Continued from yesterday:
...Later I called my mom and asked her if she had a clue what a fire cake was. She didn't. After we brainstormed and decided that we could make a cake and stick a fire truck on top I said something to the effect of, "Does he want me to light his cake on fire?"
And that's when it dawned on me. That's the precise moment that I realized what my little boy meant.
My son, in all of his sweet 47 months of life, was requesting a cake with candles. He couldn't have cared less what his cake looked like, or had on it, as long as there were candles with fire on the ends. And I'd ask him if "any old cake would do". I felt like a total heel. I flew up the stairs and into his room where he'd just settled into bed.
"Garrett," I started, "When you said you wanted a fire cake, did you mean that you wanted a cake with candles?"
His eyes danced with delight and he answered, "Yes." Then he paused and whispered, "With fire on them."