her favorite brother

About a month ago, Gabriel changed his tune. For weeks he'd been praying fervently for a little brother (usually while his sister sat next to him, face screwed up tight, hands clasped, praying just as fervently for a little sister ... which made a charming scene, two miniature duelers silently, furiously competing for God's attention). But then, out of nowhere, he decided he wanted a sister too.

Huh? Mike and I suspected this was yet another case of Gabriel deciding it was best to placate his big sister's passionate desires and minimize conflict. Probably if he prayed for a little sister too it'd be in the bag, and then his Didi would be so very happy!

Well. We have an ultrasound scheduled this Friday, at which point we will likely know whether this baby is a little brother or a little sister. Last night before bedtime we were all on the big bed talking about it, and Gabriel set us straight about why he changed his mind.

"If it's a brother, I won't be Didi's favorite brother anymore. But if it's a sister, I'll still be her favorite."

Oh. Mike and I looked at each other, speechless. These two have been a pair for so long! The impending change is already rippling through all of  us in ways we are quietly discovering and absorbing, one moment at a time.

golden

Here is our boy, nearly four and a half years old, proudly wearing his Ravens jersey and a cluster of heart-shaped temporary tattoos, presiding over everything he carefully assembled that we would need to give each other manicures at our pretend spa. Nail buffer, oil, acorns (obviously), nail file, clippers. Soon he found a bottle of blue nail polish in my bathroom. After I painted his tiny nails, he sat back on the living room floor and quietly admired his chubby hands. He's old enough to file his own nails, and young enough to savor the sparkle of nail polish without fear of disapproval.  

We are in one of those golden moments with Gabriel. Creative expression is at a marvelous fevered pitch, independence and pride in accomplishments inspire the most charming grins, and as always when Gabriel is in a good way, he is heart-stoppingly affectionate. He asks for hugs, he tells us he loves us. At bedtime the other night, as I stood in the open doorway about to leave, he said simply, Mama, I had a good day with you today. I can't wait to have another one tomorrow. 

...Oh my.

I mean, don't get me wrong. There are still tantrums, infuriating fights with his sister, and refusals to put on his inside-out shorts the right way (I like them this way, okay??) before school. But most of the time, most days, he shines.

Competency is the name of this happy game. When a new developmental leap in on the immediate horizon, my kids get seriously grouchy. But once the kid is in midair, or has landed neatly on the other side, happiness and equilibrium return. These past weeks I hear "Mama, look what I can do!" about six times a day, and for the most part it isn't the least bit tedious. I share his delight in being able to construct a paper scabbard for his paper doll knight's sword, and in hopping the entire length of his classroom at pick up time, and in identifying every question mark on the page of a book. It's awesome what this kid can do.

(And I haven't even told you how he mashed the bananas today into a smooth-as-silk puree for banana bread!) 

I've been doing this long enough to know we will keep on cycling through times of struggle and change and times of equilibrium, from disorganization to reorganization and back again. Growing up can be so relentless in that way! Babies sometimes move through these states in a matter of days (keeps you on your toes), but with big kids - every so often - we get to sit back, relax, and savor a moment that goes on and on. Gabriel, your golden glow is a gift. It lights up everyone around you.  

my desperate late night plea for antibiotics

Since I put out the call for home cures, and since some of you gave me great suggestions (both here and on the Facebook page), I thought I'd update you. It's not pretty. After days of trying just about everything - including steaming, neti potting, drinking apple cider vinegar (awesome), eating many cloves of raw garlic (more awesome still), pouring hydrogen peroxide in my ears, and drinking gallons of tea - I hit a wall. The pain in my ear and jaw was driving me batty. I called an urgent care place last night and practically begged them to a) tell me antibiotics wouldn't hurt my baby and b) prescribe them, right now, please.

The P.A. I saw was very nice and reassuring, and told me not to worry, that amoxcicilin is safe, especially in the second trimester. (Oh, my nurse/doctor/health care professional friends out there, I have lingering doubts. Was she right?) She also told me to take some Tylenol, which I did. Oh man. I'm not proud, but this morning I feel so much better.

It occurred to me last night that every post on Mothering discussion boards and other similar sources of hippie mama insight that I scoured in the early days of this infection told a similar story to this one: lists of all the fantastic natural home remedies various women tried ... before eventually heading to the doctor and taking antibiotics. It's a little discouraging. What are reasonable expectations for us to have of the healing powers of garlic, teas, essential oils...? Should we consider these things more preventive than curative? I suspect if I had been taking garlic the moment I felt a cold coming on, things might have turned out differently (garlic is the only thing that seemed to at least temporarily help with symptoms).

I'm so interested to hear your insights on this one. How do you think about health, prevention, and healing in your family, and the place of medicine in all of it?

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?