when you call me 'dude'."

"Really?"

"Yes. It's like in Stranger in a Strange Land, when the man from Mars calls the girls 'little brother' and they get all, like, wet."

"Ohh yeah..."

"I'm not as classy as Heinlein's bimbos, because what does it for me is 'dude'."

Come to think of it, I would be kinda creeped out if my man started calling me 'little brother'. But then (idiotic pop-psych books notwithstanding), he isn't from Mars.

Jeremiah has a small teddy bear with a rattle inside. He was sitting in his stroller playing with it, and managed to get it wedged against the puffy diaper bulge between his legs, where he made the rattle shake by kicking it over and over with the heel of his foot. He seemed to be enjoying himself hugely, doing this for quite a while and laughing at the sound, or the sensation, or god knows what.

I called Pär over to see. "Check him out! He's totally figured out a way to play that bear like an instrument."

We stared at the baby, who smiled happily and increased his kicking efforts. Rattle. Rattle. Rattle.

"Karen," Pär spoke in hushed tones, "do you ever get the feeling our son is a freak genius?

I do get that feeling. But contented myself with commenting merely, "Kicking himself repeatedly in the balls don't make him Einstein."