Why Charlie will get the biggest inheritance

I love my children. All 3 of them -- equally, well, as averaged out over time because, you know, they each have their moments. But I think I'm going to have to leave Charlie the biggest inheritance.

It's not because he's my favorite -- seriously, I don't have a favorite. No, I'm going to have to leave Charlie the biggest piece of whatever is left of my estate (which won't be much anyway if Wall Street keeps it up) because I owe it to him. Poor Charlie...forget the college fund, this kid is gonna need a prepaid therapy account.

What I am about to describe to you is, to borrow a phrase from modern literature, a series of unfortunate events. All unrelated, all un-premeditated, but all which could paint a picture of me as a rotten mother.

* When Charlie was just a baby, about 4 or 5 months old, I accidentally put Icy Hot on his diaper rash. Twice. Let me just say in my own defense that the two tubes looked remarkably similar from behind to a woman averaging 4 hours of sleep a night.

* When he was about 2 years old, he hurt his arm, so I took him to the ER to be checked out. Only we didn't quite make it to the ER in an expeditious manner because I locked him in the minivan...with the keys inside...with the van running...with Charlie still buckled into his car seat.

* When he was 3 years old, I decided to try the "let him run around naked" potty training method. It had worked well with Annie --only she didn't have eczema. The first time Charlie peed down his legs, it stung so bad I had to put him immediately in the bathtub. That was the end of that training method.

* When he was 4 years old, he hurt his arm at preschool. I DID take him to the doctor that time. She looked him over and said she didn't think it was serious and I didn't press any further. Over the next few days, he played as usual, though by the end of the night, would baby that arm a bit. About a week went by and he fell while we were at the Air Force Museum in Dayton, Ohio. It was quite obvious by his reaction that something was wrong with his arm. So I took him to the ER, where x-rays revealed a "wrinkle" fracture in his wrist, likely from his first accident at preschool.

* When he was 5 years old, I accidentally closed the sliding door of the minivan on his hand. He was ok, but I felt guilty for a good while.

Fortunately, years 6 through 8 were pretty good. Then of course, there was the Eating Crow incident this fall. (He got his cast off on Friday and is wearing a splint for added protection for a couple of weeks.)

And now tonight. I had just put fresh sheets on his bed and had just covered his eczema-ridden legs with ointment. It was time for prayers, so I turned off the light and plopped down on the bed next to him -- or so I thought.

I'm not sure what registered first, his voice crying out or the lump that was his bad arm under my body. After I stayed a bit to a.) comfort him and b.) make sure I hadn't done damage to the arm, I headed to my room and wrote myself a note.

"Increase Charlie's inheritance. Again."