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My son, Wynn, turns thirteen-THIRTEEN!-on February 15. He doesn't want to be a teenager, and so I'm not allowed to verbalize out loud how old he really is.....

At 13, I was in the 7th grade and was editor of our year book. I hot-rolled my hair every morning, and turned up the collar of my I-zod shirts. I polished my white Nikes with the red stripe and knew the soundtrack to Grease by heart. My braces were finally removed and I could now smile with confidence for the school photographer.

Wynn at 13 doesn't notice his high-water pants. They are favorites because they're soft and comfortable and he is unaware of their lack of style. His favorite tunes are still from Disney's Junglebook CD and characters in costumes never fail to bring a smile. He doesn't talk on the phone or email his friends, but he asks daily for a pet lion and wishes he could go to school with Arthur, Buster and the other animals in clothes. Regular school, he says, "is boring".

Holidays are just one of the ways that Wynn counts the days. He also uses the seasons, the school breaks and the number of Sundays left in a month to help him understand the passage of time. Once Christmas has past, the next big event is February 15-his birthday! It's special mostly because there is cake and ice cream involved-rare treats for a boy who has been on one special diet after another since he was 3 years old. Candles are irrelevant and presents are hardly noticed, but something sweet and gooey is never overlooked.

For many years he was satisfied with gluten-free chocolate cupcakes with a milk-free frosting on top. I'd serve them alongside homemade banana ice cream-the miracle product of the Champion Juicer, accomplished simply by feeding frozen bananas into the chute. I'd also haul the juicer to kindergarten and grade school parties and Wynn could eat ice cream until his stomach was tight....full mostly of cold fruit and potassium.

By the first week in January of this year, Wynn was already fit to be tied....nerves all a-twitter as he envisioned the sweet treats to come on his birthday. As the excitement and anxiety increased by the minute, we realized that a plan had to be established before he simply exploded while waiting. Patiently, my husband and I tried to explain to him how many Sundays were left before the big day. We used our fingers as we counted down the weeks and watched his eyes register some comprehension. However, as the number of fingers increased with the count, his blood pressure rose as evidenced

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