Survivor

How does the slogan go?

"Outwit, outplay, outlast."

That's what has been going on in the House of Halpin lately: a struggle to see who will be the last standing survivor, Owen or Mommy.

I have dominated so far, but not without struggles, temptations and quite a few tears on both our parts. Here's how the story goes:

I never have thought of my O as strong willed or particularly stubborn. He is usually a very compliant child. However, on occasion he has been known to to test me, just to check to see who is actually the boss.

For example, recently sweet O stood on his step stool at the bathroom sink for no less than 45 minutes, refusing to wash his hands. He DID NOT want to wash, and so he stood there. Thankfully, the Lord provides me with a calm that is unnatural to my personality when these situations arise. I clearly explained my expectations to O: He must wash and dry his hands before hopping off of his stool. If he stepped down, he would be disciplined. Once he washed we would play a super-fun game together. But, alas, O chose to stand his ground, screaming all the while. I went in and prayed with him a few times ("Owie knows it is right to obey. Please, Lord, give him the strength to make the choice to obey."), spanked him twice for climbing off of his stool, but mostly I went about my business. Eventually he gave in, washed up and skipped out to the living room ready to play the game as if nothing had happened.

A bit longer ago, we had an even tougher stand-off. Picture this:

Speech Therapy was scheduled to visit our house to work with Owie on annunciation. It was right around lunch time, so I let O have a special treat. We ate lunch together at his playroom table, while watching out the window for his therapist. The rule has always been that O must ask to be excused from the table when he is through eating. He knows this and has complied consistently at every table and in every circumstance. Not so this day. Our therapist arrived and chatted with me while O took his last few bites of lunch. When it was time for him to get down and play, after his lunch was gone, he openly refused to ask his question. It was blatant, open defiance. This was a little bit of a tricky situation since we had company, but I could tell O was testing me. I stood my ground. He proceeded to sit at his table silently while the therapist and I played all of O's favorite games without him. I thought surely seeing us play would convince him to ask to be excused. Oh, but no. The therapist eventually left. O continued to sit there. I put Noah down for a nap. O still sat. By now, the rebellious screaming had started... out of control, hiccupy, red faced screaming. Again, I calmly explained my expectations: All O had to do was politely ask to be excused from the table while his bottom was in his chair. If his bottom left his chair before he asked his question, he would be disciplined. And so the minutes, and then the hours passed by. I prayed with him multiple times, spanked him a few times, and cried silent tears where he could not see me. Please, Owie, just ask your question! Oh how I wanted to give in and let him up. All that horrible screaming was breaking my heart! He was so distraught, and I knew he had to be exhausted from continuous top-of-the-lungs screaming. Plus, it was nap time by now. The Boy screamed for 3 hours. No, that is not a typo: THREE HOURS! After that did he ask his question? No. After the screaming subsided, he stared out the window, splashed in the puddles of tears on the table, even sang himself a song or two. Every little bit, I would go back into the playroom, pray with him, remind him of his choice to be made, and then leave again. Finally I heard some small words from the playroom: "Mommy, I am so thirsty. May I please have a drink of water?" "Oh, I would love to give you a drink, O, but first I need you to obey and ask your question." "Okay! May I please be excused, Mommy!" said with complete ease and politeness. Oh my word! I actually outlasted him! It took 5 1/2 hours total for O to ask that tiny question, but he finally did....and we have never had that problem since! Poor Guy got a drink of water and then was whisked off to bed to snooze a bit after that huge ordeal. Mommy collapsed, exhausted, on the couch with a bowl of ice cream. (What I really wanted was a margarita!)

Oh, my sweet, sweet O. I pray you learn this lesson quickly. Mommy will always be the survivor. It is for your good that I stand so strongly. One day soon it will be the Lord's voice that you will be expected to obey, promptly, thoroughly, cheerfully. I want you to be ready. Oh how I love you, Son.

Here are a few pics of the Boy who is so worth it: