The kids and I went to pick up a pizza earlier this evening and as we waited in the crowded counter area, I looked down to see my son vigorously rubbing his nose.

I had seen this before. This was the booger rub.

I looked around for a napkin, but there were none in sight. I didn’t want to be standing among a group of people, who were picking up their dinner, and see a green glob on my son’s knuckle, so I nudged him and quietly requested, “Hey buddy, why don’t you wait until we’re in the car to do that?”

And, not realizing that this was something he should do with a bit of modesty, he loudly replied, “You mean I should wait until we get in the car to pick my nose?”

Yeah, that’s right…and we’re going to pass on those green peppers.

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My eight year old son has many oddities, however none is quite as evident as his fascination with skin. He loves to touch people and the older, the better. The upper arm flab of elderly women is his clear favorite.

My boy has had sensory issues from the start. As an infant, he hated to be held and only due to countless hours of occupational therapy did that change. Now he can’t keep his hands off of people.

He has always been able to obtain this tactile fix because he is so small, but what people don’t realize is that he’s really just a miniature man. The lady who lets him climb all over her lap forgets that he is an eight year old in the body of a toddler. The kid gets away with murder, I tell you.

We have recently started some new therapy. We brush his skin, we do joint compression and other exercises which are helping him keep his hands to himself. As he always has been, my child is a work in progress.

Most of our friends and family know they have to set boundaries and I do my best to keep him away from bikini clad women. Though, that isn’t hard because I’ve been doing the same thing with my husband for over 15 years. Practice makes perfect, I always say.

We tell my son that everyone has a bubble and that he is not allowed to get close enough to pop it. I sound like I’m off my rocker when I see him eyeing a smooth shoulder or a college co-ed in short-shorts and I act preemptively saying, “Bubble. Bubble! BuuuuuuBBBBBBLE!”

Of course, there are times when he’s bound to fall off the wagon and we are quick to tell him that it’s not okay to invade someone’s space. But, there are still occasions when, oh…let’s say, he might lie on top of our friends’ eight year old daughter. Hypothetically.

Okay, not hypothetically.

We told him that it was unacceptable for him to lie on top of his friends and that you can never touch a girl without permission. This is when his big sister chimed in and said, “Yeah! You can go to jail for that!”

Which is why I shouldn’t have been surprised at my son’s reaction when we ran into my brother-in-law the other night. My brother-in-law the police officer.

At least we know my kid has one redeeming quality…he is honest to a fault. Which was clearly evident when he pulled me down to his level and whispered, “Hey, Mom. You should probably tell him that I lay on girls”.

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This is the letter that my son wrote for Father’s Day. Clearly, he will be a famous card-maker someday. Hey, Hallmark…call me.

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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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