Just the Way You Are

     It happened. Words I thought I would not hear in this lifetime, graced my ears a few nights ago. Scott was tucking Ian in bed and Ian said, "I want Mom to snuggle me."
     Can you believe it? He wanted me over his father. Scott and I were both stunned. Naturally, I jumped at this rare opportunity and ran to my son.
     Ian has an unusual sleeping arrangement in his room. He has a nice bunkbed, courtesy of IKEA, that he won't sleep in. So he sleeps on a camping mattress on the floor. Right next to him is an air purifier. He claims that it helps him breathe better so he won't die in his sleep. And he listens to primary songs, at an unholy volume, to help lull him into lullaby land.
     I walked into Ian's room, carefully picking my way around the minefield of toys, and lay on the bottom bunk with my hand dangling over the side so that I could caress his precious face and run my fingers through his hair. He looked up and smiled at me. No words were needed. It was a content moment existing just between a mother and son.
     Ever since school ended Ian's been a different boy. The tantrums are down by half, he talks to us more, he listens better, and is, in general, a much more pleasant person to be around. Every evening he asks the same thing. He says, "Let's sit outside and watch the sunset." So we do. It's becoming a regular thing, when it's not raining. I love sitting outside with him, watching him play, answering his questions, listening to his exclamations of awe as the sky changes from orange to pink to red. When he's outside he's in his element. Maybe that's why he's in a better mood. With no school, his opportunities for enjoying nature are practically limitless.
     As I lay on the bottom bunk, gentling touching his face, I knew that no matter what trials and troubles come his way, no matter what the future holds, I will always stand by him, defending and protecting. Because I love and accept him. Just the way he is.