When you have children, a quiet house is a thing of mystery. It is rare that both of my kids will be reading at the same time and even if they are, there is bound to be an argument. “Stop making so much noise when you turn the page! Gosh!”

Not to mention the fact that silence usually equals trouble. When my daughter was younger and playing quietly it inevitably meant she was cleaning her tea party set. Though it wasn’t so much cleaning as it was pouring water all over the bathroom floor. To wipe it up, she would use every hand towel we owned.

My son is never quiet. He talks to his toys, to the TV and to me. A lot. So, when he was playing upstairs with friends the other night and I couldn’t hear him, I should have known something was up. I’m just glad he used tape and not glue.

Notice the complete lack of facial movement. A smile would have likely pulled his eyelashes out.

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My eight year old son has, undeniably, struggled with everything he has ever tackled. Nowhere has this been more evident than in the sports arena.

We tried soccer, but he was only about the size of a three year old at the time. A 35 pound kid with a heart defect and reflux does not a soccer star make. When the coach would put him in, he would simply run across the field to where we were sitting and ask, “Can we leave now?”

Last year we tried t-ball. He liked it. Mostly, he enjoyed the free snow cone at the concession stand after the games and watching the trains that run on the tracks behind the field, but whatever. Progress is progress, people.

Now that he has reached the soaring height of a four year old he has moved on to coach-pitch baseball. This seems to be an ideal sport for him. There isn’t too much running and sometimes there is bubble-gum in the dugout.

However, that doesn’t mean it has been easy. Although he has a great swing he only had two hits in the first two games.

But last night he hit the ball every time he was at bat. He even had a double. Okay, it was a single with an overthrown ball so he was allowed to advance to second, but again…whatever.

During that inning, he scored his first run. The parents from our team were cheering so much when he reached home plate that he was positively beaming with pride. He waved at everyone as if we were his adoring fans and, at one point, I thought he was actually going to bow.

After the game, one of those parents congratulated him by saying, “Hey, buddy! You played great tonight!”

Then we realized that even modesty comes hard for him when he replied, “I know.”

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Two years ago a friend of ours with a self-employed husband, two kids and an ailing father who had recently moved into her home, made me feel like lazy-schmuck-mom when she decided to go back to nursing school.

About a month ago she graduated…with honors…and yesterday she found out she passed her boards. After two years of hearing, “I can’t. I have to study” it was time to celebrate.

At the last minute I decided to throw together some dinner. A Mexican fiesta, if you will. Mostly because no Mexican fiesta is complete without margaritas.

The kids and I headed to the grocery store and my son got the coveted job of being the “list checker-offer”. His tiny, eight-year-old self, which still fits easily into the seat of a shopping cart, called off the items. As I added them to the cart, he would mark them off the list.

Now, you can not deny that you look in other carts to see what people are buying. I do it. I know you do it too. Standing amid the produce section with a cart full of colorful peppers, lettuce, onions and tomatoes, I knew I was disliked by more than one parent with a non-veggie eater. I could hear them thinking, “How does she do it?” I may have puffed up my chest. Just sayin’.

But, as he usually does, my son brought my delusions of parenting grandeur to a crashing halt when he loudly stated, “Okay, the next thing we need is Triple Sec.”

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My son was sitting on my lap yesterday afternoon when he reached up and cupped his hands around my face. He said, “I love you super much.”

I replied, “You mean so much. Now, why do you love me so much?”

He smiled a ridiculously ornery smile and said, “Because you are the best mommy in the world.”

Looking to see if he could defend this statement I prodded him, “But, why do you think I’m the best mommy in the world?”

He rolled his eyes and answered, “Duh. Because, it’s your birthday.”

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