I just found a trail of twelve Sugarless Trident Watermellon Twist wrappers leading from the kitchen cupboard to the shut door of Michael's room. When I opened the door I couldn't see him at first. My ears were led to the bed by a loud smacking sound and intermittent giggles. I pretended, of course, that I didn't notice the squirmy lump under the covers. I chided myself out loud for not making the bed very well- for leaving lumps. As I lifted the covers the giggles had given way to a desperate belley laugh and a wet, bright pink mass shot out of his mouth, landing on my bare foot. With an agility and a speed I've witnessed in him only a handful of times in his young life he dove for the mass of goo, swooping it up and popping it quickly back into his mouth. With a breathless urgency he popped back under the covers, chewing madly and repeating over and over, "Fiveshzecondvrool! Fiveshzecondvrool!" I usually only allow him a few pieces of gum at a time, and now I'm not sure why. I have a small poster in my kitchen- How to Really Love a Child. I'm reminded when I read it of simple pleasures, like painting shoes, going to a movie theater in pajamas, finding elephants and kissing them, and realizing how important it is to be a child. I'd add a line: Let them chew giant wads of sticky bubblegum. Perhaps I'll start a list of my own.