My son will be seven in a few weeks, but he looks more like a four year old. The cardiologist says it’s because of his GI problems, and the gastroenterologist says it’s because of his heart. The geneticist threw her hands up and said, “It’s not us!” All we know is that he’s small.

Lately, however, he appears to be going through a growth spurt. In order to boost his confidence I mentioned it last night.

I eyed my boy, then looked at my husband and said, “Doesn’t he look bigger?” Then I turned to my son and said, “You’re huge!”

Taking this as a valid compliment, my son looked up at me and said, “YOU’RE huge!” and in order to one-up my comment, he added, “Actually, you’re HUGE-MONGOUS!”

I tilted my head towards my husband and said, “Uh-oh.” I backpedaled and explained that calling a woman “huge” isn’t really a compliment, but it’s okay when you are talking about a boy’s muscles.

My son looked at his dad and said, “Yeah. Like Daddy’s.”

Somehow this whole thing completely backfired on me.

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My husband and I were recently discussing our latest attempt to obtain life insurance for our six year old son. Our applications for coverage are always futile because of my boy’s underlying heart defects.

My son and my 10 year old daughter were sitting nearby and heard us talking. She asked, “Why won’t the company give him insurance?”

We don’t hide the fact that he is different, so I picked up my son, squeezed him and answered, “Because of his heart.”

Then my son, in his dramatic fashion, replied, “What are they talking about? My heart is beautiful!”

Indeed, it is, son. Indeed, it is.

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I have been known to make notoriously ugly birthday cakes. They are made with love and they usually taste okay, but that’s as far as I can stretch it.

There was the time I made my husband, what has been dubbed, the diarrhea cake. Not because of the texture, but rather the icing I so lovingly concocted with food coloring. Did you know that blue and green make brown?

And, then there’s this. Quite possibly the most hideous cake ever. What you can’t see is my son’s name, which I removed with Microsoft Paint (widely known as Photoshop for poor people). All you need to know is that the “M” in his name looked remarkably like an “N”.

What you can see? The crooked “2” in every corner, the thick letters in “Happy”, which ends in a whacked out “y”. Oh, and even at two…he knew he was in for years of this, which would explain his reaction.

But yesterday, I was so proud of myself. My father-in-law came to visit and I made a cake from scratch! From scratch, I said! Even the icing was homemade. My letters were well-scripted and I added some red sprinkles to match. This is a masterpiece in my house.

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Last night, my 10 year old daughter had her First Reconciliation (Confession). As archaic as some people believe this Sacrament to be, I like the idea that my kid is acknowledging she has done things which are wrong, like lying and gossiping and spitting out perfectly good food when her mother told her to eat it and then the dog came along and ate it off the floor, so not only did she not eat her lunch but the dog had apple-scented gas all afternoon…hypothetically.

I also think it’s a good thing that she saw me in line for confession right there with her. She needs to know that even her parents are flawed and that we are always striving to improve. Some parents were in with the priest for so long that they started turning out the lights (*cough* my husband *cough*).

Because there were roughly 30 kids and quite a few parents waiting for an available priest, we were there for a long time. My six year old son wholeheartedly appreciated this captive audience, and amused us with the following:

*When I pointed to a picture of the Pope and said, “He’s the highest priest in the Catholic Church”.

My son replied, “Really? So he’s very tall?”

*After I told him why we were there he said, “When I have my First Confession, I’ll say I’m sorry for this.” Then he hit me.

*When his sister left the confessional and was coming back to her seat he yelled, “What did you tell him?”

*While waiting on the playground for my husband to finish up in the church, the kids started playing hide and seek. When my son couldn’t find his sister he announced, “Mom! I can’t find her. I think she’s hiding in heaven!”

When next year’s class has their First Reconciliation I’m bringing him with me again…and this time I’m going to charge admission.

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