I Like You. I Like You. I Like You Just The Way You Are.

My son made my heart swell and then stop for just a breath today.

He makes my heart skip a beat every day when I look into those big blue eyes, full of joy and wonder. But today was different.

We've loved having access to a pool this winter and the kids have really taken off with their swimming skills in just the past couple of weeks.

Ian, just a month ago, was so cautious around the pool that he preferred to dip his toes in, but otherwise sit on the deck and avoid getting in the water. Over the course of the past month he has developed much more confidence in the water and actually enjoys swimming--as long as he kept his head above water. Just this week he has surprised me by jumping in over his head and swimming to the edge of the pool with a smile. Huge progress, folks!

But I digress. I say all of this to set the stage for this afternoon.

So, today was a perfect warm, sunny Florida late-winter day, so the kids and I went to the pool for a swim this afternoon. The big girls were practicing their underwater swimming, Eliza was enjoying floating on her back in her puddle-jumper swim floaty, and Ian was jumping in then climbing out to jump again like it was his job.

Then he jumped in, but instead of climbing back out to jump again, he swam over to me and sat down on the steps next to me. He looked up at me, dripping and smiling and wrapped his arms around me in a hug. And then it happened.

He looked into my eyes through his little blue goggled eyes and started singing, "I like you. I like you. I like you, just the way you are."

My heart stopped. My son hugged me again and swam away as quickly as he had come to join me.

It took me a moment to regain my composure, then I recognized the song from his new favorite PBS Kids show, Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood, a spin-off of Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood which I grew up watching.

Surely Ian had no idea how poignant that little song was to me. You see, Ian is not my easy child. He'll never be my easy child, and it's taken me a long time to come to the understanding that it's okay that he's not going to be an easy child.

His first year was met with an endless stream of tears from both of us. He had extreme colic. I had postpartum depression. We were both a hot mess.

His next two years were a challenge as he tried to develop independence with older sisters who love to dote on him. We also had huge communication barriers to overcome and are still working to overcome some of these.

Ian is a passionate person, and that means when he's happy he is exuberantly happy--you'll never meet a more joyful little boy. However, when he's sad or mad, the same passion comes forth and sometimes he struggles to direct that energy in a manner that is not destructive to himself or others around him. His anger is as deep as his joy is high.

I love my son. Deeply. He has opened my eyes and my heart to a world that I never experienced before he came into my life. It's not always been easy, but it's always been good. However, there are times that he has been hard to like.

When his stubborn streak takes over and he cannot, will not, shall not cooperate he can be hard to like. When frustration or social anxiety boils over and an outburst of screaming occurs as he tries to gain control of a situation, it's not an easy time to like someone. When anger escalated to stomping, pounding fists and growling, he's not easy to like in that moment.

However, listening to his sweet little voice singing, "I like you. I like you. I like you, just the way you are," to me this afternoon was a marker in time that I'll not soon forget.

Four years and some change into parenting my precious son, my heart resonated with those words.

I do like him. Just the way he is.

There is not a single thing that I would change about him, and while he continues to grow, develop and refine his character, I will continue to like him just the way he is. Today. Not the man he will grow up to be (although, let me tell you--this man will move mountains!). No, I like him just the way he is right now.

With all of the struggles that we endure and all of the challenges that we face together, I like him just the way he is.

And it is an honor to know that he likes me just the way I am. I am so undeserving, but those words are healing and life-giving to me.

I am blessed. We are blessed.

The Daredevil

As an almost unrelated intro to this post I will make a reference to the CBS tv show, How I Met Your Mother.  For anyone who has watched the show, the characters of Marshall and Lily hit very close to home for Stephanie and myself.  Their quirks, mannerisms, and general behavior have us convinced that the writers follow us around at times.  While I claim to not have one, a recent episode revealed that Marshall and Lily have a 'long term bet' box, in which they place their wagers with each other that will take some time to achieve an outcome.  Stephanie and I have had a running wager of our own for the past 2-2.5 years, which has yet to be settled.  What is this wager that has been running for that long?  It is this:


Ian will be the first of our children to send someone to the ER, be it himself or another immediate family member.


Understandably, he is a boy.  His natural tendency is to be wild and raucous.  I get this.  I've been there, done that, so forth.  He just seems to take it one step further, to leap head first into a situation with no regard to the self harm that may be inflicted.  And I do mean head first.  There was a span of several months where he consistently had a knot or scratch on his head from running into items or tripping and hitting his head.  We got really good with icepacks for a while there.  


What brings all of this to light?  Well, today he tried to electrocute himself!  My wife says that his dad being an electrician has removed some of that fear of electricity from him.  Please understand that we both are consistent with our warnings and instructions to the kids regarding electrical outlets, cords, switches, and such.  We warn them of the dangers and what safety precautions that I take when I am working on electrical things.


So the story is that Stephanie and myself are in the extra bedroom chatting about things.  All of a sudden there is a loud pop and the lights go out.  I immediately know what has happened (a breaker tripped) whereas Stephanie is wondering why the lights went out suddenly.  I raced out into the hallway, where Ian has already vacated (a good sign in my mind, he can move freely).  After some coaxing, we are able to get a story out of the kids of what happened and investigate Ian for any injuries.  He managed to only get a black mark from the arc soot, no skin damage whatsoever.  He likes to hang his key ring on various items around the house, and today he decided the night light in the hallway was a good location.  Too bad the keys were too heavy and pulled the night light out of the socket just enough so that it was still plugged in, but far enough out that the prongs were exposed.

Needless to say, the night light is toasted, the key ring is welded together, and I had to replace the outlet.  Mild damage compared to what could have happened.  We now have some good visuals for our electrical safety speeches.  Let's hope that we don't have any repeat situations like this.   


On a side note:  Both of us have bet against the house about the ER thing, so either we both win or we both lose.

My Son, My Super-Hero

I know that we've made mention on our blog before, and most friends and family are aware, that our 3-year-old son Ian receives weekly speech therapy services. When he still was not talking--really at all--after his second birthday, around this time last year when he began talking in one and 2-word phrases that were painfully unclear and frustrating to all of us, we knew that we needed to find help for him somewhere.

After months of referrals and evaluations and testing (and the usual amount of government red tape, of course), he finally began speech therapy through Indiana First Steps last May. Miss Carol, who was his therapist, came to our house each week with a big bag of toys, games and various tools to help get Ian talking and later articulate his words. In one hour each week, she did the impossible of engaging Ian in conversation and forcing him to repeat after her for almost the entire hour. And he loved every minute! He would wait at his window with baited breath (and sometimes binoculars!) to see what Miss Carol was bringing each week.

By his third birthday in November, he had progressed so far that we were on pins and needles to find out if he qualified for continued therapy in the neighborhood Early Learning Center after he aged out of First Steps, which ends on a child's third birthday. We were thrilled to discover, just days before his birthday, that Ian would continue speech therapy. We now go weekly to the Early Learning Center just outside of our neighborhood for him to work for 30 minutes with Ms. Murphy, his new Speech-Language Pathologist and a little gal who is also 3 and struggles with the same articulation issues as Ian.

As someone who has never undergone any form of therapy (speech, occupational, physical, etc.) in my life, the concept of doing what is hardest for you, for 30 minutes or an hour at one time is so outside of what I can grasp. While I am an introvert, by nature, I have always enjoyed and excelled at public speaking, theater, am a former teacher and love to sit down and engage in conversation one-on-one. So, to think that these things that are so second-nature to me are to my son like how it is for me to learn the intricacies of a mechanical engine or how a chemical reaction occurs (insert most scientific principles here)--it's mind-blowing to me!

His work ethic is amazing to me. Yes, we do have moments where he flat-out tells me "No" when I ask him to repeat himself if a phrase is unclear, but frequently he tries and you can see the concentration on his face as he uses every ounce of energy in his being to communicate the thoughts that are stirring in his mind to me, or to Jason, or to any adult who takes the time to engage him in conversation. For a skill that is so basic and second-nature to most of us, and crucial to our day-to-day lives, to be the hardest thing to do has got to be frustrating. Now he can express his frustration to me. And I love that--because it shows the progress that he is making. I don't love that my son gets frustrated, but I appreciate that he is learning the skills to articulate his frustration--instead of shrieking and flailing and dropping to the floor in tears.

A year ago, it was a great day if Ian could say to me "Ma", in reference to me. Last week he gave me a kiss and for the first time, clearly and with 100% accurate articulation told me, "I love you, Mama."

While the road ahead is still long in giving our son the skills he needs to clearly and effectively communicate, I celebrate the leaps and tip-toe steps that have led us to the place where he his today. God has given him this challenge to overcome for something incredible. I cannot wait to see him to-and someday on-the other side, where he will use his voice for a great purpose.

A fun day with a pirate and some frogs

This past Sunday was Ian's third birthday.  My wife wrote down her thoughts on the past three years with this guy.

Ian opening his gifts.

So Sunday brought us a nice day to celebrate with the guy.  We started off the day heading to church, where he got to move up to a different class.  He now joins Lydia in the 3-5 year old class, which he was very excited about.  I think the grin on his face afterward showed how much fun he had.  After church we came home to have a nice family lunch, followed by presents and cupcakes!  Both are very exciting, for me and for the kids.  He got several fun new items, but one of his favorite is his pirate hat.  Ian enjoys playing dress up with the girls, but pretty much all that we have is some princess items.  We do have a cowboy/sheriffs outfit, but he enjoys trekking around in the princess slippers a bit much.  He then proceeded to wear the hat for the rest of the day.

The pirate hat.

Ian staring at some frogs.

We went to the Children's Museum to have fun for the day.  They had a frog exhibit still going on, and that was the first place that Ian wanted to go. I really enjoy the traveling exhibits at the Children's Museum.  They provide something different each time, but also it is just a large space for the kids to explore.  Granted that on the busy days it can be unnerving trying to keep track of three kids that want to go in three different directions, but Sunday was not bad (and there were two parents).  So we enjoyed getting to see many live species of frogs, watching some videos and getting to dress up as a frog and hop from lily pad to lily pad.

Frog.

After touring the frogs, we asked Ian what he wanted to do next.  I loved the saucer eyes and excitement that followed.  What He wanted to do?  This never happens! He decided to go to the carousel for a ride on a lion, followed by some play time at the tree house and ice cream shop.  He then chose to head to playscape for some time in the water, sand and construction areas.  I love this kid.

It's fun to get out and play with your kids.  It's a lot of fun to treat them as the VIP for a day.  You both end up getting a lot out of the experience.

Happy Birthday Ian!

Ian is Three!

A rare moment of quiet with our baby Ian--barely a week old.

Our little boy, Ian Alan--holding his own in a house full of sisters--turns 3 today!


Isn't he precious when he's sleeping?


Ian was my smoothest, easiest pregnancy by far (aside from the false labor scare when Jason was out of town at 38 weeks into my pregnancy with him!). He was also the birth in which labor surprised us the most with its unexpected length, and then as quickly the brevity of the final stages of labor. Additionally, he has been our most challenging baby, without question.


In his three short years, Ian has taught me more about myself than anyone else has in my lifetime. He has stretched me to the very ends of myself, into utter dependence upon God's provision, strength and guidance. Before Ian came along I thought I had a lot of things figured out, but he has taught me that I really know nothing that I thought I knew--and the humility that comes with that has been such a gift.


From the screaming ball of baby that I came home from the hospital with and rocked through tears each day for most of a year (both his and my own), to the stubborn and charming three-year old that I share my life with today, I cannot imagine who I would be without him. Nor do I want to. Because I need the challenges that he brings in my life. And I love that he can challenge me in ways that I would not choose on my own.


Ian is such a loving little guy. While I wouldn't mind some extra sleep in the morning, I secretly love being greeted by him crawling into my bed at 6am to cuddle and rub my back. He gives the best hugs, and while his speech is often unclear, the unmistakable sound of him whispering, "I love you, Mama!" is the most beautiful music to my ears.


He is passionate about life and there is nothing this boy does that is without mucho gusto! If he's throwing a ball--he'll launch it across the yard. If he's dancing, it's the wildest crazy dance I've seen. If it's building a tower or a train track, it will be the tallest tower or most intricate track possible.


Ian loves books like none other. We find he is often the last of our kids to fall asleep at night. We'll peek in after all is silent for awhile to find him sitting in bed, with a mound of books, reading silently to himself. When it's story time, one or ten is never enough. When he's feeling especially generous, he shares a book with a sister--and you know it's love.


When he lets me, I still love to sneak in a moment to rock with him and stroke his little white, fuzzy head and whisper to him that he is my favorite little boy. And if I ask him who my favorite little boy is, the way that he beams when he replies, "Ian!" is just the best.


May you always stretch me and challenge me, but keep your sweet and gentle, yet passionate and strong-willed spirit, my son. I cannot wait to see the man that you grow into. You were named for two of my favorite men who possess some of these very traits--and I love your Daddy and loved your Grandpa Highley very much because of these traits. May God give your Dad and me the wisdom and stamina to harness your energy and direct it in a way that will serve you well, and serve those around you well.


I love you, Ian. You will always be my favorite little boy.

Ian Alan--age 3

A lesson in discipline

I should have known that it was too good to be true. That really should have been my first clue not to let my guard down.

This afternoon, so it seemed, the stars had aligned and somehow both Ian and Eliza were soundly napping, at the same time. This is no small miracle these days since Eliza is transitioning to one nap, and it's at an odd 11:00-1:00 time most days, and Ian has taken to napping about 2 days out of 7. So, for them both to be asleep at 2:00pm was fabulous, and I decided to take advantage of the time and slip back to my bedroom to do a little bit of reading for our small group that meets tonight. Our church, Crosspoint, is working through the Strong Challenge along with about 50,000 people in churches across the midwest right now. This week our focus is on Study, so I thought that 30 minutes of quiet in the middle of the day would be a great time to practice this discipline today.
A bit later, I thought it was a little too quiet in the rest of the house, so I went to check on Ian. His room was empty, and I found him in the living room, playing with his cars.


For some reason I didn't notice the 2 canisters of flour, can of dry milk, canister of salt or bag of sugar on the table as well--only a VERY. LARGE. MOAT. surrounding the coffee table. Suddenly I forgot that I was going to scold him for coming out of his room before rest time was over and became concerned that there was a huge puddle of water in my living room.


I asked Ian where the water came from. His response? "I don't know!" So I asked again, thinking that maybe he didn't understand my question. Same response, "I don't know!"

"So what is that on the floor, Ian?" Ding, ding, ding! That was the correct question!

Ian then brought me an almost empty bottle of Canola Oil. The same bottle that just an hour ago had been nearly full and sitting high on the kitchen island.

The subject of my "Creative Problem Solving" for today

It was not water on the floor at all. What a relief! It was vegetable oil--what a nightmare! How on earth does one clean up a half-gallon of canola oil from wood laminate flooring? And how do I keep my busy little boy out of the pool of oil?

I cleaned what I could with old towels and did a quick mopping, but clearly soap and water were not going to cut through the oil. A quick internet search didn't give any more help, so what's a mom to do?!?

Twitter and Facebook to the rescue!

mama_skull Stephanie Simpson

How do I clean up 1/2Gallon cooking oil on wood laminate flooring? #curiouslittleboy, #tooquietatnaptime, #goodthingheiscute, #momisanidiot

How did we ever solve crazy, time-sensitive predicaments like this before social networking?!? Within 10 minutes I learned from a Facebook friend that oatmeal may help absorb the oil, so I got out the canister of oatmeal and Ian and I proceeded to dump handfuls of oatmeal all over the floor until every last bit of oily floor was coated in oats.

My Mom always said that when you clean, it gets worse before it gets better.
Yes, he is wearing his duck suit from Halloween. Again.

Well, should you ever find yourself in a situation where you need to clean up a large quantity of vegetable oil from your wood laminate floor, I can assure you, from experience, that oatmeal does, indeed, clean up most of the residue. The things that you never knew that you needed to know!

Now, Jason and I have very different capacities for handling chaos. Jason is awesome at juggling lots of busyness and wrestling and activity-type chaos. That is not my gift. I try to redirect toward imaginative play and reading books when the rough-housing gets to be a bit much. Consequently, I don't tend to get upset by large messes, spills or other non-permanent instances of mass destruction. I figure, what's done is done, let's make the most of it.

Spilled milk? We all do it. Let's just clean it up and pour a new glass.

Kids went swimming in the sandbox? We'll hose you off in the yard and change clothes in the garage before coming inside.

Spill a half-gallon of oil on the floor? Let's throw down some oatmeal together and try to clean it up.

The way I see it, 20 years from now, this was probably a significant enough event from Ian's childhood that he'll remember it. At least I hope so, since we now have a "No pouring oil in the living room" Rule!

I'd rather he be able to remember it fondly, that he learned a lesson and laugh about the way that he learned it, instead of looking back upon a memory that is tempered with pain for being disciplined harshly for doing something that he didn't know that he should not do. I make a lot of mistakes too, and I find that I learn best when someone helps dust me off, and comes alongside me to help me clean up my act, instead of simply pointing out what I did wrong. I also tend to not make the same mistakes again that way.

I can only hope that I can do the same for Ian. He's got a lot of mistakes ahead of him, and I want him to know that it's okay. We all make mistakes. I may not know how to help him fix them all, but I'll do my best to help him figure it out. And I want him to know that he can count on me to to be someone to dust him off and help him make things right again. 

Taking ownership

It is fun to watch the kids grow and develop. I'm sure any parent would agree with that, and the humorous stories that come out of that process. Currently we are watching Ian develop his sense of possessives.


Case in point, this past weekend I decided it was time to repair some of the soffit on the house by the front door due to some water damage. So in my usual fashion and manner, I got up semi early (the sun was shining, so not early for me), put on my work clothes and headed outside. Not knowing what I was totally getting into or would find out once I started, I did the demo work before heading to the hardware store, trying to prevent the usual 2+ trips. Once I had the old soffit torn out and was satisfied on what my shopping list entailed, I was preparing to leave when Ian looked out the front door. He quickly exclaimed, "Oh No, Daddy broke MY house!" Not THE house, or OUR house, but my house.


I wanted to ask if he was ready to take over payments and transfer ownership.


Needless to say, my efforts were in vain. After my initial trip to the store and purchasing what I thought would be all of the material I needed, I prepared to paint the new soffiting with the can that I had dug out of the garage. After prying it open for 10 minutes (my first clue), I discovered it was mostly water and sludge. So off I went to get a quart of paint. God bless the sophisticated paint matching capabilities (the label had worn off).


Soon enough I was back in business and putting all of the pieces back together. It was not long until Ian wandered by again and, seeing my progress, stated, "Daddy fixed my house." At least he recognizes who does the work, although I do love when he tries to give me a hand and help out. Then he says that he did the work. I'll take it.


By the way, did I mention the active wasp nest I found...