Tonight, I heard a crash and a cry upstairs, and One started hollering "Two is hurt!" This happens not that infrequently, but I still run like mad every time. This time, however, rather than sporting nothing more than a small bruise, Two met me at the top of the stairs with a mouthful of blood. Oh geez. We got to the sink and determined the cause was a split lip, and lots of cold water on a washcloth was immediately applied. Two couldn't stop crying, though, and I really wanted to get downstairs and call Husband, as well as Google "split lip stitches" to see if we needed a trip to the doctor (answer: no). At that point, One rode in on his white horse and rescued me. He raced into Two's room (where Two was still crying) with a bird book, and proceeded to find the funniest looking birds to show to Two. He read snippets of the book - "this one eats snails - ugh, like French people" - and before I could get back upstairs Two was giggling hysterically into his wet washcloth. We then went to Chick-fila for milkshakes (what else could a boy with a lip that fat eat?) and One, of course, had a very well-earned strawberry shake himself.
He is my hero tonight. He ran to the rescue and calmed his brother down, when all the "shhhhing" and "baby it's okaying" from mom was for naught. He showed real empathy, and did so in a way that actually made things better. Crying tears for his injured brother would have been sweet, but not very helpful. He went beyond that, and stepped in when both Two and I really needed him. He did what God made brothers to do, and I'm so proud to be his mom.