Last night after our St. Rita festivities had died down, I took my son home. My daughter stayed with my wife over at Granny’s house to watch a TV show. But son, well, he was tired because he’s been battling this weird virus thing that seems to bring about fever every 8-10 hours. Get some Motrin into him and he’s good to go — a little too good. When the fever comes down, he thinks he’s an Olympic speed skater on blow. I would love to bottle a drop of his energy and take some when I have to go to work in the morning after being up all night with him when he’s in one of these manias. But after his bath, he got into his pajamas and, feeling tired, got up on Daddy’s bed to watch a show on Nick Jr. I let him fall asleep on my bed because he wasn’t feeling well. As I was leaving the room I bent down to give him a kiss good night. I stood up from the edge of my bed and his arm reached up ant he grabbed me and pulled me back down. “What are you doing, son?” I asked, a little taken aback. “Daddy? You know what my favorite number is, right?” I replied, “Yes, son, it’s 18.” I’m still not sure why that’s his favorite number. “Daddy, I want to give you 18 kisses because I love you this much,” he said as he put his arms as wide apart as they’d go. As I stood there stooped over at the edge of the bed the only thought in my mind was just how good God is that I have this little guy and his 18 kisses.