What Did You Eat for Dinner?

The Rock Star yakked again tonight. Bright purple blueberry barf all over the stairs. He then proceeded to sprint to the bathroom and deposit even more berry blast into the toilet. This explains why he fell asleep on his bed this afternoon without prompting from me. I had to wake him and we then had the following conversation--entirely groggy on his part.

Me: What do you want for dinner?
Him: Nothing.
Me: Nothing? What about pizza?
Him: No.
Me: How 'bout Beck? We could eat Beck for dinner. (trying to get him to laugh so that he'd actually wake up)
Him: No.
Me: If you don't give me any ideas, I'll just make mashed potatoes. (He hates those!)
Him: No you won't.
Me: Maybe if you wake up all the way I'll let you have ice cream for dinner.
Him: Well, that's not going to happen. So I'm not going to do it.

And then I laughed. A lot. He's only three but sometimes he has the practical wisdom of an eight-year-old.

Half an hour later, he threw up all over the floor and dinner was altogether out of the question.

Sons

You know you have boys when you spend the afternoon turning an old plant pot into a Slug and Worm Habitat.

I'm just saying.

Sweetness and Light and Feces

I want a raise. I simply do not get paid enough for this job.

Little Buddy has been having explosive diapers for a couple of days now. He's acting perfectly normal except for the part where he has a very small appetite and horrific Huggies. This is the kid who has always been willing to eat whatever we put in front of him. Now he's turning his nose up at everything and then, when we attempt to insist that he eat it, throwing it at us. And we've had several ridiculously nasty diapers. Matthew will be walking along, minding his own business when all of the sudden he gets a strange look on his face, grunts, and lets out a horrendous sound from his nether regions. In the matter of one second he'll be covered from the top of the front of the diaper to the top of the back with runny goo. It's special.

Last night, our door flew open at 3:40. The Rock Star was sobbing about throwing up. It took us a few seconds to realize he'd thrown up on the floor of his room after attempting to make it to the bathroom. I got him cleaned up while Troy got the floor cleaned up. Then I made a bed for him on my floor, Troy got him a big bowl, we put a nightlight in our bathroom, and left the toilet seat up. A half hour later he was barfing again but, luckily, he made it to the toilet. He then proceeded to have horrible diareara (his word, not mine) all morning.

At one point I heard sobbing coming from the bathroom. As I opened the door, I asked what was wrong. I needn't have asked. There was poop everywhere. It was very reminiscent of that one time on the plane. Except, you know, the bathroom was bigger this time. "I didn't make it!" He wailed. I'll say. There was poop in his clothes, poop on the floor. Poop on the side of the toilet, and poop down his leg. He was perched on the top of the toilet and he was embarrassed (and hey, he'll get to relive his embarrassment again when he's old enough to read my blog! So yeah for that!) and just kept apologizing to me. I explained that he didn't have to apologize, that it was an accident, that I knew it wasn't his fault, and on and on and on. When I'd cleaned him up I had him get down and that's when I realized that it was somehow also on the bottom of his foot. The floor of the bathroom filled with Garrett sized poop prints. Neat. When all was said and done I realized that the toilet was full of paper and, well, plugged. Sweet. Just as I started to unplug my boy wailed, "I have to go poop again!"

"Run upstairs, quick!"

And as I unplugged one toilet he filled another.

And before I could rinse out his clothes he filled the bowl again.

So I gave him a third of an Imodium.

My house is a mess.

There is still a chunk of quesadilla on the floor where it landed when Matthew lifted his chubby arms over his head and lobbed it at me. There are receipts on the counter and clothes on the bed. At least they're freshly washed and folded. Today I broke up a fight between a one-year-old and a not-quite-four-year-old over a pop-up book that Garrett had first. I put Garrett in time out because a certain one-year-old had knocked over a certain not-quite-four-year-old's farm and the not-quite-four-year-old got so mad that he took his anger out on his bed and threw everything on the ground, blanket, sheet, and all. He's been destroying beds lately and it's really getting on my nerves so I put him in time out on top of the naked bed. I held Matthew as he sobbed simply because his brother was crying in time out. I brushed my teeth. I think. I wiped a lot of bottoms. Or, that is to say, I wiped the same bottoms a lot of times. I fed them lunch. A toddler threw lunch at me. I put both boys down for naps, sat on the couch, and exhaled.

I've said it before and I'll say it again. Sometimes raising kids is all sweetness and light and unicorns dancing on rainbows and sometimes it's all out guerrilla warfare.

But just before I put them down for naps, Matthew--the human food pulverizer--flashed me the most brilliant smile. And, as I laid with Garrett while he fell asleep, he whispered, "I really love you. Sweet dreams, Mama."

So who knew unicorns danced on rainbows even during war?

Eleven Days

Me: Hey buddy...
G: Hmmm?
Me: What should I blog about today?
G: Going in the water.
Me: What about going in the water?
G: Because I love water.
Me: Uh. Okay.

So this has nothing to do with water but on the way home from playing with a group of Garrett's friends today he declared, from the backseat, "I know what Grandpa was called when he was little." I asked him to supply the answer and he shouted, "Baby Grandpa!"

Me: Garrett, do you love Grandpa?
G: Uh huh. Why?
Me: Just wondering. When are you going to see him next?
G: At Lake Tahoe!
Me: What are you going to say when you see him?
G: Aloha!

I was afraid of that.

Me: What are you going to do with Grandpa at Lake Tahoe?
G: Go on the raft. Now please stop asking me so much because I'm watching a show.
Me: Oh okay. (pausing the show) What are you going to eat with Grandpa?
G: A hot dog.
Me: Are you going to do anything else fun?
G: Play with him!
Me: Are you going to push him in the water?
G: Uh huh. And even I'm going to jump in the water with him like I did last time. But do I have to cover my ears and my nose and my mouth?
Me: No. You just have to blow out. Are you excited about going to Lake Tahoe?
G: Uh huh.
Me: How many more days?
G: Two more.
Me: I wish. Do you remember how many days I told you this morning?
G: This many days. (he holds up ten fingers)
Me: Plus one of mommy's fingers.
G: Oh yeah.

Sixteen

Matthew,

These are trying days. You're cutting two bicuspids and you're not having any fun. At least, I hope that I can attribute this mood to getting teeth because if there is no logical explanation I'm going to go insane.

After an entire day yesterday where you did nothing but fuss, whine, or scream, you woke up this morning and, two minutes after I got you out of your crib, launched into another round of incessant attitude. I was borderline losing it when I pulled up Brunhilda's blog. It reminded me that there was a full 14 months there where I didn't know if you'd even be able to pitch fits here for much longer. I scolded myself for my impatience, rubbed some Orajel on your gums and then we went about our day...which included a trip to the pediatric opthamologist.

About a month ago your pediatrician noticed something strange with your eyes. Where she should have been seeing a red semicircle, she saw a green one. She said she'd never, ever, in all of her years practicing medicine, seen this. She had us come back a week later so that she could check it again. Still green. She said she wasn't terribly concerned but wanted me to take you to a specialist. It took me three weeks to get in. I wasn't overly worried. She said she'd never seen it before and so I knew it was either nothing or you'd be diagnosed with something that would come to be known as The Matthew--as, apparently, you'd be the first. I figured the odds were in our favor.

Turns out you have a very dark choroid pigment and astigmatism. This bent the light to make it appear green. At least, I thinks that's the way it was. It was something like that, anyway. Neither of the contributing factors concerned him at all and he said that he didn't need to see us again.

In other news, you're not gaining any ground on the vocabulary front. I'm not worried. If your babbling is any indicator that you will, one day, speak more than six words, you'll be fine. Of course, you continue to walk, run, walk backward, climb, dance, and fine tune all your motor skills.

Your playroom and the backyard are major sources of enjoyment for you. Don't mind the purple walls, painting is on my list of things to do.

If you ask me, you look like a combination of your birth parents. You have your mother's eyes and nose. You make faces that look exactly like your father. So, on any given day, we can see one or both of them peering at us through your little face. But this...

That right there is your mother. It's your mother in the face of a small boy.

It is so incredible to watch you learning to love things because your brother does or following your daddy around or clinging to me like a baby animal and then to simultaneously see both of them in you. It's such a beautiful reminder of the blending of all these families.

You're growing up, getting so big, learning and changing every day. Sixteen months. It's flown by. And in the moments, in the hours, in the months, I am loving you--attitude and all.

Veronica

My dear friend, Veronica, happens to share the same dream that I do. We both want to visit every state. Her goal, to see all 50 before she turns 30. My goal, to see them all before I die. I can't set myself for extreme failure and attempting to see 31 states in the next 14 months would be ridiculous. Veronica, on the other hand, has just under 12 months to see 3.

This weekend she flew into Salt Lake and took a road trip up to Montana to get a couple more states accomplished. She spent last night here with us and flew home to San Francisco this morning. We stayed up talking, laughing and catching up until 1:00 am. For some reason, although caffeine was not involved, I had a hard time falling asleep. I finally fell asleep around 2. When Garrett woke me up at 6:45 I was exhausted.

Shortly after 7:00 I came downstairs, rubbed my eyes, and said to my friend, "I seriously feel like I just woke up after a slumber party." I can remember feeling that way many times with Veronica. Many sleep overs, parties and mission trips involved us getting way too little sleep. Sometimes it was our fault. Sometimes it was other people snoring like they'd been possessed by a foghorn. Always, it was fun.

I miss her already but I sure am glad she's visited me twice since I moved out here to Utah.

Naughty Guy

G: Jesus died by the sword.
Me: No. Jesus said, "He who lives by the sword dies by the sword." He died on the cross.
G: Oh. Yeah. But he fought with his big giant sword.
Me: No he didn't. But he'll get the naughty guys when he comes back.
G: What bad guys?
Me: Well...the devil.
G: The devil?
Me: Yeah. Satan.
G: Oh. Satan. Why is he a naughty guy?
Me: Because he's mean and very, very bad.
G: He is?
Me: Yeah.
G: Mommy. I really need to teach him to be nice. I'll talk to him and tell him that he needs to stop being naughty.
Me: Good luck.

Flash(way)back Friday

In just over two weeks (can't come soon enough as far as I'm concerned) I'm going to Lake Tahoe. A lot like I did back then...

Back when my dad had a giant hairy caterpillar between his upper lip and his nose. Which, even though we're pretty far away in this picture, I think you can see. I don't know which trip this picture was taken on but my brother was approximately the same age that The Rock Star is now.

And boy is he excited to go back. The Rock Star, that is. Although, well, my brother's excited too. He has it a little confused with his other favorite place in the world, Hawaii. He keeps telling me that he can't wait to tell people, "Aloooooha!" once we get to Tahoe. I think these people are going to be confused. The Rock Star won't care either way. As long as there's water and he can play outside, he'll be happy. He's gotten quite a bit bigger since the last time he was there.
Matthew was a teeny little embryo and not yet a member of our family when we last went. I can't wait to introduce him to my favorite spot in the whole world. Poor kid is going to have to live in a life jacket because he has absolutely no fear of water. He's like a moth to a flame and he's going to take one look at that huge swimming pool and make a beeline straight for it.

17 days and counting...

The Structure

Since we live far away from all of our family, we often get money and gift cards for birthdays. This works perfectly because we already have a plethora of toys overflowing out of the boys' playroom. We usually put all the money that the boys get into bags and when they need something we use what we have saved. The Rock Star has been begging us to hang up his baby swing for about a year now. The trouble is that this house doesn't have a tree or, well, anything, to hang it in. And now that he's nearly four, a baby swing hardly seemed like the answer. But one of those giant play structures sure did. We counted up the money we had saved for them and asked the family members that usually give Garrett a gift if they wouldn't mind contributing to the play set. We told everyone that we were going to get it at the beginning of summer so that they can use it all season long. Between what we already had saved and what we received for Garrett's birthday, it was practically paid for and we had to spend very little of our own birthday budget.

But it certainly became a labor of love. First, we ordered it in April. It took forever to get here. Then we decided that we should seal all the wood because, well, we live in Crazyville where it's been known to snow through May, thunderstorm through the summer, and start snowing again in November. The weekend that my mother-in-law was here we set to sealing and she was a huge help. Over 150 pieces of wood later, we were ready to build.

Except that when Troy started the very first step he discovered that something was wrong with some of the hardware. It was threaded incorrectly for the size of bolt that was supposed to go in it. High times. So, with our garage full of wood we contacted the company and asked them to send us new hardware.

Eventually, we got to building. And by we I mean Troy.

A little bit got built but then we went out of town. The hard working daddy couldn't build. And he has a job. So little by little he worked on it for an hour here or a half hour there.

And on Saturday he built this.

And there was much excitement written all over the faces of two little boys.

Then, a few nights ago, a friend came over and helped him get this part on...

And yesterday I managed, after a tutorial from my husband, to accomplish this...

So, about two months after we ordered it, we finally have a play yard in the back. I thought that the fact that it only has a ladder and a rock wall to assist children in reaching the "club house" would mean that I'd have to help Matthew whenever he wanted to play. It took him about two seconds to figure out how to climb the ladder. He toddled straight over to the slide, sat down, and took off. Luckily, I caught him at the bottom because it's a slick slide and he's a tiny bugger.

So we told Garrett that this is what he's getting for his birthday and, well, as you can see, he seems to be okay with that.

Oh that little girl in the background, that's our oldest child, Matilda. We don't talk about her much. In fact, I don't know if I've ever mentioned her on this blog. So, SURPRISE!

Kidding. She's actually the neighbor girl who comes over to play with Garrett a lot. She loves our new play set.

Then there's this kid. He seems pretty okay with the fact that, back in February, we saved all of his birthday money and put it toward this.

Endless fun. Endless smiles. Endless playing outside in the fresh air all summer--I hope. Thank you to everyone who contributed to our boys' birthday gift. THEY LOVE IT!

The Decision

Control. It's an issue for me. As I said when I spoke at the retreat last September, all my adult life has been one big lesson in letting go and letting God be in control of my life. I'm getting better. If, by getting better, I mean that I can at least recognize when situations pop up where I shift into a psychotic control freak. I used to be considered legally blind to those fun little experiences. Now I'm wearing corrective lenses and can usually, at the very least, recognize them coming if I squint. What I do with the knowledge of their approaching is really any one's guess.

I've spent the last several weeks trying to make a decision about something which could end up being important or could end up not making the slightest bit of difference. While I think it won't matter, I recognize that I need to be prepared in the event that it does. I've agonized over the issue, over thinking, over analyzing, control freaking (a new verb I've coined just for me), flipping from one side of the issue to the other and back again like a teenage girl trying to decide which shoes to wear with her prom dress.

Honestly, the Lord doesn't speak audibly to me. Never has and, likely, never will. Although, that certainly would be pretty darn awesome. And terrifying, I'm sure. But I feel Him revealing himself to me fairly regularly--especially if I'm in constant prayer. However, this time...nothing. So I did what I always do when I don't recognize any direct revelation. I turned on the television and waited to see if I'd hear the word "yes" or "no" first. Totally kidding but I'm going to go do that right now just for the fun of it. Stand by. I turned on the tv and there was an ad that said, "Don't Take the Trip!" Good thing this has nothing to do with going on a vacation. Or, well, drugs. Then someone said, "Of course!" and a few moments later someone else said, "no." So this validates my decision not to watch television for all the answers.

Okay, so what I really did was went to Scripture and sought counsel from a few. I honestly thought about opening it up for discussion on this very blog and while I'm sure the other six of you would have offered splendid advice, I didn't exactly want my one axe murderer reader weighing in.

My counsel offered good and sound advice but, would you believe it, not one of them would make the decision for me. (In all honestly I only asked my mother to make the decision for me but she refused. Somehow I don't remember that happening when I was little and asked if I could have cookies for dinner.)

I listened to a message. I read my Bible. I made a decision.

And now I find myself--as one of my friend's truthfully told me--completely over thinking the issue. The issue that likely won't make a difference one way or the other, mind you. Completely, well, control freaking, if you will. So today I've spent Matthew's entire nap (don't look at the house, it's a total mess) searching Scripture to remind me that God is in control and any attempt I make to take control is futile and ridiculous.

"Yours O Lord, is the greatness and the power and the glory and the majesty and the splendor, for everything in heaven and earth is yours. Yours, O Lord, is the kingdom; you are exalted as head over all." I Chronicles 29:11

"Be still and know that I am God." Psalm 40:10

"We all fell to the ground, and I heard a voice saying to me in Aramaic, 'Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me? It is hard for you to kick against the goads." Acts 24:16

"Remember the former things, those of long ago; I am God, and there is no other; I am God, and there is none like me. I make known the end from the beginning, from ancient times, what is still to come. I say: My purpose will stand, and I will do all that I please. From the east I summon a bird of prey; from a far-off land, a man to fulfill my purpose. What I have said, that will I bring about; what I have planned, that will I do. " Isaiah 46:9-11

"Humble yourselves, therefore, under God's mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you." 1 Peter 5:6-7

“You turn things upside down, as if the potter were thought to be like the clay! Shall what is formed say to him who formed it, “He did not make me”? Can the pot say of the potter, “He knows nothing”? Isaiah 29:16

P Is For Potty? *UPDATED*

I don't care what anyone else says. I just don't. I know that my youngest son has the cutest back of the neck and head. His hairline stops abruptly, revealing the sweetest, chubbiest, most adorable neck. The back of his ears help complete the picture. It's simply, ridiculously, adorable. And I know that my oldest son has the cutest bum in the whole entire wide world. Truly, there is no use arguing with me. The only thing cuter than Matthew's neck and Garrett's butt (I won't be able to read this particular post aloud because Garrett will "scold" me for saying butt as it is a naughty word in our house.) is a golden retriever puppy. Maybe.

Speaking of "naughty" words--which is really not at all what I was speaking of but whatever--our children are not allowed to say butt, fart, or pee. This is fine with Matthew. He doesn't say much of anything. I just asked Garrett if he even knows what the word fart means and he looked at me, with a sheepish face, and said, "It's a toot. Someone at preschool told me." I just happen to think that these three words sound crass coming out of the mouths of tiny kids. Don't get me wrong, I understand that I'm in the major minority when it comes to the word pee. Even the doctor calls it that. Also, this particular banned word caused problems when Garrett was learning his letters and I could not understand why, in the world, he was giggling hysterically every time he named the letter that comes after O. I had to explain that the letter P is acceptable but that, in our house, we don't like the word pee when referring to going to the bathroom or, as we say here, going potty.

I know. I'm crazy. Am I the only mom who thinks that when a three-year-old says pee, butt or fart they suddenly sound like a ten or eleven-year-old? Am I the only one who absolutely hates the word pee in general? I mean, honestly. Etymologically speaking, pee is the euphemistic abreviation of piss and I am certainly not going to let my child run around saying that. Although, to be fair, etymologically speaking, potty is slang for chamber pot.

So, although this post was supposed to be about my oldest son's bottom and my youngest son's neck, it's turned into a post about Doozleberry family "naughty" words. Weigh in.

Update: Well, forget the poll. It's scolding everyone and not recording people's votes...at least not that I can tell. If you have a strong opinion, share it in the comments section.

Where do you fall on this issue? Who cares what pee is slang for? All kids should say pee. PEE! It is so onomatopoeic. Better to have a kid walking around saying chamber pot than the alternative. My kid calls (or called) it something else entirely. view results

Higher Education

Out of the blue, The Rock Star looked at me today and said, sternly, "Mommy, you have a lot to learn." Then he finished the hilarious lecture with, "I don't. I finished preschool." Yes, son. You've finished one year of preschool. You're golden. Congratulations. No more schooling for you. I'm sure you've learned all there is to know.

You learned the letters and their sounds.

You learned how to count to twenty only using sixteen numbers. "One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Sixteen. Nineteen. Twenty."

You learned the song Do Re Mi from The Sound of Music. It goes a little something like this, "Doe a deer, a female deer. Ray a drop of tea. Me a long way to run. Sew a fa a female deer..."

You learned that sometimes fish eat the other fish in what can only be described as a class pet massacre.

You learned that sometimes friends move away. Mommy had no idea that you were so attached to that particular little girl until her moving was all you could talk about for days.

You learned about summer break which prompted the following conversation:
Me: Garrett, tomorrow is your last day of preschool.
G: (as his face falls there is a long pause. Finally he speaks.) Can you sign me up for more?
Me: Yes. I already did. But you have to take the summer off.
G: (horrified) Why?
Me: Because your teachers go on vacation.
G: Where do they go?
Me: I don't know. Places. And they get to spend time at their houses taking a break.
G: My teachers have houses?

So you learned that your teachers have homes. They don't always live at preschool.

You learned about shapes and tracing and dinosaurs and firemen and farm animals and outer space and the ocean and so many other things that I can't keep them all straight.

You learned.

So very much.

And you're so very big.

I guess you're right. The next 18+ years of your education are totally overrated. Who needs calculus when you can count to twenty without needing fourteen, fifteen, seventeen or eighteen?

Two Fathers

Happy Father's Day to my own dad and to my wonderful husband.

My dad did a pretty good job raising his kids. I mean, my brother turned out okay so he was at least batting .500, right? And now he's a darn good grandpa. Garrett looks so little in that picture and I can remember that moment like it was yesterday. He was laughing so hysterically, as is evidenced in the shot, that I could barely hold the camera still I was laughing so hard. Still, as little as he looks, it certainly isn't as little as this guy...

Thanks, Dad, for being such a great father and grandfather.

Then there's this guy. The one I love. The one I want for life. Thanks, Troy, for being such a good dad to both of our boys.

Last Father's Day was a little rough, not knowing if we'd be a family of four the next time we celebrated or if we'd be back to a family of two. I have this picture framed in our house and when I'd look at it back before we'd finalized, my heart ached. I'm so very glad that Troy gets to be the daddy to both of these kids for the foreseeable future.

So to the dads in my life: Thank you for being godly examples. I love you both so much!

Fire Cake: Part Two

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."

Fire Cake

I'm pretty sure it was just yesterday that my son climbed out of my womb. And I use the word "climbed" rather loosely in this instance as my baby was in no hurry to go anywhere fast. Apparently, I have a very hospitable uterus. Anyway. My little boy's last day of his first year of preschool was yesterday which, I do realize, is impossible. I went to sleep in that hospital bed and woke up nearly four years later and my son was all, "Hey, mom! I'm done with my first year of school!" He hugged one of his teachers and she started crying which, in turn, made me choke up. Thankfully, I have a strict policy against personal public crying and I managed to hold my own tears back. But it was incredibly difficult because suddenly he looked so...big. He pulled me toward the door and I was struck with this feeling that I blinked and four years flew by. This is totally unfair because I distinctly remember telling myself not to blink.

On Tuesday, Garrett's second to last day of preschool, our friend took him because we were out of town. Along the way he informed her that he wanted a fire cake for his birthday at Lake Tahoe. (It just so happens that we'll be in Tahoe on July 20 which, I happen to think, is the best place ever to celebrate turning four three again. Apparently, for Garrett, it is only the second best place because for awhile there he kept informing people that his parents were taking him to Hawaii for his birthday. Aside from being completely untrue, this gave the impression that we not only had large volumes of money, we also spoiled our son beyond comprehension. "And for your fourth second annual third birthday you shall receive a trip to Maui! Yeah!") So our friend asked him what a fire cake was and he couldn't exactly explain it to her. She relayed the information to me.

I was stumped.

"Garrett, honey, what kind of cake do you want for your birthday?" I asked him later.

"A fire cake!"

"What's a fire cake?"

"You know, with flames going, 'squiasquiaferrrr,' all over it." He replied and made quick flick-type motions with his fingers.

I was so confused. I imagined that he wanted me to set fire to his cake and the only dessert I could think of was creme brulee--which I'm pretty sure he's never had. (I had the most delicious creme brulee from Todai while Troy and I were on our two day getaway but that's really neither here nor there.) "I don't actually know what you mean. Do you think that any old cake would do?" I asked.

If looks could break hearts in two the one I received would surely have killed me. It was desperately dejected. "Okay," he sighed.

I tried cheering him up by telling him how awesome it would be. He seemed unconvinced. 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. Do you have any idea? Am I the only one who didn't have a single solitary clue what my kid was talking about?