Small Shamrock knew what he was doing

Oliver just woke up with a start, cried that he needed water and had a booger in each nostril, said he needed to puke, went into our bathroom, puked like a champion into the pot, not a spill nor a splatter, threw back some medicine and an OJ chaser like he'd done both a million times, changed his shirt, brushed his teeth, picked up Wrenchie and Tool Sheet, and jumped happily back into bed. It was both awesome and surreal, and once again I thought "damn, that kid was born on St. Patrick's Day for some kind of reason."