is a boy who takes his bubble-blowing seriously. And who forever has sticky bits of gum clinging to his chin, cheeks, and nose that attract and hold dirt like nobody’s business. I am constantly scrubbing at him and yet off he blows again and inevitably I discover him wearing a grotesque goatee while we’re sitting in the pew at Mass.
And this, my wiser friends tell me, is only one of the many reasons why gum should be a controlled substance in my household. I do try to control it. Truly I do. But this child has a way of making me feel like I am frustrating him in his vocation if I suggest we take a break from the gum.
And who knows? He might just be destined for fame and fortune.
I will not be that mother. I will not stand in the way of greatness.