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appreciating the simplicity

Our older boys are complicated. They interact with us, and each other, in complex ways. One of many examples today: I wanted to take Zion on a bike ride, and when I broached the idea to him initially he was all for it. But when departure time came, he balked. Harvey, on the other hand, started whining that he wanted to go. He couldn't because I already do lots of things just with him, and more importantly he's too big to go in the trailer or the seat, and we haven't got him a trail-a-bike yet. Leah offered the inducement of an art project to him, which he wanted nothing to do with; but Zion thought it sounded great. That was not the plan.

But we should have expected it: such things are typical. They are lovely much of the time, our boys, but they also fight, and yell, and whine, and act defiant—sometimes for understandable reasons, other times in ways that totally act against their own self-interest. They're people, and I don't always know what's going on inside their heads.

Lijah, on the other hand, is a guinea-pig. He's simplicity incarnate: he's happy to be held most of the time, and snuggles happily, only occasionally opening his eyes. When he's upset it's because he needs a new diaper or wants to eat. Even better, so far he's much calmer and quieter that guinea-pig Harvey was—we don't want to jinx it, but he's a pretty good baby so far.

So as I sit in the rocking chair holding my third son, watching my first and second fight over one lego man among dozens, I send psychic thanks his way. I appreciate your simplicity, Elijah, I really do. Good work.

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