sunday morning

The quiet, slow Sunday morning feeling only comes in fleeting moments since I've become a parent, but that just makes it all the more precious. Now that school is in full swing and Saturday mornings begin with soccer games played by hoards of adorable, easily-distracted four year olds, Sunday mornings are in fact the only time that the Sunday morning feeling can spread slowly around our breakfast table. And here is the miracle: it does! Even though church begins at 9! There's about an hour every week during which all of us can lazily linger over breakfast in groggy, subdued harmony, and yesterday we rose to the occasion splendidly.

The scene: leftover whole wheat muffins that revived nicely when toasted and spread with lots of butter, perfectly cooked hard-boiled eggs*, lukewarm tea, and the Sunday paper spread in every direction. Mike and I read all about the 47% while the children made faces at each other and only interrupted me with requests for egg-peeling assistance once or twice. They are big enough that they tolerate me reading the paper in front of them. They are big enough that they read the paper themselves! (See more on the experience of marveling at big kids while anticipating a very tiny one's arrival in my last post. I detect a theme developing...)

During these moments that Velvet Underground song always begins to hum in the back of my mind. I've never paid that much attention to the lyrics. For all I know it's another prettier-sounding take on heroin. But doesn't it suit the mood? I played it for the kids, who were completely indifferent. After that we rushed to get ready for church and put the breakfast dishes away and hastily wipe milk moustaches off small faces and the magic disappeared. Just like that.

But it didn't go far. Later in the day I announced I wasn't feeling so great and needed quiet reading time, and - again, shocking - rather than protest the kids found their own things to do. For a long time. Frances made the masks you see above, which I must confess took my breath away when I wandered into the kitchen and saw them arrayed like that.

As we head deeper into life with older children, may I always remember that inner peacefulness, creative expression, and sanity itself depend upon unscheduled time together! The Sunday morning feeling is balm for our busy days. Here's hoping we can find a bit of it tomorrow.

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*How does one make a perfect hard-boiled egg, you ask? It is so beautifully simple that even though I've been making them this way for years I still get a little thrill of satisfaction when they turn out so nicely. Place eggs in a pan of cold water (enough to cover) with a lid, heat until water boils, then turn off the heat. Leave them undisturbed for eight minutes. Voila! Yolks are a bit soft in the center, which is how I like them, but you could leave them for another minute if you want them to be firm.

And one more aside: I think I'm coming down with a sinus infection. This is tragic. My fear of the lingering pain is so great that in desperation I just ate an entire clove of raw garlic in little bits, swallowed like pills. No vampire problems here tonight, but dear me, pity my husband when he gets home from teaching. I googled natural remedies for a pregnant woman and that one kept coming up. The neti pot, steaming, lots of water - these things I've been doing, with little result. I'm sharing all this in case one of you knows of a miracle cure that the internet hasn't heard of yet. ...Do you? Would you tell me about it? Please?