Aidan will turn six on Saturday. Earlier this week, I e-mailed his teacher to ask what guidelines I should follow for helping him celebrate his birthday at school.

Well, I just heard back from her. Apparently, I am allowed to come in and read a book to Aidan’s class. Which is pretty much Aidan’s personal nightmare. And mine.

I understand that the days of mom coming in with a tray of frosted cupcakes, covered in aluminum foil, are over. But at least when Mack was in kindergarten, we were allowed to bring in “healthy treats” like fruit for a birthday celebration. Peanut allergies, the childhood obesity epidemic, and test pressure have conspired to take even that away. Even from kindergarteners.

I have total sympathy for parents dealing with food allergies. But this loss pains me to my very soul. I really haven’t found anything, in the last 30 years, that brought me as much pure happiness as having my class sing Happy Birthday to me, each of us with a napkin and cupcake on our desk, as my mom stood by and smiled. It was good. It was really good.

So Aidan won’t get to know that feeling. Too bad. I do plan to go in on Friday and eat lunch with him in the school cafeteria. I’ll bring him a special treat, something big and gooey and covered in chocolate. And when his classmates clamor for a bite, I’ll tell them, “Sorry, your teacher says you can’t have any.”