Pigs And Flamingos

1.  Little Girls

2.  Big Boys

3.  Little Boys

It’s been a Mad Week.  Too much Work, too much Going Out and it’s not even December. I’m phuqqed.  Never mind, chin up, mustn’t grumble, Just Keep Swimming, Smile And Wave.  Son 1 aged 5y 1m was in The Big Bed when we woke up.  Can’t keep him in his own bed.  Can’t get Son 2 aged 2y 2m off my lap when we’re eating, either.   Better parents than me Set Boundaries early and get to sleep and eat without invaders. Oh who cares, they’re cute, they’re soft and fluffy, and they won’t be doing it when they’re 20. So. What did we do today.  Got up, fed children, fed fish, cleaned up, tidied up, hoovered up, put washing on. Pulled apart bags of toys in attic. Some toys are the excess from the September Birthday Fest.. put away to be liberated over the coming year. Some toys are duplicates, things they’ve been given which they already have. In both bags there are boxes and boxes of brand new toys. And guess what. Not a single thing for a Girl.  For today’s party person was a She Child. No I didn’t forget to get a present. It’s been flashing red on the Mummy Dashboard all week.  I just didn’t have time.

In the end I wrapped a book and story CD of Son 1’s which we haven’t used yet. A pity, because it was long stories, which are handy for the School Run.  The party was at The Bird Park, which we love. The weather was foul, storm force winds, drenching rain. A grim, wet, low visibility 40-minute drive.   Son 1’s whole class were in the Play Area, and you could almost hear his heart singing as he tore off his mac, kicked off his shoes and sprinted to join them. Son 2 waddled after him, calling out his baby version of “Son 1! Son 1! Come back!”  “Son 1! Look after Son 2!”  I called.  And he did. Came back, got him, helped him in the toddler area, and spent at least half a minute with him before running off with his friends. They both loved it.  Son 1 played and scrapped, and climbed and balanced, and ran and slid.  Son 2 needed me, and took me on lap after lap of an obstacle course involving steps, slides, ladders, poles, nets and bridges. With pit stops in the ball pool. Son 2 will never let Son 1 pick him up, carry him or play with him physically.  I’d thought it was a Son 2 Thing. Until one of Son 1’s friends decided he wanted to play with Son 2. And Son 2 happily let himself be picked up, carried, pushed down, through and over and spun round.  Smiling and laughing all the time. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep the New Big Boy playing with him. The little beggar.

After lunch and three hours there, I rounded them up with ice creams and party bags and we drove bag. Son 1 slept. Son 2 didn’t.  We picked The Man up from the House and went for a drive, hoping Son 2 would sleep, anticipating he’d raise hell if he didn’t.  Son 1 woke. We dropped The Man and Son 2 in a car park at the far end of Town, so The Man could push him back in the Big Pram to see if he’d snooze. Son 1 and I drove back past a second hand shop, with murals painted on the walls outside. “Pigs and flamingos!” said Son 1, like an oath. “Do they sell pigs and flamingos?” The Man used to live in a flat above the second hand shop when we first started… er.. going out… 22 years ago. ”Maybe not now,  but I think they used to,” I said. At home I lay on the sofa, Son 1 coloured.  The others came back.  Son 2 had refused to get in the Pram, and had walked the mile home.  He lay down on top of me, and tried to push Son 1 off the sofa when he tried to squeeze on too.

Occasions

1.  A Celebration

2.  A Reunion

3.  A Parade

My 500th blog post.  I was going to put a photo up to mark the occasion, but don’t seem to be able to do anything with the design. I never looked before. The Man took Son 1 aged 5y 1m to School. Son 2 aged 2y 2m and I unloaded the dishwasher, put some washing on, tidied up – he got a sticker for putting his toys away, sat on the bed reading and cuddled and tickled. A Wednesday Friend was waiting in for deliveries, so I put Son 2 in the Big Pram and off we pushed.  We stopped at the Baker’s Shop and I bought a sourdough loaf for the Mummies’ lunch… and some flapjacks the size of housebricks for everyone’s pudding.  Son 2 saw the flapjacks. “I wan’ fap jak.  I wan’ fap jak.” I put them under the Pram.  A shriek, and a plastic horse was thrown on the floor with force.  We stopped at the Newsagent’s to sort out the paper bill, and then I began the slow, hot task of pushing the Big Pram up the mighty hill from The Town to Wednesday Mum’s house.   I’ve been pushing that pram up that hill for four years now, and today was the hardest yet.  Clearly Son 2 is getting heavier. Because I can’t have lost that much fitness, can I?

Booming Business Wednesday Mother was back from her Business Trip to South Africa.  She opened the door, Son 2 sprang through. “Great hair,” she said. I looked at his fine, tousled blond head and wondered what she meant. Only when the other Mother said “it’s fantastic, takes years off you” did I realise she’d been talking about me. The Business Trip had been very successful and she was pleased. She only got back last night after 24 hours of travelling. Son 2 clung, but soon went upstairs with the other two boys, both aged 3.  We gossiped. Our hostess went to check on the boys. She came back down. “Son 2 is standing on top of the bunk bed.  I didn’t know if you wanted him up there.”  No I did not.  I went upstairs into the children’s bedroom.  I persuaded Son 2 to come down, and sat playing with him and the other two. Then the marble construction game came out. Lots of ramps, tunnels and tubes. And many many marbles. Son 2, like his brother, is a compulsive mouther.  I could not leave him in a room full of chokeables, much as I wanted to sit, drink coffee and chat with the others.   The boys eventually drifted downstairs and stuffed their faces with soup and flapjacks.

There was a carnival in the Big Town this evening, so after picking Son 1 up from school we parked, shopped, and joined in. The Big Town was packed.  Both boys were shattered, bored with the waiting around, but determined not to miss a thing.  Son 2 sat in his buggy, his eyes drooping, yet again and again he yanked his head up.  We left before the end - The Big Town’s four roads in and out aren’t Big enough for tens of thousands of people to leave at the same time – and heard, but didn’t see, the short, loud burst of fireworks marking the finale.  “Bang,” said Son 2.  All the way home. Without nodding off once.

Gripping

1.  Holding Up

2.  Falling Down

3.  Clinging On

Yesterday I allbut wore an evening dress to work.  Only dark tights left, nothing else would Go, so I poshed up. Loads of compliments, so that dress is now a work outfit.  It’s also a Tesco outfit, because I wore it to the Big Shop with Son 1 aged 5y 1m. Where I bought 2 boxes of 2-pairs of natural tights. I pulled out a pair this morning and they were Hold Ups.  Now.  I tried Hold Ups 20 years ago when they first came out, in the days when they stayed up only by tourniquet-ing your tubby upper thighs, and slithered straight down your leg if you wore even a whiff of body lotion.   So I did an instant calculation. 2 boxes = £7, do I have enough life to take them back = no.  And then I remembered my Student Days. When I bought stockings two pairs at a time because that way if you got a ladder you always had a Spare Leg.  Plus they were always marked down in sales.  I had drawers full of suspender belts and knew that as a Stockings Girl I had a certain quelquechose.  But these days, I have no suspender belts and no stockings, and I can’t even remember when or why I changed over.  So. In honour of the Stockings Girl, the Hold Ups stayed.

I dropped Son 1 off at School, went into The Office, and at lunchtime, went out for a run/walk along The River with a colleague.  Walk 2 mins, run 4 mins, x 5.  We did all right. Afterwards, my colleague and I walked in The Big Town for a meeting. And with every step, one of my Hold Ups slipped further down my leg.  My colleague was sympathetic, and did her best to give me cover as I tried to hoik it up every four paces. On the way back the comedy element was improved by adding a friend of hers who lives near The Office walking back with us. The friend kept trying to draw me into the conversation… I kept trying to fall back and and keep my head down so I could do surreptitious little hitches.

Son 1 fell asleep in the car on the way back, and I parked outside the house and took in all the bags without him.  “Where’s my Son 1?” asked Son 2 aged 2y 2m, thumping down the stairs. “Mummy come back work. Son 1 come back School.” He always needs to stay close as soon as I’m back, hanging on to me, crying if I try to shake him off. If I sit down he has to sit on my knee. If The Man tries to take them upstairs to give me five minutes’ peace, Son 2 always trails back down.  I quite like it now… I like his unswerving determination. Mummy will read me my books, Mummy will bath me, Mummy will dress me, Mummy will do my teeth, Mummy will sing my lullaby and put me to bed.  I went upstairs to change out of my Office clothes. Son 2 followed.  I took my Hold Ups off at last.  The one that Held Up had a big ladder in it.

Family Members

1.  Cleaning

2.  Keening

3.  Meaning

Our Family Activity this morning was cleaning the Fish Tank.  Flossie, Floppy, Fluffy, Zizzy, Sulky and Coupon are all still going strong. Floppy last part of his tail and it has grown back.  Betcha didn’t know that happened.  Sulky and Zizzy have put on a bit of weight.  So telling them apart from Floppy and Fluffly is… not possible. Coupon has grown in confidence, and no longer lives shivering in the Bog Wood.  Sigh.  Whole New Worlds into which my children have taken me.  Anyway. The Man has a new sucky siphon thing which he used to hoover the gravel. He cleaned the filters.  I caught snails, because The Man won’t touch ‘em.  I caught 10, and put them in a plastic tub, where most were flattened in a single squelch by the curious and chubby index finger of Son 2 aged 2y 2m.   

Then we went crabbing. This was down to The Man.  Yesterday, having a quiet cuddle with Son 1 aged 5y 1m, he said idly: “What time’s your party?”  Oh dear, wrong in so many ways.  I had accepted an invitation to Little Classmate’s party. And then I had to ring back and say he couldn’t go. I explained all this to Son 1, and he’d protested, but then forgotten. The Man dredged it all up again. And then said, to calm the wails: “Don’t worry, we’ll go crabbing instead.”  Son 1 was thrilled. “Darling, there’s a Force 10 coming through, and the Coastguards are asking people to stay away from quays,” I said. A cubic metre of water weighs a tonne. My new fact of the day.  More wailing. Today the sky was blue, the water was flat, so we all went down to the Quay at the end of The Terrace, and caught bucketsfull.

The Aged Aunt has died, and I am strangely unsettled. She had a stroke while we were on holiday, and has been in hospital since. Eldest Brother was her carer, and I’d spoken to him last weekend to see how they both were.  Younger Sister rang this morning; she’d died in her sleep.  The Aged Aunt was my late father’s elder sister.  There was another brother, shot dead aged 19 by a German when he parachuted into Normandy in 1945.  I feel as if a link with my Dad has been cut.  We took the boys to see her in June journeys so at least we have pictures to show them later.  I watched Son 2 load pigs, sheep and people onto his Playmobil tractor. He knocked it over. “Oh Deer. Wos ‘appen ‘ere.”  The light caught on his pale white face, his skin smooth, his eyes shining.  In 1924 my Grandmother may have sat, with the same adoring expression on her face, watching the Aged Aunt play.

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Healing

1.  Hair

2.  Skin

3.  Bone

I’ve had all my hair cut off. I’ve worn it short for 20 years anyway, but recently I grew it. A bit.  It went wavy. Straight-haired, don’t-care-if-it’s-raining me.  It went fluffy at the ends.  I couldn’t do anything with it.  On holiday, The Man said it was horrible.  Now I am elfin, and he likes it again.  What a relief. “What conditioner do you use?” asked the Shampoo Girl.  ”Hedrin,” I didn’t say.  Lifestyle Guru Hairdresser has spent two years tut-tutting over the straw on my head and reassuring me that Hair Changes When You’re Pregnant. This time she sprayed my head with Instant Stand-Back Defibrillating Deep Impact Conditioner.  At least I hope that’s what it was.  But the haircut’s great, the colour’s great… and I would be walking on air except for one thing…. Lifestyle Guru Hairdresser,  who runs two salons, works full-time and has two sons aged 8 and 6, has finished her Christmas Shopping.  And it’s wrapped. 

Son 1 aged 5y 1m is much better but still droops if he’s not topped up with Calpol. The rash is still pver his neck, chest, stomach and back but it’s now faint pink.  Now.  All you consultant dermatologists and micro biologists reading this.  His molluscum, which has been the grinding bane of my world for months and months and months, is clearing up.  I have tried everything.  Some of the things I have tried  – neat tea tree oil – have made his skin even worse.  He was allergic to it and he  broke out in eczema. I tried to stop it spreading with every brand of skin sensitive plasters on them and he was allergic to them all. So his chest and tummy  was peppered with horrible pustuley molluscum, and the skin between was raw with eczema. Over the last week the eczema is in retreat and the molluscum is healing over and shrinking.  So what’s done that? The Strep bacteria or the penicillin? It’s got to be the bacteria, hasn’t it, because molluscum is a virus and we all know that Antibiotics Don’t Work On Viruses.     

The other Good Thing about today was the weather in the afternoon. We had thundering rain and Force 10 winds overnight and this morning… and then, still windy, still cold, but the sun came out. We wheeled the boys into The Town, did one of our all-you-can-carry Tesco shops and came back again with not a drop of rain on us. Son 2 aged 2y 2m was exhausted and refused to sleep, which made him into my stalker over tea.  Lamb shanks. The Man bought them. I cooked them. The Man had seconds. Son 2 ate three pieces. Son 1 chewed one, then stuck his tongue out downwards so the wodge fell off on to his plate.  He ate thirds of broccoli in cheese sauce.  ”Great,” said The Man. “I’m condemned to chicken and sausages for the rest of my life.”

Hearing Things

1.  A Sound in the Night

2.  Earache

3.  Music to My Ears

Son 1 aged 4 up in the night with his sore throat and raging temperature.  Called for me at 1230.  I went in and told him off for waking me up “Mummy’s going to be poorly if she doesn’t get some sleep soon.”  He needed Ibuprofen but it was downstairs and I was too tired to get out of his bed.  He woke again at 0130 and down I padded to get it. I gave it to him and we both fell asleep in his single bed, with me getting up at 6.  Son 1 woke when I was in the shower, and was over-tired, fractious, whiney and tearful.  We decided against the New Nursery.  He’s only 4, and Wonder Nanny is now here on Mondays.  Son 1 didn’t care about that.  He just wanted me to stay home.

But I had to leave early  because I had an important Out-of-Office meeting first thing.  I was picking up a colleague and then driving across The Big Town to get there.  New black suit (I took the trousers up last night = a Good Thing)  and three inch heels.  I felt almost pre-baby.  Had a call at The Office from Wonder Nanny. When did Son 1 last have Calpol because he was complaining that his ear hurt.  Son 1 came on the phone. “Are you all right?” “No. I’m not. I want you.”  I raced through my work and sorted out a pile to do at home.  I got back mid-afternoon.  Both boys were asleep.  Son 2 aged 13m woke, came downstairs with Wonder Nanny, sat in my arms and clapped, smiling.  Son 1 woke while I was trying to do some work and make some phone calls, pushed away my pile of papers and sat on my lap crying.  

The Man is planning Business Trips this week and next – during my week off.  I am trying to be positive and reasonable.   Son 1 says his ear hurts when he yawns.  The Man’s going to have to take him to the doctor tomorrow.    I went for a run. Full moon, but I ran down to the bridge over the river;  street-lit all the way so very little chance to enjoy the moonlight.  I resurrected the radio I used to run with BC.  New batteries, and I popped it into the money belt I always wore to carry it.  Ah.  The waist strap needed letting out two inches.  Hmph.  However. It was great to have music and company.  And I’ve been out twice in three days.

A New Star

1.   Battle

2.  Festival

3.  Party

There is another Festival in the Town.  The Plan was to celebrate stopping breastfeeding with champagne in The Square.   We dawdled and dilly-dallied over getting up.  Son 2 aged 13m was yawning, eye-rubbing, high-pitched shrieking and falling over every three minutes.  I got the hint and put him back to bed. Son 1 aged 4 had Mummy Time.  Playing on CBeebies on the computer.  And then out came The Pirates.  I’m ambivalent about Pirates.  My tens of thousands of regular readers will know that Son 1 first became enchanted with Pirates in Feb 2007, aged 2y 5m.  There was a Pirates 3rd birthday. A Peter Pan 4th birthday.  I was kinda hoping that maybe somehow Power Rangers or Spider Man or dinosaurs would move in at 4+. But then I wasn’t. Because everything we have is Pirates.  And, bored out of my tree as I am, I will miss them.  Like the breastfeeding.  So.  The Pirates were going to raid the new treasure chest.  But… exciting new twist… a Power Ranger Megatroyd was defending it.

We trogged down to the Festival.  It was packed, and we were hugely popular, with our Big Pram and rickety MacLaren.  We’d told Son 1 he could paint shells, like he did last year, and the year before.  He wanted his shells, I wanted my champagne, The Man wanted seafood.  Son 1 and I fought our way to shell-painting, and he was happy.  The Man got seafood, stuck a bottle of English sparkling white in the back of the Big Pram and shoe-horned it in the Marquee.  Son 1 painted earnestly, Son 2 ate the glitter pens and painted his own shell.  My plastic glass of bubbles stood on the table in front of the pre-schoolers. We met friends. The children played.  They all went on the bouncy castle, and Son 2 loved it, trying to dive-bomb it afterwards when I was taking him for a nappy change.  I shopped and bought cut-price Usbourne  books and  a birthday present for Granny.     

Son 2 spotted there was something missing.  There was an Office retirement party which I had to go to.  It was really lovely.  One colleague was retiring, one colleague – someone I’ve worked with for 17 years – was leaving to become a childminder.  Everyone came, so there was much reminiscing, pouring over old photos and laughing.  I took Son 2’s great babyring for the childminding colleague.  One of those we-could-get-thirty-quid-on-ebay-or-the-local-paper-oh-you-have-it-I-hope-it’s-useful decisions. It was a great do, and I got back way after midnight.  We bought the retiring colleague a star.

Thank God For The Harvest

1.  Stringing Together

2.  Strung Up

3.  Strings Attached

The Man wanted to go to a beach to fly the kite which Brother and family gave Son 1 aged 4 for his birthday.  I wanted to go back to The Square and drink more English sparkling white to celebrate stopping feeding Son 2 aged 13m.  Excited at the idea that The Man had started sentences with “Let’s…” and “Shall we…?” I thought we’d better do his thing.  First we all went down to the Tesco Metro to do some shopping for the coming week, when he has another Business Trip.   We brought it all back to the house, and then off we went with The Big Pram and The Buggy, to the beach.  At the bottom of the hill, the Man remembered he hadn’t given Son 1 his penicillin.  They waited; I trotted back to the house.

Son 1 loved the kites, Son 2 loved the beach.  The first kite wasn’t a success.  The Man whined at me for not being a kite-flying expert.  Son 2 was crawling among the shingle and seaweed, where dog poo and broken glass lurked.  Various dogs the size of ponies were charging up and down the beach, their owners hundreds of yards away.  The Man was on his own with the kite, and terribly sorry I was too.  The old kite was better.  Son 1 just laughed hysterically at tangled strings, crash-landings, great gusts of wind, runaway aircraft and any attempt The Man made to tell him what to do.  It was priceless.  Son 2 watched it all with the superior yet faintly worried expression of a headmaster in the playground at lunchtime.

We pushed  them home via The Festival.  Packed again.  Son 1 saw a 4+ girl friend from the Old Nursery.  He was very excited.  “Hello Son 1,” she said, in a resigned voice.  Then, hearing grizzling from The Pram, she perked up: “Is that Son 2?”  I turned the pram round and he reached out to her. At home they watched a DVD and played drums and keyboards. I made bangers and mash and cheese and onion sauce and broccoli.  Son 2 wolfed it.  Son 1 ate it, every mouthful cajoled down by me.  He sang a song about putting plums in boxes.  And then the killer chorus: “Thank You God for the Harvest.”  The New Nursery again.  I had walked four miles. I’d made tea from scratch.  I was about to, again, deny Son 2 a breast feed. I left Darwin for next time.

Outside

1.  Outdoor Shoes

2.  Running in the Rain

3.  Day 3

The Man has gone off on another Business Trip.   It made for an odd day, he was buzzing up and down, looking for this, re-charging that, downloading the other.  We decided not to go out so we could say goodbye. So Son 1 aged 4 got very cross because I was washing/cooking/cleaning instead of giving him Mummy time. And Son 2 aged 13m burst into tears everytime he thought he was getting Wonder Nanny instead of me.  Son 2 is in hand-me-down shoes.  Son 1’s first pair, they’re too big for him.  But he knows they mean outside.  He pulled them out from under the drawers and held them up to me, beseeching: “Uh… Uh…”  “Let’s put these on and go outside PLEEEESE” in babyspeak.  He can quack like a duck now. Roar like a lion.  Snap like a crocodile.  And he’s making efforts at mastering moo-ing and barking.   We’re very proud.  He says  “Huwow” many, many times a day, at anyone he thinks might twinkle back at him.  And he does a passable ”tractor” subsitute.  One of those where the vowels aren’t right, the consonents aren’t right, but you can hear he’s confident he’s got it.  Otherwise it’s pointing, tantrums and “uh.” 

After lunch Wonder Nanny put Son 2 to bed (screaming.  Wanted Mummy to do it.)  Son 1 and I looked for Wally – he’s memorised every page in the books and just flips across with a double-jointed finger going “there’s Wally, there’s Wenda, there’s Odlaw.”  He fell asleep.  I thought about dawdling round the shops in The Town, but then knew I had to go running.  I got wet, but I think I escaped the worst of a dismal day.

I put Son 2 to bed and he cried and cried and  arched his back, his old breast-feeding sign.  Oh dear.  Three days now without, so it’s clear that neither of us is going back.  I’m feeling much better about it now, with relief crowding all my other stuff.  Soon I will be able to get rid of the feeding bras and the breast pads.  I’ve already found a home for the feeding pillow.

Feel The Fear

1.  A Quiet Coffee

2.  Bird Park Revisited

3.  Bedtime

Downstairs with Son 2 aged 13m at 0545 to get him some milk.  A starfish hand stretched out to the fruit bowl.  Two old apples and an ancient lemon.  I made a big pot of coffee, bacterio yoghurtie thing for Son 2 aged 4 (no pineapple juice,) and snacks for them both.  Upstairs we all read a big photo baby book – Son 2 likes sitting looking at pictures while we tell him what they are.  And occasionally joins in by poking a soft baby finger at a picture with an “uh,” making Son 1 and me cry out “peas!” excitedly.  Son 1 went to the loo, Son 2 followed him.  I could hear Son 1 laughing madly, but no sound from Son 2.  I settled back on a big pillow, savouring my coffee.  They were in the bathroom, so if they were messy it would be easy to clear up.  There was plenty of entertainment for Son 2.  They were safe.  And Son 2 wasn’t squealing like a stuck pig, so Son 1 was clearly keeping his hands to himself.  He came in again, giggling. “Come and see.  We’re up to mischief.” An empty loo roll holder.  Son 2 had unravelled it, Son 1 had stuffed many, many yards of loo paper into a yellow wicker basket.

Today’s trip was the Bird Park.  I took bags of change from Son 1’s money boxes and paid for everything in coppers and 5ps.   Both boys loved it.  Son 2 couldn’t get enough of the ball pool. “If you’re happy and you know it, click your balls,” we sang, smiling happily and clicking, one in each hand.  He climbed, he went down the slide, he laughed.  Son 1 still likes the toddler area best.  There are very high, very steep slides at the Bird Park for older children and younger (than me) parents.  Son 1 and I stood at the top of one, peering down.  A boy and his father jumped off.  “You do it, Mummy” said Son 1.  “You do it,” I replied. ” I can’t. I’m too scared.”  I was scared.  But I did it anyway.  Because you should push through your fears to see what’s on the other side.   I climbed up over and down I dropped, crashing into the ball pool at the bottom, buried two layers.  I pushed my way out.  “Do It Again!” came the instruction from the top.   I Did It Again.

I couldn’t get Son 2 to sleep tonight.  I went up with the boys at 1820. I got down at 2015.  And he woke again within 20 minutes. We have now done four days without a breastfeed.

A Round of Applause

1.  Clapped Out

2.  A Big Clap

3.  Clapping Song

Fireworks, flags and fanfares, Son 2 aged 13m slept in his cot all night.  Possibly unconscious with exhaustion after an evening from hell.  I had to leave him in his cot to cry himself hoarse while I put Son 1 aged 4y 1m to bed. Then I finally got him to sleep on the double bed.  He woke up again, by the time I got up there to pick him up he was frantic.  No voice left, heart beating so hard it felt like it would burst through his little chest, face soaked with tears.  I gave him the rest of his (bottled) milk, and again, I got him to sleep on the bed.  And when I went up I just popped him in his cot. Where he stayed.

He can stand now, for longer and longer.  And looks round for attention when he does it and claps his hands. “Applause please, everyone. I did it again.”  He’s gorgeous.  We went to The Beach in the morning – had to keep ducking for cover in rain showers – and then, for various reasons, went over to our friends’ house afterwards.  Son 1 and Friend Aged 3y 11m played, Son 2 stood by the toy drumkit and rumba-d.  He pointed at the dog a lot.  And snap-snapped with the toy crocodile we got him from the Bird Park.

We’d just got back when Nanna came round.  Son 2 was in the Big Pram asleep.  Son 1’s school photos have arrived – they’re definitely worth giving his whole nursery class his tummy bug.   Son 1 watched CBeebies; Son 2 woke and grizzled and griped until I worked out he was hungry, and sat him in his highchair with breadsticks and hummous.  Then they all ate an M and S fish pie I’d efficiently remembered to take out of the freezer before we left in the morning.  I checked the bag to see how long to heat it: “For best results, cook from frozen.”  At bedtime Son 1 and Son 2 played together in the bath, charming and giggly.  Son 1 and I sang “If you’re happy and you know shout ‘we are’” and Son 2 clapped his hands and laughed in a definite “I know that one!”  Son 1 and Nanna went to his room for stories while I put Son 2 to bed. I gave him some milk, cuddled him and sang him a lullaby, and then put him down on the floor while I blacked out the window with a blanket.  As I finished there was a click.  He’d power-crawled across the bedroom  and was out the door looking for Son 1 and Nanna.  Again, a nightmare getting him off to sleep.  Day 5 without feeding him.

First Steps

1.  Night 2

2.  School homework

3.  Moment captured

4.  Swimming

Son 2 aged 13m stayed in the cot overnight again, Wa-hay.  He struggled going to sleep, I moved him into it when I went to bed… he woke at 0430.  I woke, looked at the clock, decided he’d done well and I’d go down to him, and then he was crying again and it was 0630. 

The tiny school 3 miles away that I like for Son 1 has just had an Outstanding Ofsted.   Disaster.  I found it when it was only Good, hands off.  So I went for a coffee with a friend’s friend, an expert in schools admissions.  Take The Man to see it, make sure the Head knows it’s your first choice and then just keep in touch so you find out before close of submissions if it’s oversubscribed and you’d be wasting your time trying.  She sold me on the one her children go to as our second choice, and we could get Son 1 in there. We’re lucky, because we can choose any school in The Town and Son 1’s is a low birthrate year.  He can go anywhere.  If I just can get that little village school out of my system…

Son 2 is getting good at standing.  He’s got a bit of control, and can balance and look at something he’s doing at the same time.  And then, after lunch… he stood, he looked, and he wobbled forward.  And his little feet stumbled forward, left right left right, until he sat down on his big fat nappy bottom.  The crowd (me, Wonder Nanny, Son 1) went wild and clapped and cheered.  “Well done Son 2!” “Do it again, do it again!”  Son 2 looked as if he’d like to oblige, but hadn’t the faintest idea what he’d done to get such a reaction.  And now I know why I blog diligently.  I’ve no idea of the exact moment Son 1 took his first steps – he was probably at nursery.

A Four Good Things day.  We took the boys swimming, and it was lovely.  Son 1 was mad with excitement, playing pirates the whole time, forcing himself between me and Son 2 whenever he thought we were enjoying ourselves without  him.  Son 2 loves the water.  We came back and they were both exhausted.  Tea was early, getting them to bed was early… Son 2 passed out within minutes and hasn’t stirred this evening.  I was downstairs at 1815… and Wonder Nanny had done all the clearing up.  Wa-hay.

When Rock Was Young

1.  Family Lunch

2.  The Band

3.   The Pub

Granny and Granddad are arriving tomorrow, so we all went into The Town to get some things we needed.  Wrapping paper, cards, and something for a meal.  We bought Dover Sole from the fishmongers.  Granny can cook.  I had lunch for Son 2 aged 13m, so we stopped off in a cafe to give it to him.  Got Son 1 aged 4y 1m some chips… ordered ourselves a snack… and had a really nice impromptu family lunch.  Son 2 wouldn’t eat his jarred mush as soon as he clapped eyes on the chips.  He’s using a spoon now.  Not always the right way up, not always the right end in the food, and mostly using long swinging arcs that splat the food on the table, on his clothes or on his forehead.  But he’s using a spoon now.

At home Son 1 played his drum kit, Son 2 played keyboards, The Man played Argos toy electric guitar and I was the singer.  Son 2 lurched for the microphone on the toy keyboard  “Ahhhhhh” he sang, “Ahhhhhhhhhhhh.”  Son 1 banged his drumsticks together “One Two Three, hit it.”  We devised a running order for Granny and Granddad’s visit.  “When Rock Was Young,” “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,” “Give a Dog a Bone.” 

I went out with the Wednesday mums.  A very nice evening, all three of us on red wine. A mistake, but I’m still doing daft things because at last I’m not breastfeeding or pregnant.  We had a boat crew arrive – the skipper sat down with us, his crew were between our table and the bar.  One Mother chatted to him, I chatted to the stewardess.  Leaving for the Caribbean on Monday.  They wandered off.  We carried on drinking and talking and talking and drinking.  Then a man came over and said could he buy us ladies a drink.  Oh go on then, a small red wine, we said.  Large glasses arrived.  But not the chap who bought them.  We had to leave them because we couldn’t drink them fast enough before the pub shut.  Just one of those weird evenings – the three of us were absolutely self-contained and weren’t interacting with the rest of the pub in any way.  We still got it girls.   

Running Before You Can Walk

1.  Stirrings

2.  Back to School

3.  Sprint Finish

It was hell getting Son 2 aged 13m down in the cot last night – took more than half an hour – but he stayed in till nearly 6am, which I am counting as a second night sleeping through.  If he makes it tonight I will start seeing if I can put him down in the cot, rather than leaving him lying on a double bed with pillows either side.  He was hungry and he was thirsty.  A clear, definite “Na na” Which he ate in less than five minutes once we were downstairs.  He was brilliant for his books this morning, sitting still for The Very Hungry Caterpillar. Well most of it.  As soon as the pages you can stick your fingers in had gone, he was off.  His favourite is still the animals book.  He can now fling his arm up for the elephant, make fish mouth noises and roar like a lion.  There is a little confusion between the noises for a duck’s quack quack and a crocodile’s snap-snap but it’s easily done.  He is also definitely yeh yeh ing, and nnnnnn ing. And Ma Ma has returned, but with considerably more “SORT ME OUT NOW” welly.

We were a bit worried about Son 1 aged 4 y 1m going back to Nursery, because with his two-week half term and his ear infection it’s been three weeks.  He was ok.  He made me park way up the entrance road, and we arrived just as the children were sitting down for the register.  He plonked himself down on the floor and gazed up at the teacher as if I wasn’t there.  Wonder Nanny picked him up and said the teacher had said he’d been very tired in the afternoon.  Again, it’s the playground.  Too noisy.   

Other good things: my computer came back from the mender’s, which will make The Office a bit easier, because I can work in the evenings again, hooray hooray.  We have a number for a chiropodist for The Man’s sore feet.   Wonder Nanny has sent off the registration form for Ofsted.  We’ve accepted a party invitation for Son 1.  “That’s good news, isn’t it Mummy?”  He’s getting the hang of this.  And Son 2 stole the show.  As he was exhausted, I held him under his armpits to let him practise walking – one of his favourite things, and I thought if he did his usual hold-on-to-my-fingers-walk he’d stumble and get fed up.  When he felt the extra support he just sprinted.  Up and down the kitchen like Forest Gump, with me having to do a running, bent-over waddle to keep up with him.  He chortled and squealed and laughed and laughed.  So did Son 1.  I knew we were in for it when he finally walks… it never occurred to me that it will in fact be much worse when he can RUUUUUUUUUUNNNNN.

WAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH

1.  Light Sleep

2.  Light Lunch

3.  Light Work

Son 2 aged 13m’s second time laid straight down in the cot instead of snuggling himself to sleep next to me on the double bed.   I worked late last night “Don’t wake Son 2 when you come up,” said The Man.  He went up.  WAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH.  Did I a) quietly go up to Son 2’s room and spend 30 minutes soothing him, and then come back and return to my work.  Or b) dart up to our room leaving Son 2 wailing, and dance round pointing at The Man singing “Who Let The Dogs Out?  So The Man did the 6am duty today.  And I had a lie in till gone 7.

We went to The Beach to see some friends, who were Swimming In The Sea. I said I’d do it next week.  Son 1 aged 4y 1m ran round a bit with the children, I spread out a rug on the sand for Son 2 who  crawled off it at speed and never went back.  They were both knackered, and passed out in the car as we drove off.  So we went to a seaside restaurant where we could park the car, sit outside and see the boys asleep in their seats.  We had coffee.  They stayed asleep.  I read the Independent.  The Man read the local paper. The temperature dropped.  The wind got up.  We’d missed breakfast, so we ordered Tapas.  It took forever to come.   Son 2 woke up and ate some of The Man’s salmon and chips. 

When we got back home Son 1 had missed lunch and was still tired.  Son 2 hadn’t eaten enough and refused to have an afternoon sleep.  So they were Very Hard Work Indeed.  I have worked out since she started doing 4 days a week that the difference between me and Wonder Nanny is that if Going Out will disrupt meals or sleeps she just doesn’t do it.  Whereas off we always jolly well go.  ”Why do they behave so perfectly for her, and melt down for me?” I ask.  We stuffed sausages and mash in them at half past four and put them to bed early.   Son 2 straight into the cot.  I wanted to blog, so  The Man’s gone up ahead of me.  WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

Very Tired

1.   Craving Sleep

2.   Fighting Sleep

3.   Losing Sleep

Lordie we are all tired.  Son 2 aged 14m barely made it past breakfast before he was eye-rubbing, yawning and shrieking.  Son 1 aged 4y 1m was producing weapons-grade sibling rivalry.  I held Son 2’s hands across the highchair table; and Son 2 laughed.  Son 1 stopped what he was doing and came and climbed on my knee, blocking out the route to the highchair table.  I put Son 2 down for his sleep, and Son 1 and I played Scooby Doo and made Pirate finger puppets.

i am doing a Running Gag. Whenever anyone asks if The Man is back, I say yes, but he’s Very Tired.  Our neighbour walked down to The Town with us, asking The Man when he’d got back.  “Yesterday,” he said.  “He’s Very Tired,” I said.  “Don’t you get tired then, Serenedays?” she said, Getting It beautifully.  We wandered along in the rain, Son 2 in the Big Pram, Son 1 in the buggy.  “We’ll just have to push them and they’ll fall asleep and then we can have a coffee,” I said.  Son 1 fell asleep eventually.  Son 2 just went on and on and on.  It was an amazing feat of endurance.  We’d stuffed him into an anorak, in a cosi toe, with his new (hot) hat on.  His hat fell down over his eyes so he could only see out at the bottom.  And still he stayed awake. 

Back home he was so tired he needed his tea at once, but melted down before he’d had very much.  We think there is a teeth thing going on again.  Son 1 says his teeth hurt at the bottom front.  Hells bleeding bells.  I’ve probably dissolved them in fruit juice.  Bathtime was agony, getting them to bed was awful – Son 2 woke and woke and woke… but when I finally got him to sleep I rang a Friend  for a chat and felt better. And The Man is having a go at all my outstanding filing.  Good to think it’s getting done. I’m a bit worried it might be like Son 2’s tidying up though… bits of cheese spread sandwiches left in the vegetable rack, crayons in the washing machine, jigsaw pieces in the bin.

The Look

1.  Dropping Off

2.  Sounding Out

3.  Mopping Up

I dropped Son 1 aged 4y 1m off at Nursery, and walked across the tarmac towards my car.  A woman driving off in a Mini wound down her window and smiled at me.  “Good Morning,” I said, thinking did-I-meet-you-at-that-party-I-took-Son-to.  “I just wanted to say how much I like your hair, I always think that” she said.  “What a kind thing to say on a Monday morning,” I said.  “Yours (shining long, rich brown, thick worn loose half way down her back) is very nice, too.”  “No it’s not, it’s just yours is great, I just wish I had the confidence, it’s not just the hair it’s the make up, it’s the whole look, you always stand out.”  “But your hair is beautiful,” I said. “I’ve always wanted long hair, but it would break because it’s bleached.”  “Oh I’m just the same as all the others here, but you really stand out.”  “I’m not sure Son 1 will thank me for that,” I said. 

At lunchtime I met The Man and we went to look at a school in The Town for Son 1.  I have to admit that the drive to the Big Town to go to Nursery is just too much for him.  i thought it would be an extra half hour in the car each day, but by the time I’ve crawled up the main road, parked and dropped him off/picked him up… it’s getting on for an hour and half in the car for him every time he goes.  The school was sweet, the head was fantastic, it did well at Ofsted.  I think Son 1 could be happy there. 

I was very late collecting Son 1 and we were very late back, after a dismally drawn-out drive in the rain and dark.  Son 2 aged 14m was already upstairs with The Man.  Standing in the bath and crying his eyes out.  With a look of pain and misery. Upset because Son 1 and I were missing.   He’s got a light speckled rash on his chest and neck, and several great big spots breaking out on his arms.  Measles I suppose.  He’s definitely out of sorts, and just wants his Mum.  Well he got me.  For about 20 minutes.

Two And Two Makes Green Hair

1.  Early

2.  The History Of Colour

3.  Green Hair

I have been awake since 0415.  Well, I wanted more hours in the day.  Son 1 aged 4y 1m came upstairs in the dead of night.  I plonked him in the middle.  And he did his usual T-bone thing,  working himself round till he was lying longways between The Man and me.   I gave up trying to get back to sleep at 0515 and came downstairs to sort out some stuff for The Office.  WAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH.  The Man got into bed with Son 2 aged 14m and tried to snug him back to sleep.  I drank coffee and did some work, which has given me an early finish tonight, hooray.

A Good Day at The Office.  We got a lot done.  At the end of the day I walked to the car park with two colleagues.  Discussing art.  One has been reading a book on The History Of Colour.  Never occurred to me that colour has a history.  I’d assumed In The Beginning There Was Red… and here we are now.  The other was talking about Turquoise, her birthstone and favourite colour.    It was Lofty, but very matter-of-fact.  l just liked the conversation.   

Late home. Again.  Missed Wonder Nanny.  Son 1 and Son 2 were upstairs with The Man, Son 1 scrabbling desparately to get to me, Son 2 bursting into tears, reaching out little starfish hands, and then, when I picked him up, clinging and resting his head on my shoulder.  They’d been to A Garden with Wonder Nanny, her Nanny Friend and the other two children.  Wonder Nanny told The Man that Nanny Friend is in love with Son 2.  The Man, telling me about it: “I was going to say ‘if she’s good-looking she can come and look after him.’  And then I remembered I can’t say things like that.” There’s a spot of luck.  In bed, Son 1 said ”What’s two and two and two and two?”  I said “Eight.” He said: “Two and two makes green hair.”  And went back to looking for Wally.

Another Fine Day

1.  Finger shadows

2.  Finger walking

3.  Finger food 

 I am comforting Son 2 aged 14m to sleep  by putting the fan on for white noise, sticking my head in the cot next to him till he drowses, then straightening up my pulverised back and kneeling down with my hand on his chest till I dare take it away, put the cot side up and tiptoe out.  This is progress from the weeks of getting him to sleep by lying next to him on a double bed, and having him in the bed with an adult overnight.  So.  He woke this morning at 0515.  The Man went down and lay next to him on the bed.  Son 2 cried and cried.  I gave in. I went down, put him in the cot and did my bent-over-the-cot-my-head-next-to-his-soft-fluffy-hair.  He went quiet.  He lay still.  And then he started making shadows on the wall of his cot by waving in front of the light from the extension lead… and making fish noises.  Which progressed to bah bah bah bah bah.  Translation: I’m really bored and I want to get up, but I can keep myself busy if you want your head like that.”  My back again made the decision and I took him downstairs for milk and a snack.  It was five to six.

We went to The Beach.  Both sets of Wednesday Friends, a gloriously mild day out of the north wind.  I’d wrapped both boys up, but they ended up just playing in sweatshirt sleeves.  Son 1 aged 4y 1m and his Friend stuck together, dug together, menaced smaller children together, raided the food together, demanded ice creams together.  Son 2 crawled and finger-walked and watched them, and watched the dogs and ransacked the food bag.  Doesn’t like peanut butter.  Spat it out.  We got coffee and tea, they got smoothies, the weather was great.

Back home Son 2 went to bed (in the cot… second time today, hooray hooray.)  Son 1banned from watching telly for squirting bubble mix in his brother’s eyes this morning, lay on the kitchen floor sticking Charlie and Lola stickers in a book.  I made a roast chicken meal.  A lovely young man came round to mend the tumble drier.  Nanna arrived.  Son 2 woke up and went nuts in the kitchen because of the cooking smell.  First The Man, and then Nanna took him outside.  We managed to sit down, all five of us at the meal table together.  Star for us in the Family Mealtime book.  Both children asleep by 7.30pm and then I went running.  That’s quite a few more than three good things.

 

Mushrooms In The Leaves

1.  Mushrooms

2.  Shopping

3.  Ten Steps

Son 2 aged 14m woke up when I went to bed at 2215 and would not go back to sleep.  I went down to him at 2230, gave him Calpol and water and did my head-in-the-cot thing till 2310.  And then at 2315 he woke again.  I’ll just leave him, I thought, and if he’s still up at 2345 I’ll go and get him.  I couldn’t get up at 2345.  See yesterday’s entry about the 0515 start.  At midnight I went down, switched his fan back on, told him he was being very naughty and had to go to sleep now.  He cried for about 10 minutes more and then went to sleep.  At 0630 I woke up with an oh-mi-god he’s dead start.  He wasn’t.  Son 1 aged 4y and 1m slept in till 0715.  We were at Nursery a bit earlier than usual and parked further up the drive than normal.  There were many, many mushrooms the size of dinner plates in the leaves under the trees.  Son 1 was delighted, and rushed to tell his Nursery teacher. “I like mushrooms now Mummy.”  See http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2008/04/01/zoom-zoom-zoom  

Marks were having a 20% off everything sale today.  I would like to have gone, but there was so much to do at The Office that I didn’t get near it.  I might boycott them now because I don’t want to pay 20% more than everyone else just because I work.  And the bags thing is annoying me too.  I have a house full of Bags For Life I never use because I am Too Busy to remember them.  So being positive instead of just crabby,  I went to Tesco instead after work and did a Big Shop.  Free carriers.  The Man had kept Son 1 and Son 2 up waiting for me to get back.  I parked the car outside, and Son 2, in The Man’s arms, burst into loud angry tears as soon as he saw me.   

The boys ransacked the shopping.  Caught in friendly fire: 2 Innocent smoothies; 1 yoghurt, 1 gala apple and 1 grape.   Upstairs I tried to get out of my work outfit and into clothes Son 2  could snot on.  He gazed at me, holding on to the red chair.  And then walked, confidently about 10 or 11 steps to get to me before plopping down on his bottom.  I called Son 1 and The Man and they came rushing up. We tried and tried to get him to do it again.  We stood him, we balanced him… and he plopped down and crawled off, laughing.

Happy All Day, Happy All Night

1.  Manoeuvres In The Dark

2.  Jumping

3.  Jamming

i slept badly, got up in the end and did about 2 hours’ Office work in the middle of the night.  Not a good sign.  I got back to sleep and then Son 1 aged 4y 1m appeared and clambered into my side of the bed.  “You’llhavetoclimbover,” I mumbled, unable to move.  He climbed over, The Man got out the other side.  Head on the pillow, next to our heads.  Legs pointing downwards.  That is how you get 3 in a bed, Son 1.  If you continually insist on sleeping with your head against Mummy and your feet against Daddy then one of your parents can’t stay.    

Son 2 aged 14m was up at 0630.  I am craving time with him at the moment, so it’s great it’s the weekend.  A Nursery Day for Son 1, so another brisk take-no-prisoners-zoom-out-the-house morning.  The journey was fine, we got there in plenty of time and parked near the mushrooms, with Son 1 skipping and jumping along the path, making fun noises, skidding on the mud, stopping to peer into tree trunks and trace out the letters on the road signs.  Smiling and laughing “Look at me, I can jump as high as that branch”  Jump.  About two inches.  Full of joy, he’s an absolute delight.

Late to get him again. In the car on the way home he sang: “I’m happy all day, happy all night.  Happy, happy happy happy.  Sometimes I’m sad, sometimes I’m cross, but I’m happy happy happy all day.”  “That’s a lovely song, did you learn it at Nursery?”  “No, I maked it up.  I’m happy all day, happy all night, sometimes there’s a frown on my face but it’s all right. I’m happy at my friends’ house, I’m happy in my house, I’m happy in my Nursery, I’m happy in boats, I’m happy in shops, I’m happy shopping.”  All the way home.  Jamming to himself.  We got back, I parked, he got out of the car and ran down The Terrace singing “I’m happy all day, I’m happy all night.” Went into the house, lay on the floor with his cheek on the lino and carried on singing.

The Magician’s Helper

1.  Getting A Goal Back

2.  The Hall in the Squall

3.  A Lovely Boy

Grim, grisly, gruesome night.  I went to bed late and Son 2 aged 14 months woke howling at around 2am.  Around because I knew he was crying, but thought it was the morning and The Man would get him.  The Man snored by my side.  At 2.30am I snapped awake, looked at the clock and went down.  I think Son 2 is still suffering from the MMR – he’s still got his rash – so I gave him calpol and water, cuddled him, put the fan on and then did head-in-the-cot.  At 0310 I gave up.  Too tired and needed to go to bed.  I called The Man down, he got into bed with Son 2, I went upstairs to sleep.   One to Son 2.

Son 1 aged 4y 2m had a 4th birthday party – a child from Nursery – 20+ miles away on the other side of The Big Town.  We arrived at the Village Hall as a freezing squall blew in.  Two other families there, and no other cars.  In the (empty) hall, we compared notes.  I had the invitation in the car.  Back into the squall.  Son 2’s thin wisps looked Brylcreamed to his head.  We needed the Church Hall. Off we went, us in the front of the convoy.  Into the right Hall.  Say hello to Birthday Girl’s Dad.  There’s the changing bag, there’s the baby food bag.  Where’s the present?  Son 1 went in, Son 2 and I went back to the car.  Back at the Village Hall, there was a Mother, on foot, with small daughter, looking for the party.  I explained.  ”I thought it was strange,” she said.  “There was nobody here, but there was a present on the table with Birthday Girl’s name on it.”  The squall whipped our faces.  They got in my car.  Sand. Feathers. Pine cones. Leaves. Dried out baby wipes. Breadstick crumbs.  Two pairs of posh pointy shoes for The Office.  Hell.

Back at the party I took Son 2 to sit on the side, at the front, thinking he would enjoy the balloons.  There was a magician, with 15 small children sitting on the floor gazing up at him.  In the front row was Son 1, the only child in fancy dress. Captain Hook.  The Magician asked for a helper. Up shot Son 1’s hand.  Up he went.  He laughed, he giggled, he yes-ed, he no-ed, he laughed again, spellbound.  Back he went.  I watch him in profile for the rest of the act.  Face tilted up, eyes dancing, smiling, laughing, calling out.   “A lovely boy…” clad in a red tailcoat with lace at the sleeves, “but the most entrancing thing about him was that he had all his first teeth.”  That first teeth smile in profile, backlit from the windows high above him, was heaven.

Tags: balloons, broken nights, calpol, Captain Hook, co-sleeping, fan, head-in-the-cot, lost present, magician, messy car, MMR, party, peter pan, rash, sleep problems, squall

Rockets And Stars

1. After The Shot

2. Spot A Lot

3. Got Shot

Son 2 aged 14m up at 0515.  Maybe-he’ll-roll-over-and-go-back-to-sleep-for-the-first-time-ever, I drowsed.  Louder.  More insistent.  I sent The Man downstairs.  Son 2 cannot be rewarded with Mummy for Night-time Waking.  The Man went into  Son 2’s room, and the roof blasted off into orbit. Agitated, furious, inconsolable and atom-crackingly loud.  I went downstairs. The Man gave me Son 2.  He was instantly silent.   I put him in the bed with me and he went back to sleep.   I’m sure it’s the MMR.  He’s so little and I bet the dose is enough to immunise all those whopping 100-centile babies.  All I really want to do is snuggle up in bed with him.  But I know I’ll regret it because I won’t get enough sleep.  When we get on top of our money again I want a massive bed big enough for 4.

Son 1 aged 4y 2m was up late and whingeing and whining about going to Nursery. “I don’t want you to go to work,” he sobbed at the top of his voice.  They swap tips like that at playtime at Nursery.  “And then, if you really want to make them feel crap, make a couple of tears roll out of the corners of your eyes while you yell it in your shakiest voice.”  In the car he cheerfully spotted lorries, police cars, post vans and dogs, while singing his song about how happy he is. 

Late picking him up, quelle surprise.  He chattered all the way home.  We spotted stars, and sang Twinkle Twinkle.  The street light outside our house has been out of action for a couple of days now.  This is a Good Thing.  We can see stars in the sky above the river outside.  Son 2’s bedroom is darker, which I think may be helping him stay settled in the evenings again.  The dawns are better, blue-grey light fading up against deep dark clouds.  And the full moon was more spectacular too.  We’ve been here eight years and the street light has obliterated all that… so I’m rather hoping council cost-cutting will keep it switched off.

Five Miles

1.  I Want My Mummy

2.  The Road Race

3.  Finish

Son 2 aged 14m up in the night again.  I got him settled with a drink of water, calpol and a cuddle.  He went back in his cot and didn’t need an adult.  And the answer was… spend even longer bent over with my head next to his in the cot.  The Man was out at a Stag Do last night, so when Son 2 howled just after 6 neither of us was in a hurry to leave the Big Cosy Bed.  The Man, bless him, went down first, but Son 2, bless him, was Accepting No Substitutes. In A Voice Which Was Very Loud Indeed.  So down I padded, bleary-eyed and bad-tempered.  The Noise stopped as soon as he was perched in my arms. He is so darn cute.

There was a Road Race in The Town. 5 miles.  I can’t remember when I last ran 5 miles.  I must have been about 4 or 5 months pregnant with Son 1, who’s now aged 4y and 2m.  So.  I went to the registration hotel, picked my way through the great gangs of club runners in their varying team colours and got a number.  I pinned it on.  I sat in my car while I waited for the start, and then at 1015 noticed everyone had disappeared from the car park, even the police and ambulance people. In a state of panic that they’d all trooped off to the start without me, I pelted through a bitterly cold squall to the hotel.  Everyone was inside. The reason everyone disappeared from the car park was… er… the bitterly cold squall.  Start time was 11am.

I ran it.  Walked up a couple of the more deathly hills, but I did it.  The rain stayed off for the entire course, and I didn’t come last.  There were probably about 10 people behind me.  And about 300 in front, but who cares. I wasn’t really fit enough to do it.  But who cares.  The Man was supposed to bring the boys to see the finish, and watch their athletic sporty mother’s triumph.  Missed it.  He took them round to a friend’s house.  They were leaving just as I rang him to say Where Are Ya?    After I finished, a leaflet was pressed into my hand advertising a 10k on the Sunday before Christmas.

Marathons

1. Three Good Things Before Breakfast

2. Hand Holding

3. Best Foot Forward

Son 1aged 4y 2m doesn’t got to Nursery on Tuesdays so we have a slightly slower start. A Good Thing already. Son 2 aged 14m stayed asleep till 0640. Another Good Thing. Son 2 went downstairs with The Man without hollering for me. Three Good Things before 7am. A cheer for each, Hooray Hooray Hooray. I had to go into The Office earlier than usual so it felt like I didn’t see the boys very long. Pang Pang Pang.

A Hard Day At The Office – just long, no breaks and a bit of an endurance event. A few new people to meet, which was interesting. Note-taking for seven hours + and unsurprisingly I’ve wrecked my hand and arm. But looking on the bright side it means this will be short tonight.

And I got out for a run. Inspired by Sunday and the scarey fit club runners. I went on the website. I came in the lower three-hundredths in the Road Race. Ten and a half minute miles. I used to run whole marathons faster.

Get Me Out Of Here

1.  Get Me Out Of Bed

2.  Get Me Out Of This Museum

3.  Get Me Out Of The Garden And The Bath

Son 2 aged 14m slept till 0630.   Wah Wah Wah.  I went down and snugged in to bed with him.  He wanted to get up.  He span round and round in his sleeping bag till he was trussed up like a fly in a web Wah Wah Wah.  I took his sleeping bag off and That Was It.  I gave up at the point where I was lying down and holding on to his legs as he locked himself horizontally, laughing, hands death-gripping the cot rails to stop me pulling him back into the bed.  We Were Getting Up.  He is iron-willed, he is physical, he is strong and he is clever.  There’s always boarding school.

We went to The Museum with our Wednesday Friends.  Son 2 had a nap, so we got there late.  One Mum was on her way out for the school pick up.  Son 1 and his Friend crayoned. Son 2 tipped the crayons out, finger-walked, and headed for the glazed walls Trying To Get Out.  We had the Captain Hook costume under The Big Pram.  The Friend put it on, suggesting Son 1 be Peter Pan.  Son 1 was not going to be Peter Pan, although he did tell Son 2 he could be Mr Smee.  I did lots of Turn Taking/How Kind/Good Sharing stuff.   Son 1 wanted his outfit back.

We went to a pizza place for lunch, The Man joined us briefly and Son 1 ate well.  We got back and the children played in the front garden.  I finger-walked with Son 2, who held onto the railings, threw the gravel into the pavement, pointed at the dogs and Awowed at the passers by.  Son 1 played on the pavement outside, Son 2 tried to work out the gate latch.  A Mum we know went past with a double buggy, toddler asleep, baby awake.  We chatted.  Son 2 fell over and cut his lip, his mouth bleeding.  Nanna came and I did sausage, mash and peas for tea. Son 2 melted down with tiredness. We put him in the bath and he wouldn’t sit down, howling, reaching, lifting up his legs and looking for a foothold. I have been so desperate to be with my baby, and he has spent my entire day off trying to leave home.

Driving Lessons

1.  Driving Away

2.  Driving Instructor

3.  Driven

Son 2 aged 14m woke up when The Man went to bed last night and then could not be settled.  The rolling around in the cot, the propping himself up, the lying down, the sighing, the wah-ing… and underpinning it all the great talent he has for lying as still as possible for long enough to convince me that he’s gone to sleep, waiting till I’ve gone and WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH.  He woke Son 1 aged 4y 2m up, he kept The Man awake, he broke my back as Yet Again I bent over the cot with my head next to his.  And in the end of course I just got fed up and left him to it.  My scientific, highly-researched I-love-you-and-I-hate-you-being-unhappy-but-I-just-have-to-sleep-now technique for problem sleepers.

And then we all got up too late to get Nursery on time.  So for the second (Nursery) morning in a row, I had to ring up and confess we’d be late.  I missed out reading to Son 2… I barely saw Son 2.  We were so late we saw Wonder Nanny.  In the car, Son 1 interrogated me about stolen cars.  I told him the story of how my car had been stolen from outside An Office, many years ago.  He promised to catch the Burglars and Kill Them.  I gently did the “we don’t talk about killing anyone, Son 1, even burglars, because killing is always wrong,” thing.  “OK. When I catch them I will kill or spray them with space goo.  Which do you want Mummy?”  I chose the space goo.   

There was an Office Business Lunch today, and the two new people I met were both runners.  One was just back from the New York Marathon, so we swapped stories about how fab it is.  The other is a triathlete, and we swapped stories about injuries.  I told the triathlete I felt guilty about spending what little time I have at home with the children on running, like I did on Sunday.  He said neither of his children is sporty, but they are both driven in their own chosen fields and he thinks it’s because they’ve watched him and his wife – a runner – work towards their events.  I was buoyed and inspired.  And then I got home, and I was tired, and it took an age to get the boys to bed, and it’s raining… And I didn’t go out for a run.

Grapes And Wrath

1.   Noise

2.   Toys

3.   Boys

A quiet night from Son 2 aged 14m.  Fireworks this morning though.  The Man brought the boys up their snack – banana and apple pieces.  “I want grapes,” said Son 1 aged 4y 2m. “We haven’t got any grapes,” I said.  Son 1 grizzled a bit.  Son 2 grabbed his tub, peered in, tried throwing it on the floor… grabbed Son 1’s tub, flung the banana and apple on the floor, snatched his own again and succeeded in throwing the contents out… and then hurled his Doidy cup of milk across the chair and mirror.  It was a spectacular piece of tantruming, just because he didn’t have grapes in his tub.  He was dumped back in his cot and left to stew.  Well, boil would be a more accurate description.  Jaysus if he’s like this now what happens when he’s had time to practise?

Getting Son 1 to Nursery on time was a Good Thing.  We left late, the roads were awful, and I decided to try another route which was ok until we ended up in a long stationary queue.  I’m usually pretty patient in traffic, but we’d already been late twice and I really felt like Flinging My Tub. We got there on time though, and I even saw the teacher for the first time in a week.  I like the way Son 1 goes into Nursery now.  Eyes darting around to see what the others are doing, checking out all the different toys out in all the different places… his brain really switches instantly to What-Am-I-Playing-With, rather than I-Want-My-Mum.

Back home after The Office Son 2 reached and shrieked for me as soon as I walked in, and then, once he’d clamped himself to my shoulder started looking round for the next bit of action.  I did some books with him and got him in his bath.  Son 1 went in the shower, Son 2 sat at the plug end playing with the bubbles, the Winnie The Pooh squirters and some plastic jugs.  Son 1 was cleaning toys an polishing the shower screen.  They were both enchantingly engrossed in their own games.  For two minutes, till Son 1 “accidentally” poured soapy water in Son 2’s eyes.  Waaaaaaaaaaahhhhh.  It was hard settling him again, but we made it.  Six weeks since I stopped feeding him, and I think he’s now happy with milk from a cup and water from a glass.

Winter Sports

1.  Skating

2.  Climbing

3.  Running

We went over to the ice rink for Babies and Toddlers’ Skating.  Brilliant.  £2.50 for Son 1 aged 4y 2m.  There was an inflatable snowman, giant balls, big paddles, a big pile of snow with spades and buckets, pushalong toys, sleds and artificial snow falling every 15 minutes or so.  Son 1 skated, propped by a parent, and eventually got up to shuffling around on his kiddie skates alone.  Son 2 aged 14m was towed around on sleds, and spent a great deal of time pushing a Winnie The Pooh aeroplane from one edge to the other, stopping occasionally to push buttons to make Eeyore or Piglet pop up.  Son 1 was in raptures when the snow fell, dancing, laughing, trying to catch it.  And boy, did he want a snowball fight over at the snow pile.  Too many books.  We will go again.  We had to give up after Soon 1 fell over outside the rink and cracked his face on a metal prop.  He then crawled into the cosi toe on the Big Pram because he was so cold.  And we had to carry Son 2.

We went to a cafe for lunch with some Friends we’d met there.  We gave Son 1a hot chocolate to warm him up.  He ate all the marshmallows off the top and left the drink.  He then did his usual screaming circuits.  We were there with Friends with a nearly-three year old, and Son 1 led him down the rocky road to rack and ruin.    There was also a Garden there, and we took the boys round one part.  Son 2 insisted on finger-walking and climbing up stairs, but could not understand why he wasn’t allowed to root around in the borders, rockeries and flowerbeds.  Tantrums, back-arching.  There was a Christmassy Performance Artist in the garden doing a turn for children, and they all enjoyed it.  Son 1 adopted Nursery pose. Sitting cross-legged at the front, hand shooting into the air to volunteer for everything.  We have a fragment of Santa’s coat from last year, and we wrote labels of Things We Are Going To Do For Other People to hang on a white-sprayed tree.  Son 1 is going to Be Kind To Santa.  Son 2 is going to go Straight To Sleep.

This evening I went running.  It was bitterly, bitterly cold.   In the Good Old Days, I ran occasionally at night, but I never remember being this cold.  I was out of the house and straight into a Northerly and I was freeeeeeeeeeeeeezing.  Better on the way back of course, with the wind behind me.  But still really Not What I Am Used To.

Advent

1.  The Mystery Of Faith

2.  Let There Be Light

3.  The Patience Of Job

Son 1 aged 4y 2m and I went to Church.  First Sunday of Advent.  We sat at the back.  He burnt his fingers on a boiling hot pipe running along the wall just above the floor.  We were taken through a side door to a little kitchenette.  The water was so cold that Son 1 soon decided his fingers didn’t hurt anymore.  He did a puzzle at the back.  Then he reached into his Parkha pocket.  “I’ve got something for you,” he whispered.  And produced a handful of bigger-than-pea gravel.  “Where did you get that?” I asked.  “From the beach,” he whispered.  He coloured in his stones with the Church’s felt tip pens to make jewels for his Treasure Chest.  

Late Afternoon we walked down to The Square for the Parade to switch on the Town’s Christmas Lights.  Son 2 aged 14m was trussed up in his cosi toe, happy in his woolly hat.  Son 1 had four layers on including a fleece and his Parkha.  He was too tired to walk down and rode on The Man’s shoulders.  He wanted candy floss, which his Favourite Thing in All The World, even though he’s never tasted it.  In The Square it was perishing.  Son 1 sulked over candy floss, Santa helium balloons, although a friend supplied some raisins in yoghurt which quietened him.  The Parade started.  We were behind the Samba band and the Mayors’ parties, but in front of Santa.  There were sweets. Lots of them.  Lollies and haribous and chocolates, handed out from great carriers full.  Carols were sung, the Lights went on.  I listed Son 1’s sugar intake as I cleaned his teeth: ice cream, yoghurt raisins, haribous, lollipop, more jelly sweets, candy floss, more haribous and raisins.  He bounced off the walls like a squash ball.

Son 2 aged 14m woke 4 times in 90 minutes after we put him to bed.  He’s been sick twice, crying himself into gagging because I haven’t rushed up.  I’ve just cracked and lay down on the double bed with him to get him back to sleep… and that’s taken well over half an hour.  He has started drooling again, so it could be teeth.  It could be separation anxiety - I don’t feel as if I saw a lot of him today… he could be coming down with something…  it could just be too much stimulus from the Lights switch on.  I really thought we were getting somewhere with his sleeping, but that was awful.  And I’ve still got to get him in his cot when we go to bed.  However.  Today I gathered up my 5 remaining feeding bras and threw them out.  Progress Has Been Made.

Faster Legs

1.  Walking pace

2.  Normal Walking

3.  Nearly Walking

Getting to Nursery On Time was a Good Thing.  I got out of the door at exactly the right time to get in the car and go, and get to Nursery avoiding the glacially-paced Monday traffic.  “Where’s the car?” I called to The Man, who’d parked it on Saturday.  “Outside XXX and YYYs,” he said.  XXX and YYY are friends who live 10 minutes’ walk away.  Oh dear.  I wasn’t a very good Example For The Children.  However.  The conclusion is that the longer, rural route to the Big Town is faster than the normal way, despite the mile-long crawl near the Industrial Estate.  Son 1 aged 4y 2m got there in time for the Hellos.

I had to pick him up again at 1.30pm because he had an appointment with a paediatric physio.  I think his right foot flays out when he runs.  She asked me lots of questions, watched him sit, walk and run, and then moved his legs up and down while he was lying on a couch.   She says both feet flay out, but when he’s walking both feet are turned in.  His hip joints in the sockets turn in, so his thighs turn in when he’s tired, so his lower legs flay out.   Stop him sitting in a “W” – which he’s done since he was a baby; he need to be cross-legged.  And get him to stand on one leg, and hop, when he can (he can’t yet.)   In the range of normal, but he’s never going to be an athlete.  Dang, and there’s us with athletes on both sides of the family.  Was it because he was breech? I asked.  She didn’t think so, it’s hereditary.  Somewhere on either side there is another “W” sitter.  It’s just how he is.

Back home and Son 2 aged 14m is almost ready to lift off.  He can comfortably walk eight or ten paces… and managed to slalom through a doorway this evening to get to me when I went upstairs.  He can walk many steps, several times in a row before he pretends to lose interest, plops down on his bottom and goes crawling off to change the subject.  He gives himself a clap before he starts, and then steps out confidently until he lets himself fall into the arms of whoever’s in goal.  And when he totters over to Son 1’s outstretched arms and plops on top of him at the end Mummy’s heart turns to mush.

Milestones

1.  Walking

2.  Writing

3.  Silence Of The Seahorse

Son 2 aged 14m has started choosing to totter a few steps to get where he wants to go.  Rather than crawling.  About one in three times.  He did it today without thinking – as opposed to standing in TA-DA mode, with a huge expectant grin on his face, launching himself forward into doting outstretched arms and making sure everyone’s clapping.  And he did it without us egging him – we kept catching him doing it.  He can walk, often, for 10+ paces  at a time; he can change direction.  His balance is good.  He’s standing confidently for longer periods.  I think today is the first day I can say he is starting to walk.  And from everything we already know about Son 2, we Need Reins.  Now.

I was off today, so Wonder Nanny and I took the boys to the Aquarium.  Son 2 loves fish  -  he repeatedly opens and closes his mouth every time he sees one in a picture, and he was spellbound.  There are some tanks at a good baby height and he stood up against them and stared and stared and pointed and uh-ed and stared.    Son 1 aged 4y 2m was delighted and excited, and loved the sharks and the turtles and the seahorses and spotting Nemo characters.  He drew a sea monster for a display of children’s drawings.  He coloured in a shark in the cafe.   And then, in yellow pencil on white paper (so I now can’t see it) he did a half-decent effort at writing his name.  The letter shapes were there… in order.  Not in scale with each other, not entirely recognisably Roman, and nose-diving down the page.  But it was there.

It was a Good Thing seeing Son 2 so relaxed and comfortable with Wonder Nanny.  In the car we discussed Son 2’s sleeping.  For his  daytime nap, she has a routing to send him to sleep, but if he starts “interacting” with her, she leaves the room.  She’s found it hard over the last couple of weeks.  We both think the MMR whacked his system.  She thinks I should try Controlled Crying at night. Can’t.  I always go back.  This evening I put him down, sang him his lullaby, and he started getting up, biting my hand, sticking his fingers up my nose, rolling over, pressing his head against mine and grabbing the bars of the cot.  That’s interacting, I thought, and I said goodnight, kissed him, and went to Son 1.  Son 2 raged and roared and ranted.  “We’ll do two books,” I said to Son 1, “then I have to go  back to Son 2 because I can’t stand him making that noise.”  ”OK,” said Son 1.  We looked up the things we saw today in his Ocean Encyclopedia.  Son 2 fell silent during the seahorse.

The Christmas Tree

1.  December Sunshine

2.  Decorations

3.  Marvellous Him

We went to The Beach.  Sheltered from the bitter prevailing wind, it was paradise.  Cold, but spectacular.  Blue sky, blue sea, bright sunshine and crisp fresh air.  We shared it only with about 20 dog owners and their hounds.  And a couple of old ladies in swimsuits and hats having a dip in the sea.  Our party numbered four mothers, seven boys aged 4 and under, one girl aged 18m and one old sloppy dog.  The other dogs stayed down by the water (for a change.)  The boys stayed up on the sand (for a change.)  The sloppy dog didn’t try and hump any of the other dogs (for a change.)  And the mad woman with the spaniel who beat the sloppy dog when it tried to hump her dog wasn’t there.  So many Good Things.  Son 1 aged 4y 2m was exhausted, and fell out with his best friend.   Son 2 aged 14m slept for about 20 minutes and was then woken up by boys yelling.  They were not at their best.  I packed up to go and Son 1 played on a wooden table top.  And then slid off, head-first, stuck, upside down, legs on the table, face wedged on the bench.

Son 2 roared, Son 1 whinged. I got them home and fed them lunch.  Er… at quarter to three.  See previous comments about how well they behave for Wonder Nanny, who has never been known to wing a meal.  The Man came back and took Son 1 out to get a Christmas Tree.  I put a reluctant, over-tired, Very Loud Indeed Son 2 to sleep.   A tree arrived, together with a blitheringly excited Son 1.  “We can’t go in the loft for the decorations while Son 2 is asleep.  We’ll wake him up.”  Son 1 has never seen any reason to mind if Son 2 is awake.  This has been the root of a great deal of tension between him and us over the last 14m.  We went in the loft for the decorations.  Son 2 woke up.  Nanna came round.  The tree was decorated.  The little boys were entranced.    

And through it all,  Son 2 walked.  Ten and twelve steps at a time.  Backwards and forwards in the kitchen, wearing his Marvellous Me expression.  Wobbling round the beds upstairs.  To the washing machine.  On the beach, just a little bit, to show everyone what he could do.  And then afterwards he needed a finger to hold on to.  This is obviously confidence-gathering time.  But he walked for Nanna, he walked for The Man and he walked for Son 1.    He cuddled Son 1 before they went to bed, he fell asleep almost straight away, and he’s (so far) stayed asleep.  Mmmm.  Is it possible that this Walking Thing might sort out the Sleep Problems?

A Spoonful Of Sugar

1.  Christmas Play

2.  Play Date

3.  Cold Play

Our First School Play.  We Are So Proud.  Son 1 aged 4y 2m was a robin.  Brown tights, brown long-sleeved tee-shirt, red belly tied round his tummy.  Painted brown nose.  He had to flap a lot with the other robins, and looked very worried throughout.  But all the best robins look worried.  How the other parents must have wished their children weren’t on stage with ours.  Eclipsed, outshone, overshadowed by the best robin ever.  We of course was robbed, and he should have been Joseph.    Only that was Lifestyle Guru Hairdresser’s son.  A non-speaking part.  And he had a tea-towel on his head so no-one could see how well his hair was cut by his Mummy.

We only just made it back home before some of our Wednesday Friends arrived for tea.  They are mid extension-building, and are now down to just a microwave to cook with.  I’d made stew.  Farmshop meat, organic everything, mash, broccoli/cauli and cheese sauce.  The Man, the Mother and I wolfed ours.  The children – Son 1, Son 2 aged 14m, and the guests, boys aged 4 and 2 – ate nothing.  The Man begrudgingly agreed that the leftovers could go home with the Mother to her partner, who was putting an extra coat on the kitchen.  Son 1 and his friends ate iced buns.  The icing off the iced buns that is.

The children went down to sleep relatively easily, but it was very late.  At 10 past 8 I went downstairs.  The lounge looked like a plane wreck.  The dressing up box had been looted and spread out over the carpet.  Various bits of various outfits were hanging up on the stairgate.  The kitchen had dirty pans, plates and plastic pots on every surface.  And The Man had gone to bed.  I went for a run.  And I started thinking positively.  The lounge wouldn’t take long to do.  The kitchen would be easy.  It rained.  This is ok, I thought.  I’m a runner.  I’m getting wet, but I don’t care.  The rain got heavier and heavier.  Being positive, I thought, at least it’s not too cold, and at least it’s not windy.  It pelted down.  So hard that yard-wide puddles appeared before me… so hard my hair was plastered to my head, so hard my feet were squelching in my socks.   Then I reached half way.  When I finally arrived home I was drenched through and freezing. And The Man had tidied the lounge, and was making a start on the kitchen.

Last Glance Back

1.  Past

2.  Present

3.  Yet-To-Come

We are slowly but surely leaving babyhood behind.  I feel like I’m on the deck of a ship looking back at a land I won’t visit again.  Pang.  Walking is now the preferred mode of getting about.  There is still a lot of plonking down on the bottom, there is still some dropping down and crawling, there is still a lot of pushing child-size plastic chairs up and down the kitchen (being lapped by Son 1 aged 4y 2m doing the same thing.)  But 90% of the time Son 2 aged 14m is, without thinking,  choosing to walk.  It’s great.  Feet wide apart, eyes bright, and very often carrying something at the same time.  Being Son 2 there is of course a fair crack of pace already.

The new way to Son 1’s Nursery goes past the Old Nursery.  Son 1 always waves as we go by.  “Shall we take them a Christmas Card and a present?” I asked this morning.  So after I picked him up tonight we pulled over and I rang.  And we dropped in.  Four nursery nurses there to greet us, all of whom were there when Son 1 started aged < 6m.  They cooed over Son 1 in his uniform.  Haven’t-you-grown, they exclaimed.  How we miss Son 2.   Son 1 gripped my leg like a koala up a tree and buried his face in my coat.  He didn’t know any of the children, who were all under 3 years old.   It’s still loving, and it’s still lovely, but we were right to move him.

Today’s other Achievement was a pile of Christmas Shopping. Tower of Doom, various monsters, angler fish set and a Ben 10 Omnitrix for Son 1.  And a farm puzzle and a Winnie The Pooh bath set for Son 1.  Yes I know there’s a slight imbalance there.  What does everyone else do?  Son 2 is impossible.  He doesn’t play with any age-appropriate toys.  He likes Son 1’s toys.  The more chew-off-and-choke pieces, the better.  His Favourite Thing Ever is switching the telly off. Pressing the button to make the DVD drawer come out.  Playing with (adult) mobile phones.  Pressing the house phone buttons (so far no emergency services have been summoned, but it’s only a matter of time.)  Shape sorters and plastic talking toys simply won’t Shake His Pot.  He might have to have the Omnitrix.

Heavenly Children

1.  The Heavenly Child

2.  The Little Boy

3.  The Perfect Cuddle

“Son 2, switch off the telly,” said The Man this morning, as we went down for breakfast.  Son 2 aged 14m tottered across the bedroom and switched off the telly.

We have some Sophisticated Cosmopolitan Friends who have just, long after everyone else, had their first baby.  Possibly even later starters than us, but we can’t remember how old they are and we’re too polite to ask.  We took the Boys around today to meet the New Arrival, who is 4 weeks old.  A Heavenly Child.  Perfect little face, pointy chin, deep blue eyes, teeny tiny hands, feather light and just generally all-round wonderful.  Son 2 aged 14m in his 6 – 9 month trousers and top suddenly looked almost hulking.  They have a Maternity Nurse to get the New Arrival into a routine, so that by the time she leaves when he is three months he will be in A Routine And Sleeping Through The Night.    I  swear not a muscle moved on my face.

Son 1 aged 4y 2m wanted to watch telly this afternoon, so I took Son 2 outside.  We played out the front, and he twinkled at the passers-by.  Our haul was one old man, who said hello, and was rewarded with an “Awoh” when he was about twenty yeards past our house… our neighbour from down the road, walking by with her friend, who stopped for a Haven’t-You-Grown and a Goodness-You-Are-So-Like-Son-1… and our next-door neighbour’s son, dropping off Christmas presents.  The Easterly wind did for us, and we went into the back garden.  Son 2 leapt onto Son 1’s old pushalong car, and propelled himself around on it.   I pushed him up the slope, he pushed himself down.  He got on, he got off, he got back on again.  He was great, so independent and such a boy.

The Good Thing about tea was that I cooked, and we all sat down to a meal together.  The slight snag was Son 1, who got up 40 times, and crowned his evening by trying to stack up the table mats and tipping over The Man’s wine.  Sent to bed.  No pudding.  No books.  Which meant I had longer with Son 2.  And after his bath, one of those brilliant moments.  My uncuddly, hyperactive little boy snugged down and gave me a massive cuddle.  “Aaaaaaahhhhhh,” I said.  “Aaaahhhhhh,” said Son 2.  He would usually have been rockhard rigid, trying to get away, or sticking his fingers up my nose,. Tonight, even when I said “Lie down please like a good boy so I can put your nappy on,” he clung and went “Aaaaaaahhhhh,”  It lasted ages.  And then I looked over his head. He was hugging me, but one arm was outstretched, tracing the pattern on the bath with his finger.

Talking Animals

1. The Look After Shop

2. Fur And Feathers

3. Fish and Chicks

The Man left at 0330 on a Business Trip.  A crisp, clear, cloudless day. Son 1 aged 4y 2m wanted to go to the Bird Park. En route we passed some Boarding Kennels. “It’s the Look After Shop,” said Son 1. “For dogs and cats and birds and mice and guinea pigs.” We picked up Nanna. Son 1 and Son 2 aged 14m played in the toddler area. Son wanted to play in the Ball Pool; Son 1 on the climbing frame, his Pirate Ship. I have resolved to play together as a threesome wherever possible, so Son 2 and I joned Son 1 on the Ship. Son 2 chatted and waved and Arowed-ed. Son 1 ran away. Son 2 loved it. A wall up to his nose? Up went the leg to try to climb. He sobbed in fury when I picked him up during his attempt to walk across the rope bridge. “So what if my feet are so small they fall through each hole in the net… leave me here PLEASE and I’ll work it out.”

By early afternoon, both were exhausted, but didn’t want to leave. Son 1 lay down in the ball pool. Son 2 refused to go in his Pram. Plank Boy. “If you go in your pram, I’ll take you to see some owls and penguins and parrots,” I said softly. Son 2 let me buckle him up. “What do you say to an owl?” I said. “Ooooo,” he said. At the Owls, I took him out so he could see them better. He stared and pointed. And then refused to go back in the Pram. “I’ll take you to see some rabbits if you go in your Pram,” I said. Again, he folded at the middle and sat quietly while I strapped him in.

Son 1 fed the goats with gusto. Well, goat food really, but it was the first time he’s been casually confident in feeding them. Like always, I fed the big goats to distract them so he could feed the babies. This time though he enjoyed himself so much he didn’t care what size he ended up with. When our bags were finished I picked up discarded goat food out of the long grass so he could keep feeding them. He danced around me waiting for each pellet. Son 2 fed the babies, but kept trying to eat the goat food himself. We fed a Black Sheep. Did you know Black Sheep have Black Tongues? We missed the penguin feeding time, but we watched the otters. They had chicks and fish and hearts and quail.

Ladybird, Ladybird

1. Early Bird

2. Mocking Bird

3. Homing Pigeon

Son 2 aged 14m woke at 0425am, calling for me. The insistent, foghorn: waaaah waaaah waaaah. I’d gone to bed at midnight, so decided to give him 10 minutes. He realised I wasn’t coming straightaway, and lost his temper, arpeggio cries getting angrier. And then he went back to sleep. I think the sleeping has been better since he started walking. I got up at 0530, so we wouldn’t have a mad rush for Nursery. We still had a mad rush for Nursery.

I drove to the Whacking Great City (population 125x The Town’s) for The Office. 3 Hours + A fine, cold morning, but wet roads. The car I’ve only just taken through the car wash was covered in crud. Windscreen washers all the way. BC I went to WGC a lot. But I haven’t been since long before Son 2 was born. I parked the car, and instantly noticed better-trained classical buskers. Ours are a bit folky. And surely in the old days there were never as many women with pushchairs. Wherever I looked, mothers were pushing sleeping moppets, alert pre-schoolers or fat swaddled babies in buggies and prams. While mine were 200 miles from my side. Ladybird, Ladybird Fly Away Home. She was definitely a Working Mother.

And then I had to get back for Wonder Nanny, who had already agreed to start early and leave late. I left the meeting later than I thought. Then I had to stop for some Office phone calls. Then there was a crash on the Motorway. The the fuel light came on. I cruised along ignoring it, knowing where I was going to stop. I pulled in. The garage was shut, coned off, three police cars parked on the forecourt, bright fluorescent jackets visible inside. There’d been a police incident, said a staff member. “Where’s the next garage?” I asked. 12 miles Thataway, or 3 miles back the way I’d just come. When I got home, Son 2 was asleep but Wonder Nanny had let Son 1 stay up. I put him to bed, and went downstairs. There was a card from the police on the mat. Next door but two was burgled today. Ring if we know anything.

Treasure

1. Bottled Treasure

2. Forbidden Treasure

3. Little Treasures

I heard Son 2 aged 14m at about 0605, and left him. He didn’t sound too bad… but then started to get louder and I went in at about 0645. He wanted food and milk, so we went downstairs. I gave him a snack and then got my bottom smacked by a gorgeous, grinning, blue-eyed younger man. Aged 4y 2m. We had a reasonably sedate start to the day, although I had to be dressed for the BT engineer who was coming at 8am. And I had a huge, lethally-jagged broken whisky bottle to give the recycling men. Well over 20 years since it contained whisky. Son 1 broke it yesterday. “Why did you keep playing with it when everyone told you not to?” “Because of the money inside.”

The BT engineer didn’t turn up, so out we went. We saw a neighbour from next-door-but-two, and asked about the burglary. Credit card swipe entry on a yale lock at 5pm, went in, took a laptop, iPod and money, then walked into the next room, was surprised by someone there and then strolled out, carrying the gear. We went to the Museum. Son 2 was walking round, triumphant, independent, and wearing his Aren’t-I-Great face. Then a 2 year old pinched him. The saddest, mouth-turned down, can’t-breathe-too-upset expression ever, and he dissolved into lengthy howls. Son 1 and his 4 year old friend were in pirate costumes. Son 1 had kindly taken the friend a sword so they could both fight. Son 1’s sword was twice the length of the one he lent his friend. They sat side-by-side at the crayoning table. Pens, paper, glitter, glue, an odds-and-ends box and scissors had been provided for children to make Christmas Cards. Son 1 and his friend made Treasure Maps instead.

Our friends weren’t lunching, so the boys ate snacks and sandwiches, and then I got them a plate of chips while I had a coffee. They were great, they sat together, they ate their chips, they drank their drinks, they played with each other, they chatted (Son 1) and chirruped (Son 2.) Back at the house Son 2 insisted on playing outside in the front garden. He got a man to say “hello,” within minutes… and Son 1 was chatty to another one of our neighbours from way down the Terrace. She’s always stopped to talk to him, and he’s always hidden behind my legs/coat and done the Shy Boy routine. Again, good to see him with a bit more social confidence. We raced across the gravel, all three of us, me holding Son 2’s hands, Son 1 winning each time, Son 2 giggling, squealing and hooting till his legs couldn’t run any more.

Baggage Handling

1. Vanity

2. Brevity

3. Immunity

Before Children I travelled around the UK. From about 1996, I put together a very nice set of matching luggage. Big suitcase, bigger suitcase. Garment carrier. Cabin bag. Vanity case. Before airline luggage restrictions, and before WAG bags, I used the vanity case for overnights, tripping from airport to airport in my suit and high heels, carrying my little statement square box. After luggage restrictions it became a bathroom receptacle – the place all the lotions and potions go to keep things tidy. Son 2 aged 15m loves to play with it, getting out all the bits and bobs and putting them back in again. This morning I put it on the floor for him, he opened it and waddled off. And then Son 1 aged 4y 2m went into the bathroom, lifted the loo seat, got distracted, arc-ed round and peed into my beautiful, expensive, link-with-the-old-me vanity case. Usually when he misses it’s a few spatters. This time it was sopping.

Son 1 and I had a great trip into Nursery. Out of the house on time, stuck in traffic lights, but then the roads so clear that he 1 said: “This is good, Mummy, isn’t it?” “Really good,” I said. “Where do you think everyone’s gone? What do they know that we don’t?” “They’ve gone to the hospital,” he said. “They’ve all got sore throats.” We parked by the mushrooms so Son 1 could walk on the muddy path. Part of which is now blocked by construction fences, a clinker road and diggers. Since Monday. We were so early I got to talk to the teachers. Son 1 sat down demurely at a table colouring in with a yellow pen while I went through the physio findings.

Son 2 had another jab. I took him – I hate the thought of his doing anything stressful without his Mummy. He had a great time playing with the toys at the Doctors’… he smiled and twinkled at the nurse… and then she stuck the needle in his fat thigh. His face disintegrated and he HOOWWLLED. And then he shrank away from her as she tried to mop up and put a plaster on his leg. It was the last one thankfully – I hate him having them. I looked on the bright side; it was great seeing Son 2 during the day for a bit. (But I still hate them.)

Staying Power

1.  Warming Up

2.  Endurance Event

3.  Prizegiving

Wrecked this morning. Cold-ridden.  Exhausted. To bed at 0130.  Woken at 0630 by Son 1 aged 4y 2m screaming the place apart.  Son 2 aged 15m woke up.  In the summer, when it’s warm and light, Son 1 padded upstairs and clambered into the Big Bed.  Now it’s cold and dark he just screams and screams till a parent goes and gets him.  And by the time we get there of course his brother is awake.    

Not a day to aim high.  I needed to take a suit to the dry cleaners (dropped melted butter down the skirt yesterday rushing to get ready for Nursery) and we wanted more library books.  But that was about it.  I had dreams.  Both boys were so tired, I thought if we put them in the prams and pushed, they would nod off, and there would be a few minutes’ Peace On Earth for The Man and me.  Well we went to the library, where Son 2 pulled out all the baby  books, all the early reader books and started on a little pile of DVDs… and we went through The Town.  All the way to The Square.  Son 1 was singing Jingle Bells and Son 2 was cooing and calling All The Way.  I told Son 1 he could have a sweet from his Trick Or Treat bucket if he had a snooze, and the poor boy really tried… but nope.  Pulling the buggy hood down over you and pretending didn’t count.

When we got home we did our usual late lunch for starving boys, and then  I snuggled Son 2 to sleep on the double bed in his room.  He was way past wanting to nap, but was happy having a cuddle with me.  I have made cuddling progress with him at last, but it has been a long haul.  From being ramrod alert the whole time, and viewing Mummy’s arms as something you use to reach things or transport you, he is slowly starting to relax and snug in/cuddle when he’s asked.  And he even does it now without being prompted.   The feeling of a soft, fluffy head snuggling in under my chin is a money-can’t-buy luxury I wish I could somehow save.

Santa, Snow And Reindeer

1.  Be Good For Goodness Sake

2.  A Winter Wonderland

3.  Santa Baby

Had a lie in till 0715.  Heard the boys and The Man downstairs but couldn’t get up and didn’t. Eventually a cup of coffee arrived, and then Son 1 aged 4y 2m.  I tried reading to Son 2 aged 15m, but Son 1 was maddening.  Loud, boisterous, destructive, annoying.   Eventually I said “What is in your head when you behave like this?” He said: “My heart is broken because Son 2 is getting all the Mummy Time.”  Ah.    They  both do this.  They’ll both take turns and be sensible when it’s just me, but as soon as The Man or Nanna is added to the equation – which I think will make things easier – they both squabble and roar and irritate, ready to fight to the death not to be the one who gets the second best.

We went to a Garden to see Santa.  It rained as we drove there, grim charcoal-black clouds getting thicker and lower.   When we arrived the boys were asleep, and the rain driving harder.  And it was ARCTIC.  I bought the tickets and sent everyone else into a barn to keep out of the rain.  “Follow the Christmas Trees to Santa,” said the chap in the booth.  Son 1 wouldn’t pull his hood up because he was wearing his Santa hat, and wanted the Great Man Himself to see it.  And then it started to snow.  Proper, light, swirling, coming-faster-and-faster snow.  It snowed all the way down to Santa.  It snowed while we were waiting and looking at all his small but gorgeous reindeer.   A rainbow arched across the sky… faded and then re-appeared.  “This is how you know it’s really Santa,” I told Son 1.  “He needs the snow for his reindeer, and he’s using magic to make rainbows.”  “With his computer?”

Santa was very well done – he sat in a chair and said nothing, a female helper read “Twas the Night Before Christmas.”  Son 2 was scared, but calmed down for the story.  The eight other children were transfixed.  Son 1 sat straight the whole time, shooting his hand into the air for every question.  At the end they got a toy reindeer and The Man took photos.  When we got outside the snow had stopped, and a man on a tractor was stirring a vast vat of fake foam which was being blasted around Santa’s log cabin as we left.  In the cafe Son 1 took one of the decorations off their enormous Christmas Tree.  “Son 1!” I snapped. “I can’t believe you’ve done that here!  You know Santa is very near – is he sees you do that nothing I can say will get you presents on Christmas Day!”  Total disintegration of small child.  Red face. Distress. Real tears.  The Man had the same effect on Son 2 later on when he gave him a Salt and Vinegar crisp.

A Light In The East

1.  Three Good Things

2.  Bright and Beautiful

3. Moonrise

Son 1 aged 4y 2m is on holiday.  Hooray, no early morning chargearound to get to Nursery.  Wonder Nanny’s birthday, and we’d got balloons and cakes to celebrate.  And a visitor from HQ at The Office, nice to see them, seemed to go well.  So I had Three Good Things… but it’s been a hard day.  Son 2, after his learning-to-walk triumph, tottering confidently here and there for a week or so, has started to fall over again, or plop down on his bottom.  He did it yesterday, he did it today.  Wonder Nanny has noticed it too.  It didn’t happen with Son 1 and I don’t like seeing him do it.  The Man wonders about an ear infection maybe affecting his balance.  I am hoping it’s just stuff babies do.

This afternoon was the funeral of a colleague.  In her early sixties, cancer.  Someone who smiled and laughed always, who adored her family and who helped others the whole time.  She was fantastic to Son 1.  A simple service, hundreds of people there.  I walked back with another colleague and we were in adolescent mood.  It was so unfair.  She would have made so much difference to so many people if she’d been given another twenty years, yet there are people who do get those twenty years who do nothing with them.   We decided she would want us to be positive, and cheered ourselves up.  And then we went to the Wake, where the pub was full of people chatting, and her poor broken-hearted husband who’d given up pretending not to cry.  It was still unfair.

After the children went to bed I posted some Christmas Cards, just to go for the walk.  On the way back, across the river, I saw a faint light on the horizon.  Oh good, I thought, a moon rise.  I’ll stay and watch it because it’ll be quick and it’ll make me feel better.  The smoky cloud was just at hilltop level, and light spread behind it.  Then I realised that the moon must have risen already behind the cloud, because there was only light diffusing over a wider area, with no sign of anything causing it.  And then a molten gold ingot appeared on the horizon.  Fiery, far brighter than before.   A round orange face inched over the hill, a part golden coin gradually appearing,  It was amazing.  The water was still, the cloud was in charcoal smudges across the brightening sky.  Within minutes the gold coin had separated from the horizon, and was slowly lifting off into the sky.  The higher it went, the whiter it became, its reflection shimmering on the still river.  A last message from my late colleague.

Spring In The Autumn

1.  Little Yellow Book

2.  Cuckoo

3.  Late Lambs

Son 2 aged 15m enjoyed his books this morning. We do five if we can… today we got up to seven before he decided to crawl off towards the bathroom.  He pointed and “Am-ma”-d at the book shelf, and then tottered over, reached up, and picked his favourite animal picture book.  Baby Bright.  We sit there flipping through pictures of a horse, a fox, an owl, a parrot, guinea pigs, a zebra, a lion, a dog, a penguin.  Son 2 loves the fish.  Am-ma is his current word for… everything really.  Milk. Mummy.  Fetch that. I dropped that.  I want to switch the light on and off.  He is also doing Uh-Oh if he drops something, and Ah-lo for hello.  Various snap snap quack quack noises for crocodiles and ducks.  Just yesterday and today I’ve noticed him trying to make new sounds.  Maybe that’s why he falls over when he’s walking.

Sickness has gripped The Office, so it was intense and fast-paced with every minute over-filled.    A long, hard day.  I was so late back.  Boys in pyjamas, playing, staying up waiting for me.  Son 2 was legging it for the top flight of stairs as I came up towards the landing.  “Cuckoo,” I said, from the stairs below him, peering through the bannisters.  ”Ah-lo,” he said and carried on trying to escape upstairs.  I took him up while I changed.  He grapped a remote, climbed on a toybox and tried to switch the telly on.  “Am-ma,” he pointed “Am-ma.”  I picked him up and took him downstairs and he launched into a high-Richter tantrum.  I couldn’t cuddle him, I could barely hold him. Plank boy, horizontal in my arms, head thrown back, heart pounding in his little boy chest. I got him back with his animal book, but then when we stopped reading, he tried paddying again.  I put him in the cot and he passed out within minutes.  Overtired.  The  vaccination on Thursday. He’s just not himself.

I’ve changed the name of the blog.   I have a colleague who’s worked in South Africa.   Way before the boys, I remember him talking about an expression there for a child born to an older mother.  A Late Lamb.  It came back to me after Son 1 aged 4y 2m was born.  I like it.  A Spring in the Autumn feel.  Like my boys.

Summer In The Winter

1. Beach Babies

2. He Be Bees

3. Oopsies

The Beach and The Garden. I asked Son 1 aged 4y 2m to keep Son 2 aged 15 out of the way while I took the Big Pram through the kitchen. He led him by the hand to the door. A little figure in a dark blue parkha, holding hands with a fat round anorak half his size, tottering ahead of the Pram. So sweet. Fantastic weather, blue skies, clear air, no wind, crisp and cold. Except on the beach, where Son 1 was running around in his sweatshirt and I took my jacket off. Son 2 walked a bit and played a bit, and then insisted on eating his way through the lunch box.

One of the Wednesday Mums has married in secret. At Halloween. I am absurdly pleased. Hardly anyone we know is married. although Wonder Nanny has just got engaged. Wednesday Mum says it was a necessity – like going for a smear. She asked the Registry Office if she and her partner could have a Civil Partnership, but apparently not. On the way back to the car there were about 20 bees on the flowering Hebes in front of a hotel. Honey Bees and Bumble Bees. Whoops there go the ice caps.

Back home Son 2 fell flat on his face. Nosebleed. Ibuprofen. I sat with the howling child on my knee, dose of ibuprofen in a hovering teaspoon, waiting for breath to be drawn so I could pop it in his mouth. A great globule of blood landed in the teaspoon, turning the cloudy white liquid red. Nice. I put Son 2 to bed and Son 1 and I watched Shrek 2. Then we played with the balloons we blew up for Wonder Nanny’s birthday. They were weasels. They had to be captured, fought, rounded up, thrown downstairs and chased. Son 1 barked orders; I obeyed. Nanna arrived. She too had to obey. I got Son 2 up. He burst a balloon with his toe nail. Mmmm. A little sign that Mummy’s been skiving one of her jobs again.

Presenting Problems

1.   Dawn Presence

2.   Perfect Presents

3.   Present Tense

The Man was away overnight.  I woke at 0615, aware of a presence, a pitter-patter of footsteps, the light touch of hands feeling for me in the dark and a whispered: “Mummy I want a wee.”  “Ok-don’t-worry-I’ll-put-a-light-on.” “It’s coming. Now.”  “Okay-okay-okay.”  We sorted him out, and then Son 1 aged 4y 2m climbed into bed. The idea was that we would cuddle in the cold and have a little snooze.  He didn’t stop talking.  We went downstairs for snacks and drinks, and then heard Son 2 aged 15 m wailing.  “Go upstairs and look after him while I bring the tray up.” Up he went.  Son 2 stopped crying.  When I got up Son 1 had put the lights on, put a balloon in his brother’s cot and was bouncing on the bed to entertain him.  A natural.  I might get him to babysit.

I Christmas-ed shopped at lunchtime.  Nanna is going to see The Family on Saturday, so my meagre pile of presents needed boosting.  And Nanna is going on the train, so the presents must be no weight.  She wanted make-up, which I think is quite cool as she is a lady of a certain age.  I only really managed to get hers, but I was pleased with it.  I looked everywhere for light presents suitable for The Brother and The Godfather.  Socks. Belts. Hankies.  Stuff it we’ll have to pay for lunch next time they visit. Teenaged Niece and Nephew are going to have money, which is all they want anyway.  And then I bought two more books for Son 1.  I had a long, long look for stocking fillers for Son 2.  I really am finding him very hard.  He’s got an ambulance Son 1 picked for his birthday that he likes, but other than it’s remote controls, computers, wires, phones and stairs.  And books. He likes books.  His latest trick is climbing up on the piles in Son 1’s room and surfing down on the top book, but he does like looking at them as well.

The Man came back from his Business Trip, which was a third Good Thing.   He had the shower on for Son 1 when I came up the stairs, which meant he didn’t hear Son 2 screaming because he’d caught his little baby fingers in a cupboard door.  I keep thinking I should just let Son 2 learn the hard way not to play with doors … but then I flash forward to the interview in the Guardian: “I lost the use of my right hand when I was a year old and my fingers got flower-pressed in the door hinge.”  We did the whole of Son 1’s babyhood with just two stair gates, so we still don’t quite believe the way Son 2 climbs on the the things we put down to stop him climbing.  We’re sure that his accepting, biddable side will emerge in a few more weeks.

Intelligence

1.   Santa Suits

2.  Top Trumps

3.  An Unusual Name

I had something to do for The Office today.  Then we took the boys to see The Town Band.  All dressed as Santas, starting out from our nearest pub, drumming, blowing whistles, singing carols.  Son 1 aged 4y 2 m was in a £2.99 child’s Santa suit with his tambourine, chasing the band, banging away.  He had a friend along as well.  He loved it.  He loved the response to his costume; he loved trying to keep up and catch up.  Son 2 aged 15m was in a Santa suit in the pram.  He had a go on a drum in the pub and loved it.  The Town Band stopped for refreshments at another local hostellry.  The boys were allowed to bang on the bass drum.   They took turns beautifully; 3 boys and two bass drum bangers.

Top Trumps is a spectator sport.  i remember it from my childhood.  My brothers had stacks of packs.  I think, for a reason I simply can’t remember now, that I had Windjammers.  Son 1 has Ben 10.  The MAn bought it for him on his way back from the last overseas Business Trip.  Son 1 loves his cards, and The Man has taught him how to play.  While I put Son 2 to bed, Son 1 and The Man commune.  Over activity  books, over comics, and now over Top Trumps.  Their bonding sessions rarely involve books – that’s what I do. Tonight I arrived early, an exhausted Son 2 having passed out almost as soon as I lay him down.  Son 1 didn’t want me.  He hadn’t finished. I watched him play and I loved it.  The Man and he only compete on “Intelligence.”  It is at the top of the card, and Son 1 can read out the number.  The The Man tells him who has got the highest number.  If it is Son 1, he gets the card.  If it is The Man, Son 1 gets the card.  I found a stray card on the floor.  Eye Guy. I don’t think he’s very intelligent… he seemed to have quite a high Freak score but that doesn’t count.  I handed over the card.

The Man and I were invited to a party, but had no babysitter.  I went anyway, figuring he never talks to me when we are out anyway.    I met some interesting people. I met someone who has just started at The Office who has an unusual first name.  Son 2 has an unusual first name.  “He will hate it as a child, but love it as an adult,” said my colleague.  I went for one drink and stayed for seven.

Anticipating Santa

1.  Spelling Out

2.  Pigging Out

3.  Running Out

Son 1 tells us he Cannot Wait For Christmas several times a day.  There are presents under the tree from some friends.  They are driving Son 1 aged 4y 2m mad.  He can’t stop feeling, poking, peeling and shaking.  “Who are they for?”  He asked.  “We don’t know.  We’ll have to see what Santa says.”  Son 1 investigated further.  “This one’s for me.  Look.  It says ‘Son 1′ on the card.”  Another lurch further forward down the bye-bye-baby path.  The one where you realise he’ll now always recognise his name when he sees it written.  The veg man cameth, bringing vegetables, mince pies, cheese, yoghurt and bananas.  The turkey is coming tomorrow.  And the eggs.  I showered with both boys playing in the bath at my feet, plug in, bubble bath squirted.

After breakfast Son 2 aged 15m played with the zoo, making animal noises, pulling the fence to pieces, stuffing animals in the pens. I put him down for a sleep, lying on the double bed next to him.  Then I went upstairs with Son 1, who wanted to lie down and watch a video.  Babe.  He managed to watch the whole thing without clocking what upset Babe enough to run away.  And as the closing credits ran, I asked what he wanted for lunch.  “Anything,” he said. And then thought: “Sausage. And mash. And beans.”  Splendid.  One vegetarian in the house is quite enough.

Granny and Granddad have come for Christmas, staying in the hotel down the road.  Son 2 and I went shopping, while Son 1 and The Man went down to say hello.   We all met up in Boots.  In Marks, Son 1 chose the cake for after Christmas Dinner.  At home they all played upstairs while I made what seemed like industrial quantities of Shepherd’s Pie.  The boys gobbled it up.  Son 1 ate some kale – how I love my small triumphs.  At bedtime Son 1 was playing his Ben 10 Top Trumps again.  And showing no sign of speeding up so I could read to him.  “I want to go running.  Do you want to play Top Trumps or have your stories?”  “Top Trumps,” he said.  I kissed him and off I went.  I won’t do that again.  When I came back, he was asleep, so I had a shower to wake him up.  He stayed asleep.  And I woke Son 2.

A Christmas Birthday

1.  Garden Party

2.  Sliding Down

3.  Wrapping Up

A Little Friend is 3 today.  His party was at a Nearby Garden.  I’ll take all the Christmas presents, I thought, taking a pile of five downstairs to wrap.  In front of Son 1 aged 4y 3m, while Son 2 aged 15m was napping.  Son 1 went nuts.  He wanted the little plastic paint-me figures, he couldn’t keep his fingers out of the Meccano boxes, he lifted the flaps in the  books.  Of course I gave up, and we just took Birthday Boy’s.  Son 1 wore his Santa outfit.  We went straight to see Santa in his grotto; 8 little boys aged 4 and under, 1 two-year old girl.  Santa was great, the grotto was great.  Is it me or are they getting better?  Santa asked all the little boys what they wanted for Christmas.  Son 1 couldn’t speak when it was his turn.  “A Knight’s Tower,” I said, “with some Monsters.”  “And what about this little one? ” said Santa.  “An iPod,” I said. “Or a mobile phone.” Santa stared and waited for a sensible answer, while small boys giggled and said “No-o,” Teletubbies fashion.  I made up a Farm and some bath toys.  Outside, Son 2 stared, rapt, at the mighty camera wielded by Birthday Boy’s parents, reaching out his little starfish hands for the buttons.  Sorry  darling, Santa didn’t believe me when I told him what you’d like for Christmas.      

The children had their faces painted.  They were all blue Power Rangers, which made Son 1 a Santa with a blue face. Lunch was served in the playground.  It was a dry, clear day so the children ate chocolate sandwiches and chased and slid and climbed and squabbled.  Son 2 reached for me every time Wonder Nanny picked him up.  That matters more than it should.  She lay him down on his back and dropped him down the slide… I caught him at the bottom.  He laughed and laughed and then started panicking in case we weren’t going to do it again.  Son 1 complained that Older Brother had hit him.  “You don’t need to tell me,” I said.  “Santa is very close and he’ll be watching Older Brother and won’t bring him any presents.”  They made up.  Cake was served.  Two more boys we know, aged 4 and 2 turned up, with their dad.  The children played, the grown ups chatted.

Some went home, we went back towards the grotto so Son 1 could make a Christmas Table decoration.  Red candle, a bit of clay, a base and all the foliage you can get in for a pound.  Son 1 did a very good job.  We put the boys in the car, they were both asleep by the time we got back to The Town, so I did a quick shopping run around Asda.  Trolley logjam.  Granny and Granddad came round to see the boys, who were fizzing with tiredness.  After bedtime, The Man and I wrapped present after present after present.  Son 2 has about 6 things, Son 1 about 15.  Must get something for Granny and Granddad tomorrow.  And for The Man, I suppose.

Shortest Days

1.  Christmas Cuddles

2.  Sprint Finish

3.  Blinking In The Bath

This morning Son 2 aged 15m was clingy and wonderful.  Even in his high chair, he was leaning forward for a cuddle.  He is outstanding value at the moment.  Son 1 aged 4y 3m just lay in his Ben 10 pyjamas on our bed watching Children’s ITV and complaining every time I changed it to CBeebies because Son 2 was in the room.  I really shouldn’t bother, because Son 2 always toddles up and switches it off.  I wouldn’t, except the wretched child then switches it back on again.  Son 1 did, however, heave himself down three flights of stairs for a goodbye kiss and cuddle.  And then instantly disappeared upstairs again. 

Ran round myself today at The Office trying to catch up with yesterday’s day off, and get ahead for the holiday.  In early and out late.  However, being bright and positive, working Saturday helped hugely, and we got through great chunks of the To Do list.   The Man came into the Big Town for his Business, and got a few more things from the Christmas Shopping list.  I was supposed to get something for myself, but didn’t have time.  Pointy shoes in the sales, methinks.   I didn’t get back in time for Wonder Nanny, which means we haven’t given her her Christmas present.  Oh bother, said Winnie The Pooh.

The boys had been down to The Museum, and were both exhausted, and delirious with excitement at my arrival.  I put them in the bath and they were gorgeous playing together.  Son 2 was trying to pour water from a jug over Son 1.  But the water kept tipping out over his own face, and he was blinking and lipsmacking, Stan Laurel-like, confused.  Son 1 was beside himself laughing, Son 2 wanted to laugh too because Son 1 was borderline hysterical… but couldn’t because he was blinking the water out of his eyes and spitting it out of his mouth… which made Son 1 laugh even more.   Then Son 2 was soaping Son 1’s back, then deciding he wanted a cuddle.. then standing up to cuddle me over the side of the bath (very wet top indeed) and then they started fighting over sharks.  In bed Son 1 whispered “When is Santa coming?”  Granny and Granddad talked non-stop of their antics over dinner.

Christmas Eve

1.  Coffee

2.  Church

3.  Presents

Son 1 aged 4y 3m longs for Christmas.  His tummy hurts.  He is excited.  Santa is coming tonight.  We have a deal that he can open his stocking and the big present under the tree he has his eye on – which he thinks is the Abyss underwater set but isn’t – and then he has to wait till Granny and Granddad get here.  He is also worn out.  Why are my children always so tired?  It can’t be anything to do with their five-hours-sleep-a-night full-time-working Christmas-Eve-but-I’ll-just-bash-a-blog out mother.  The Man went off to Marks for supplies with Son 2 aged 15m at about 9.  I prised Son 1 away from the telly and we met them, and Granny and Granddad for coffee.  Son 1 misbehaved, tired and excited.  Son 2, uncharacteristically, fell asleep in the Big Pram.

I took them to church.  The vicar wrote us a letter for a C of E school saying we attend from time to time, and I don’t want him to go to hell for lying.  We met some Wednesday friends there.  Son 1 and Older Brother tore up and down the aisles, played with the toys at the back and chattered, oblivious to proceedings.  Son 2 picked, uninterested, at the greenery arrangements.  In the middle of the reading Son 1 proclaimed “I need a poo,” and off we set, round pews, through doors, over concrete flooring, through an office, via a robing room (oops, that’s not it then) to the Tiny Loo.  We took Monday’s Birthday Boy with us.   Four of us couldn’t fit in, so we held the door open.  Birthday Boy is known for roaming, and wanted his Mummy.  Son 2 is unstoppable.  Son 1 took forever.  A flight of stairs plunged downwards yards from our nook.  After 10 years the Other Mother arrived, having only just realised I was three-up and out of control.  “This service isn’t very long,” I thought, as we warbled “Away in a Manger” to finish.  Then I realised we’d been waiting for Son 1 for about 20  minutes.

Son 1 put out a mince pie, a sherry and two gold chocolate coins for Santa, and a carrot and milk for the reindeer.  He was allowed to eat a chocolate coin to make sure they were good enough for Santa.  Then he decided to leave only one chocolate coin for Santa, and to put the other one back in his Trick or Treat bucket.  We decided he could leave two small ones out for Santa, but he could eat the big one.   Both boys were asleep at 7pm.  Who’s SuperMummy?  Granny and Granddad babysat, and we went round to our friends’.  We were supposed to be staying for one and then going to the pub, but they had crisps, and champagne, and an open fire, and we were talking and drinking and drinking and talking and then we had to go because G and G don’t really do Late.  Back home I put chocolate decorations on the tree, gold coins in the treasure chest and filled the stockings (not enough stocking fillers, where’s open at midnight on Christmas Eve?) while The Man heaved bags of presents down the stairs and piled them under the tree.  I need to get up at 6am to see to the turkey.  I can’t wait for the morning to come.

Tags: Abyss, aisles, Away In A Manger, chocolate coins, Christmas Day, Christmas Eve, Christmas Tree, Church, friends, Granddad, Granny, loo, mince pie, poo, presents, Santa, sherry, treasure chest, turkey, vicar

Sometimes I Wish That I Could Freeze The Picture

1.  Up

2.  Tummy Ache

3.  Mamma Mia

5am and the screams of a child in mortal peril split the night.  “I SPILLED MY DRINK!!!!! MUMMEEE SOB SOB SOB MUMMMMEEEE SOB SOB SOB.”  I sprint downstairs.  There is an outside chance the situation can be saved, but once Son 2 aged 15m is awake, we are all Awake.  And Up.   The bed isn’t wet.  Son 1 aged 4y 3m isn’t wet.  “What happened?” I whisper in the pitch black.  “My drink slid-ed out of my hand.”  “Where’s your cup?”  “On the floor.”  “Well I’ll leave it till we get up.”  I didn’t want the light on.  That would reveal the Christmas stocking.  And we would be Up.  I snugged down on the bed with Son 1.  Every time I thought his breathing was deepening, he asked “Can I get up yet?”  “No, it’s too early.” “Has Santa been?”  “I don’t know, it’s too early.”  “I made myself wake up early to open my presents.”    Snooze.  I could smell the spilt milk.  “Can I get up yet?”  “No.”  “I want to open my presents so much my tummy hurts.”  It was decades ago, but I can still remember what it feels like to want to open your presents so much your tummy hurts.  It was 0545.  I switched on the light.  Son 1 dived into his stocking.  I went to clear up the milk.  There wasn’t any.  His cup was still on top of his bed where it always is.  It was only a dream.

A present fest.  The boys opened their stockings and then  when Granny and Granddad came at about 0730 we started on the big stuff.  Son 1 ripped through his so quickly he was soon in mourning because everyone except him had some left.  Son 2 tore a few bits of paper off and then continued his remorseless and relentless pursuit of remote controls, mobile phones and electronic gadgetry.  He only came alive once every bit of wrapping paper had been stuffed into a great big carrier, whereupon he dealt with it in the traditional baby manner.  I rang Younger Sister at 11am.  She has Godfather, Nanna, Elder Sister, Godfather’s Mother, and Godfather’s Brother for Christmas lunch.  I told her about Son 1 and the early start.  “I want to open my presents so much my tummy hurts,” she said.  “But we’re still waiting for people to get up.”  We had  a turkey crisis.  The Man had put a fridge up in his Shed to house the overspill food.  He cranked up the temperature and put the turkey in it.  Then last night when he took it out he’d frozen it.  We had the heating on all night to thaw it, and this morning it was just very chilly indeed.  So it took forever to cook.  But we got there, and, at the time of writing, our meat-eating company of two pensioners, two under-fives and a Bloke is all still alive.  Son 1 and Son 2 were in pieces late afternoon, and we just plopped them in the bath.  In bed, Son 1 said “I love Christmas.”  “So do I.”  “I love you Mummy.”  “Oh that’s a kind thing to say. I love you too.”  “You’re so lovely,” and he snugged into my arms.    

Quarter to seven and they were both in bed, asleep.  Granny and Granddad had gone back to their hotel.  Nothing on telly.  “What about Mamma Mia?” I suggested, having bought it at the end of November, and not having managed to get near it since.  “You watch it, I’ll do this computer,” said The Man, who needed to wrestle with a laptop.  So, a couple of glasses of Cava, The Man till half way through “It is a bit of a chick flick, isn’t it?” “Honestly, it’s a war film. They’ll start shooting at each other any minute.”  I have got so many DVDs I buy and never watch.  Truman Capote. Jackson Pollock. Can’t remember.  Can only remember those because they’re people.  I am sure one day there will be More Time.  Anyway.  A very nice Christmas movie, Not As Good As The Show. Which I think I saw twice.  Can’t remember that either. Mailbox Is Full.  I liked:  Meryl, because she must be nearly 60, and that means I can still be Youthful and Fun and Fashionable when the boys are 20.  The songs, because I was there, queueing round the block to see Abba The Movie in 1978 when the first showing was full.  Pierce Brosnan singing.  It just made me laugh.  I think The Man looks like Pierce Brosnan.

This has got to be one of the longest posts I’ve done, but it’s Christmas.  I spared a couple of thoughts for the people who aren’t with their children on Christmas Day – a hell I only recently understood. During the film I thought about the day Son 1 and Son 2 tell me they’re not coming home for Christmas for the first time. And then Son 1, barefoot in his Ben 10 pyjamas, bounding down the stairs to let Granny and Granddad in “Quick quick come in, it’s time to open the presents.”

Skull And Crossbones

1.  Whiteout

2.  Green slime

3.  Red eyes

A murmer from Son 2 aged 15m this morning, and The Man was gone.  I passed out again.  And was woken when a wall of light exploded in my brain.  It burned my eyes and seared my skull like it was bleaching my roots from the inside.  TheMan, I thought fuggily. Itmustbelateandhewantsmeup.  A flutter beside me.  “Mummy here’s a present for you.  I found it. ” Son 1 aged 4y 3m.  I’d left a tub of eyecream under the tree yesterday, because I knew what it was, and because I was busy.  “I’m sorry I opened it.” “That’sallright.Turnthelightoff.”  “I can’t reach the light.”  “You can reach the light. You turned it on.” “I can only reach it to turn it on.  I can’t reach it to turn it off.”

Son 1 had several pirate things for Christmas, including a game in which you fill a plastic skull with slime and have to fish plastic coins out of it.  I checked the list written in haste on a Christmas card.  I didn’t write down who it was from.  That means we can’t thank them.  I put Son 2 to bed, we filled up  the skull and off we went.  Son 1 fished with relish while I checked his coins were the right ones.  I got good at flicking through the ones in the slime to see which ones they were.  The Man lost, but he was the only one with a clean hand at the end.  There was a lot of slime on the FT, and a lot down Son 1’s top.  He won.  Granny and Granddad arrived as I was washing the coins, and declined the offer of a game with our champion.

Son 2 ate leek and potato soup for lunch, which was a Good Thing because he’s eaten nothing but sausages and sweets for the last two days.  Granny stayed in, and Granddad, The Man and I walked the boys down to The Square.  Son 2 was swaddled up in the Big Pram, Son 1 was in his parkha and my big leather gloves.  Son 1 ran and chattered all the way down.  Unfortunately he misunderstood what The Man said we were doing, which was walk down to The Museum and have a coffee in The Square while the children ran about.  Son 1 thought that meant we were going in the Museum.  And it was shut.  He howled and real tears flooded his face.  He rode on The Man’s shoulders on the way back.  The walk did him good – he was asleep before we’d finished his stories tonight.  Son 2 went down well, but has just been up for ages, and The Man’s gone in to sleep with him.  Instant quiet.  It’s got to be teeth.  Those big ‘uns deep in his jaw bone.  The clue is in the way he stands up and gnaws the rail of the cot while he cries indefatigibly for rescue.

A Free Lunch

1.   The Din In The Dark

2.   Sale Rails

3.  The Lunchtime Lull

Oh. What. A. Night.  The Man was already in with Son 2 aged 15m.  Son 1 aged 4y 3m arrived… whenever… clambered over the top of me and plopped in the Big Bed on the other side.  At 3am Son 2 started the loudest screaming fit yet.  Louder, louder, more and more hysterical.  Code for: I WANT MUMMY AND IT IS THE END OF THE WORLD GET HER GET HER GET HER.  It must be an evolutionary thing.  If he makes that noise just because he’s got the wrong parent in bed with him, he’s got to be able to fell bears with a shout under real attack.   I went down.  It took 15 minutes to calm him down; he had so completely lost it.  I slept with him, and he spent the next five hours waking every… whenever… and sobbing his heart out till I soothed him back to sleep.  I planned to get him back into his cot as soon as he went into his deep sleep – he didn’t.  Every time I moved away even an inch he shot out a hand to find me.   I vaguely heard Son 1 and The Man upstairs with the telly, and eventually went up.  It was 0830.  The latest I have slept in a very long time. 

And of course today was the day I wanted to be out of the house at 0830 to get to the Big Town for The Sales.  I skipped the books, skipped the shower, skipped breakfast, skipped dressing children, did my hair, put my make up on and left in 15 minutes.  I called into The Hotel to get Granny’s jumper which needed taking back.  Granny came too.  We did Monsoon - little boy trousers, little boy tops, odds ands ends, we did TK Maxx, we did Jaeger, we did Lakeland.  And we were back within an hour and a half. 

After Son 2’s lunch we packed up the boys and set off for The Square.  It was brutally, bitterly cold, with a gale force Easterly freeze-blasting skin and clothing.  “I’m getting draughted everywhere!” complained Son 1, so we rolled him up in his blanket and sat him in the battered MacLaren.  I tried to  pull the blanket down over his face so he could see.  “Leave it,” he said. “It’s cosy in here.”  By the time we got to The Square we had both boys asleep.  The Man, Granny, Granddad and I had wine, starters, pizzas and coffees while both children slept on.  Never in our Family History have we achieved this.  Granddad paid.  The waitress said they’d box up Son 1’s meal for him.  As we left, they made him a new pizza because his other one had dried out.  When we got home he ate every scrap, including his dough balls.  An honourable mention for PIzza Express.  They didn’t have to do that, but it made a big difference.

Higgledy Piggledy House

1.  Never Land

2.  Creative Conflict

3.  A Whole New World

Son 2 aged 15m woke when The Man went up last night.  I couldn’t get him back to sleep.  Son 2 went in with The Man.  Son 1 aged 4y 3m woke screaming in the small hours I went downstairs and got in with him.  He still soothes himself by stroking my eyebrows and/or eyelashes when he’s tired, and I have to lie on my right side with my face towards him so he can reach them.    He slept, I dozed, until a whispered: “Mummy.  I need a poo.”  We read his new pop-up Peter Pan book till next door woke up.  The Man and I competed over who had had the worst night’s sleep.

The Man went shopping, I put Son 2 down for his nap and went up to where Son 1 was watching telly.  “Shall we paint your Power Rangers now?”  “No, I want to watch this.”  I got my paper.  “No.  No newspapers.  Watch telly with me.”  “Your telly is your fun, my paper is my fun.”  “Reading papers isn’t fun.  It’s stupid.”  We went downstairs and started to paint the Power Rangers.  Every time I mixed a colour for Son 1, he painted the plate we were using with it, rather than putting it on the Power Ranger.  After the third or fourth time of telling him, I started to get annoyed.  “Stop doing that. You’re wasting your paint and I just have to mix even more colour.”  He got cross with me for getting cross.  “Stop it.  You’re a grown up and I’m only a little boy and I don’t know.”  I was forgiven very soon.  “Mummy I don’t want to grow up.”  “Why not?”  “I want to stay with you forever.”   After our artistic differences and deep meaningful exchanges about our relationship, Son 2 woke up.  We had painted one Power Ranger blue, and the other… er… red.

I gave the boys lunch and let them have chocolate cake for pudding.  Hell unleashed.  Every atom in Son 1’s body zinged up and down, back and forth and round and round.  Son 2 juddered about shouting and falling down.  And they fought.  Stepping over the contents of the recycling box – Son 2 is enjoying putting lids on and taking them off milk bottles – the crayon pack from the bottom of the pram, and the bits of washing they’d dragged away from the laundry pile, I packed them up and took them out in the freezing Easterly.     Later we went down The Terrace to see some friends.  The Ones With Girls.  The house was tidy.  The toys were wooden.  Son 2 dived into the olives thinking they were grapes, spat one out, picked another, spat it out, picked another and then gave up and started stuffing them into my mouth.

Whales and Snails

1. Life Of Mammals

2. A New Best Friend

 3. Coming Out Of The Shell

Up a little later.  Linked to going to bed a little later.  At about 2am, after Turkey Casserole for 9.  All right then, for eight, because we had a no-show.  All right then, for six, because there were two vegetarians.  We’ve served up Turkey Casserole about now for years, and the fact we can still do it is a Good Thing.  BC we weren’t bad at having People Round.  And now we’re… still doing Turkey Casserole, hooray, what a positive blog this is.  So the pace was a little slower first thing.  Even Son 2 aged 15m slept in till 8am.  A telly morning.  Of course, we only watch Nature Documentaries, so Son 1aged 4y 3m watched whales on Life of Mammals, spellbound.  Son 2 pointed at the screen and opened and closed his mouth like a fish.  He climbed into Son 1’s Tower of Doom, sat in it and then couldn’t get out.

Son 2 has an Elegant Aunt, who gave him a tasteful pullalong wooden snail for Christmas.  He mastered it today.  The telly watching allowed him to make many many laps of the lounge.  Son 1 unleashed hell, often, by taking it off him.  The snail has been in the kitchen, in the lounge, and was finally taken upstairs at bathtime.  It was still being towed it back and forth while Son 1 was in the shower.  I had to thwart a conspiracy to put the snail in the bath.  Son 2 likes Monkey Puzzle and The Gruffalo.  Snail and The Whale day, I thought.  Touch and go.  Not that interested.  Liked the penguins, the bear, the stranded whale and the fire engine.  Then realised you’re allowed to drive your snail back and forth over the pages every time the word “snail” is mentioned.  Now you’re talking.

I went out for a run.  A Good Thing.  I’ve made lots of excuses to myself over the past week, too tired, too busy, Granny and Granddad here, too late.  The main reason has been the wind.  Too Cold.  So I wrapped up in big thick hat, gloves and gilet and overboiled.  To the Bridge Over The River and back. The pace at the end of the day was also slow.

Making Music, Giving Joy

1.  Champagne

2.  Crunch

3.  New Year Parade 

Nanna and Brother did an early babysitting session yesterday, so The Man and I went out.  Champagne cocktails in a Yoof Bar watching people half our age limbering up to celebrate.  Sets of girls, gangs of lads, dressed in… everything.  Strictly Ballroom costumes… Incredible Hulk bodypaint, birds, Sylvester… Son 1 aged 4y 3m will be delighted to know that he’ll still be able to walk around Town dressed as a pirate when he’s grown up.  Many of the boys had black eyes and split noses.  Bound to be rugby. We headed backfor 2230.  Son 1 will probably not want to know that 25 years after leaving home he may still be rushing to get back for the time he told his Mother.  We opened champagne, chatted, said goodbye, and settled down to crisps and Jools Holland.  At midnight we went to sit in the bay window to look at the fireworks across the river.  In next door’s window, the Christmas tree wobbled, and then our Neighbours appeared, also to watch the fireworks.  They waved at us and we waved at them.  Three police officers walked along the pavement outside, so I waved at them.  They waved back.  The Neighbours raised glasses with us as the fireworks went off.

Another slowish start.  The house is full of new toys, so Son 1 watched hours of telly, playing with his Ben 10 Omnitrix, while Son 2 aged 15m took the three sections of the vegetable rack for a walk round the kitchen and hall.  Son 1 joined in, one section on his head as a helmet.  Son 2 copied him and walked into the fridge.  Son 1 was doing his collie-in-a-china-shop thing, so we took them out.   As we went through The Town we did economics and social history.  “Why are the shops shut?”  “Because it’s a holiday.”  “Is Woolworths on holiday?”  “No, Woolworths has closed for good.”  “Why?”  “Because they spent too much money and no-one would give them any more.”  “So can we never go in it again?” “No.”  WAIL. “I like going in Woolworths. I wanted to buy a Ben 10 tee shirt.”  Then we passed the arty cinema. Son 1 took an events booklet from outside.  He opened it at a still from the Baader-Meinhof film, showing two men shooting at a car.  “Who are these people?”  ”Robbers who captured people a long time ago.”  “Did they kill them?”  “Oh no.  Everyone escaped and the robbers were caught and sent to prison.”  “Did all the robbers get caught?”  “Yes.”  “Did they keep their guns?”  “No, the police took those away.”  “What did they do with them?” “They melted them down and made them into tin openers.”  “What’s a tin opener?”  A child of the ring pull age.

In the still-perishing wind, we trailed over to the Other Side of Town.  Five or six children were marching, Von Trapp fashion, along the lines of dark paving criss-crossing The Square.  Son 1 watched longingly.  “Do you want me to ask if you can play with them?” As he considered, a shout went out from a group of adults on the other side, and the children ran off towards them, leaving The Square empty.  Son 1 went and stood on a dark line.   I stood behind him, and marched on the spot.  He giggled, and off we went, marching up and down the lines.  He started to run, I chased him.  We went back and forth. He ran off towards an unlet shopfront, and hugged a swinging street sign while he caught his breath.  Eyes dancing, cheeks glowing, a wide smile of little white teeth, he looked up at me and said “I love you.”

Well Chosen And Beautiful Essentials

1.  Food

2.  Heart

3.  Laughter

We went for lunch with Brother and Nanna.   Because we got up late, we didn’t get Son 2 aged 15m down for a sleep.  Pizza again, because it worked so well with Granny and Granddad.  Both boys were thoroughly up.  Worn out, hungry and flying.  The restaurant was packed with families, but only one baby was making shrill screeches, and only one child was lying on the floor pushing his brother’s highchair away from the table.   A colleague from The Office arrived with spouse and two small children and sat on a table nearby.  Ah.  Now I couldn’t make shrill screeches at the boys.  The food arrived and they calmed down.

Nanna is breathless, and has been investigated for about three years.  The Lung Expert said it might be angina, and the Heart Expert said it might be asthma.  Nanna has had tests, wires, ops, and everything has come back clear.  She stayed with The Family for Christmas and returned to a letter from her GP.   She has a Heart Thing.  Hereditary.  Her children should go for scans.  The good news is Nanna is a Grand Old Age.  The bad news is I googled the Heart Thing.  It can cause teenagers to drop dead.  I decided I’d ring the Doctor.   He’ll book me in, but I need an ECG and an X-ray.  Appointments today.  The NHS is a Good Thing.  I sat in the waiting room, making the most of the chance to catch up on November’s Country Life.  Storage Solutions.  Apparently I should have only Well Chosen And Beautiful Essentials on surfaces and visible shelves.  It didn’t tell me how to fit the WCBEs on the surfaces and visible shelves when every inch is already covered in clutter. 

I made the Big Bed while The Man bathed the boys.   I could hear Son 2 laughing his little head off… deep, loud chortles from his soul.  Son 1 was also in uncontrolled fits.  There were soft barks back from The Man, and louder and louder Little Boy Laughter.  It was such a lovely sound that I went down to look.  They were splashing him; he was soaked, Son 2 was ringleading and wouldn’t stop… Son 1 ha-ha-ha-d. I went back up.  The Man got cross.  The children laughed louder.  The Man had enough and started snapping at them.  They loved that, and splashed-and-laughed-and-splashed-and-laughed.  The Man got them out.  They came upstairs and lay under the quilt while The Man shook it.  Son 2 sobbed, bereft, when I took him away to bed. It took me 45 minutes and both eardrums to get him to sleep.

A Grand Day Out

1.   Larks

2.   Wild Mutt

3.   Penguins

Another disturbed night – Son 1 aged 4y 3m this time, arriving in the Big Bed, kicking The Man out and keeping me awake for 2 hours.  It is wonderful being so loved by a small boy who wants only to snug up, cuddle and stroke my eyebrows, but he heat-seeks and then pummels, wriggles, tugs and grabs to position his Parent for maximum comfort.  He does it all while he’s stone asleep.  And I am not.  Another late start.  I wanted a Family Day Out.  Just the four of us, after 10 days of friends and family.  The Man was keen on a beach, away from freezing blasts of wind.  Or leaving just enough for a kite.   Son 1 didn’t want to go to the beach.  “Why not?” “Because I have to wash my hair when I go to the beach.”  “Only when you have sand fights.  Where do you want to go?” “To the Bird Park.”  A comedy half hour followed, in which The Man tried to persuade him to go to The Beach.

We went to the Bird Park.  Son 2 aged 15m played in the Ball Pool and toddler zone.  He loved sitting on the air jets, his breath blown away, his wispy fringe vertical, throwing balls overboard.  He flopped in the balls, he switched the jets on.  He followed Son 1 around the Under-5 climbing area, laughing as we sent him down the slide, happy and determined to copy his brother.  Son 1 was Wild Mutt, growling.  And Upgrade.  And Four Arms (I misread that one on the Top Trumps cards.   I thought it said Four Bums.)  The Man took him off round the more advanced gear.  We swapped boys and I chased Son 1 and he chased me.  I climbed and slid and scrambled and clambered.  “Animal Box time,” said Son 1, and at last I got a coffee.

After lunch we played again.  When it was time to move on I asked Son 2 “Would you like to go and see the birds and animals?” and he resolutely toddled off towards his Pram.  “There are owls and parrots and penguins and otters,” I said. “What would you like to see?” ”Raaaargggh,” he said.  Ah.  No lions here, Oh Dear.   We have had three misses in a row at the Penguin Pond.  Small children are allowed to feed the penguins.  Son 1 had a whole bucket of fish to himself one gloomy termtime afternoon when he was 2.  Recently however we’ve lucked out. First, we went in school holidays and there were too many children and Son 1 didn’t get picked.  Then they were cleaning the pool and not doing public feeding.  Then I muddled up the times, and we got there too late.  This time Son 1 got picked and excitedly took off his coat and got on with his task.  Except when I made him stop so I could take pictures.  Which was quite often.

Dances With Penguins

1.  Gardening

2.  Dancing

3.  Running

Son 2 aged 15m slept till 8am.  A record.  Which we expect to stand a while as Son 1 aged 4y 3m is back in Nursery tomorrow.  Oh and we’re back at work. So we have to get up early.  We went out in the garden… The Man in and out of his sheds, us clearing up leaves.  Son 2 played on the ridealong car.  Son 1 got the noughts and crosses out.  He lay across squares to stop me putting my noughts on them… and then he ran off with all my pieces.   I took lots of pictures of the boys, and may have got one or two half decent ones.  We are rubbish at pictures.  There is still not a single picture of Son 2 up in the house.  And the pictures of Son 1 stop when he’s about 2, when we bought a digital camera.  New Year’s resolution.  I will make an effort and get some printed.   

After lunch we walked to the Discount Store at the other end of The Town.  Son 1 pestered for a Ben 10 annual. I said “no,” he melted down, I removed him from the shop.  We trudged back, him Very Unhappy Indeed.  In Tesco, Happy Feet was cheap, so I bought that and we watched it when we got back.  I went down to the kitchen with Son 2 to make a stir fry… after a bit The Man came down to fry some chicken.  From upstairs came the sound of an elephant stomping.  The ceiling shook and the plates rattled.  “What was that?” asked The Man.  “I think you’ll find it was a penguin practising his tap dance,” I said.  At bathtime we asked Son 1 if he’d been dancing like the penguin.  “Yes!” he said, casting off his towel. ”I’ll show you!”  We suggested he wait till tomorrow so he didn’t get Son 2 over-excited.

The wind has changed.  Definitely a Good Thing.  We ‘re usually pretty weather-proof and Do Outdoor Stuff in a hardy, British way through rain, hail or storm.  But the Easterly has beaten us back inside all week.  I went for a run and it was Northerly.  Still cold, but crisp and fun, instead of downright unpleasant.  Oddly, the wind is no longer blowing from the East, and Wonder Nanny will be back tomorrow.  She was supposed to be on holiday, but she was probably riding ponies through pavements somewhere.

Astrophysics

1.  Energy = Mass Times The Speed Of Light Squared

2.  Bonded Particles

3.  Planetary Movements

I have been awake forever.  Bring chocolate.  Son 1 aged 4y 3m arrived in the Big Bed at 2am.  He woke me at 4am, and I couldn’t get back to sleep.  I tiptoed in to Son 2 aged 15m’s room and got into bed.  He stayed asleep, I stayed awake. I  went downstairs at 0520.  Put some washing on, hung some washing out.  Emptied dishwasher.  Made sandwiches.  Drank coffee.  Had breakfast.  Read Sunday Times.  Made snack box for Son 1 after Nursery.  So easy this work and child-rearing thing. Just skip the sleep and the rest falls into place.

Two penguin dances this morning.  Son 1’s was in the bathroom, trying to distract Son 2 so he’d let me put a nappy on.  If a tuning fork lifted its prongs up one at a time, very fast, it would look a bit like Son 1’s rigid-legged, madly-paced tap dance.  And then Son 2, in his usual skewwhiff-didn’t-catch-me nappy, copied.  Laughing, staring up at Son 1 with his “you’re fantastic” look on.  Holding hands, bumping over.  One sight of me approaching with a baby vest and off he zoomed towards the stair gate.

It was just about light when I parked the car to pick Son 1 up.  Two weeks past the solstice and already I can just about tell that the days are getting longer again.  Good Thing.  Spring is on the way, hooray.  The Man and I have worked out why it’s so cold.  It’s Winter.  Son 1 and I headed home in the gloom, a bright, low light in the sky which I assume was Venus.  In the old days I’d know.  We were late, surprise surprise, way past Wonder Nanny’s home time.  But there she was just leaving as we parked the car.  Instantly I mentally blamed The Man – he’s back late, she’s had to wait – but no, she’d been hanging on to see Son 1 because she’s missed him.  Son 2 giggled, pleased to see me, but then exploded into his biggest, loudest, longest tantrum yet.  Being positive, there are probably now several small Universes in existence that weren’t there before.  Pang pang pang.  He was so tired, and he was so pleased to see us, and he just lost it and was overwhelmed with crashing emotions.  I put him in the bath and ran the shower and we got him back in the end.

Twelfth Night

1.    Three In A Bed

2.    Teddy Goes To Lapland

3.    Bracing

MUMMEEEEEEE DADDDEEEE I DID A POOOOOOO……  6am. I catapulted down the stairs because if I can just stop the shouting soon enough then Son 2 aged 15m will stay asleeWAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH.  Son 1 aged 4y 3m was sitting up on his bed in the dark, bewildered, sobbing, and clean and dry.  “Just lie down quietly and I’ll get Son 2,” I whispered.  “NOOOOOOOO. Don’t GOOOOO.”  I picked up Son 2, brought him into Son 1’s room and and plopped him down in the bed.  Son 1 on one side.  Me on the other.  Son 2 snuggled me.  Son 1 cuddled Son 2 and Son 2 let him.  Cherubim and Seraphim bugled away in the Heavens. Son 2 has never lay down in a bed next to Son 1, even though Son 1 has been desperate to have him as his teddy.  I dozed.  We must have been there well over half an hour.  Then a thin little arm snaked over Son 2 so fingers could stroke my eyebrows.  Son 2 tried to get rid of the arm and wailed.  Son 1 wailed: “I like doing that.”  We got up.

I came back from The Office to the sound from the kitchen of Son 2’s liquid laughter and Son 1 chortling, chuckling and squealing.    The Man had taken the paper chains down, and the children were pulling them to pieces, running up and down with bits, and, in Son 2’s case, eating them.  Son 1 ran around, giggling, Son 2 waddled, wide-legged, delighted, and refusing to stop for The Biggest Hug Of The Day.  The Man started dismantling the Christmas Tree.  Son 1 was fine while he could play with the decorations, but as he realised everything was going away was desolate: “It’s a stupid idea.” We read the Christmas books for the last time, and he fell asleep during Teddy Goes To Lapland.

In my Running Years I felt lazy if I’d only exercised 4 times a week, and ran 12 miles every Saturday just to “keep my fitness up.”  I also spent four months  working – and compulsively running – in dark and chilly parts.  And yet I have never, never been as cold on a run as I was tonight.  Frost was already on the cars and the pavements glinted.   My calves felt like knitting needles had been stuck through them, and my toes hurt.  Usually there are four or five people out walking dogs in the evening when I run.  None tonight.  The only other person I saw was a Proper Runner, the smack of their feet on the pavement sounding long before they passed me.  Dressed in a woolly hat, thick woolly tracksuit top and thick woolly tracksuit bottoms.  I was in a long sleeved tee shirt, running tights and rainproof gilet.  Spot the difference.

Cannons And Coins

1.  Photos

2.  Parties

3.  Play

A party invitation today at the New Play Centre.  We tried it last Wednesday.  It didn’t make The Blog because only Good Things get in.  Fluid start time, morning sunlight in our East-facing house, so I put the boys in their Santa suits to take some pictures.  They were playing with the Treasure Chest, which I’d filled with chocolate coins on Christmas Eve.  Son 1aged 4y 3m hadn’t been near it because the Christmas Tree was in the way.  The Tree’s now gone, the Treasure Chest came out and Son 1 Couldn’t Believe His Eyes.  Or his luck.  “Can I eat them?” “If I get some nice pictures.”  He tried, he really tried.  I possibly got a couple of good ones… although the hats didn’t stay on.  And neither did Son 1’s belt.  But Son 2 aged 15m could have cuted for Britain.  That’s it now for his Santa suit.  Pang.

Last week the New Play Centre was crowded, chaotic, understaffed, with greasy spoon food (ONLY FOOD PURCHASED HERE MAY BE CONSUMED ON THE PREMISES) served after ridiculous waits.  Marked with my Never Again biro.  But a close friend is 3, so I said nothing, packed raisins, rice cakes and a large pack of Useby Jan 7 cocktail sausages, and along we toddled.  It was fine this time round, and I’m glad we went back because both Son 1 and Son 2 had such a brilliant time.  Their rope walk is a bit wider than The Bird Park’s… and Son 2’s absolute determination to get across it on his own was fantastic.  All He Cared About In The World.  We were five small boys and a little girl.  We all played in the baby area, we played with cannons firing foam balls, we played on the slides and ball pool, we climbed up, round, under and along.  We ate cake and the sausages were wolfed.

Son 2 was floppy with fatigue.  In the car, I told Son 1 that we couldn’t go to a Wednesday Friend’s house because we were all too tired.  Protest.  All right.  We would go for a Cup Of Tea. “And a little play?”  We went for a cup of tea and we were there two hours.  Son 1 disappeared with his friend and friend’s younger brother.  Another mother arrived with a seven month old girl.  Son 2 was asleep in the Big Pram, but the boys soon woke him up, and he tottered up and down the kitchen raiding the fruit bowl.   Back home I took more photos.  Son 1 posed hard.  I gave him a chocolate coin.  In the bedroom he put his arms round me and said “Thank you Mummy for my lovely day.”  I told The Man about it, fondly.  He didn’t look up from the telly.  “And who do you think put him up to saying that?”

Running Round

1.  Departure point

2.  The Arrival

3.  Destination

I had an Office meeting out in the woolly wilds.  To get there I had to drive through the Village where The Man and I used to live, and round shady country lanes, still icy in the sunlight, leaveless trees silhouetted against the blue sky, rolling fields glowing in the sunshine… All my old running routes.  i ran those roads so often, in so many kinds of weather, that I could almost reach straight back to a morning like today, when only the sound of my feet on the tarmac and a bit of birdsong broke the silence, when I felt cold and warm, alive and envigorated.  An almost senseless network of roads forking, joining, looping and twisting, which I learned by just running along on sunny mornings and choosing left or right randomly.  

A friend living near the venue for the Meeting has just had a 9lb little boy.  The Man and I sorted out baby toys last night.  Pang.  So I stopped off with cards and presents for him and his two brothers. He was gorgeous.  11 days old, soft, floppy, a thatch of black hair, heavenly little hands, a tiny gummy mouth and a little blobby nose.  Used to Son 2 aged 15m’s rigid, solid form, I picked up the newborn and nearly caber-tossed him at the ceiling.  How are they ever that small?  He was lovely, he slept all the time, and my friend is indeed a Very Clever Girl.  At the point where his eldest brother offered me a game of Power Ranger Top Trumps, I left for my meeting.

The plan was, I would get out of The Office a bit early, collect Son 1 aged 4y 3m, go shopping with him in Tesco and solve the problem that at home, there was no food, washing powder, loo rolls or cleaning stuff.  Plans, schmans.  I got out of The Office a Bit Late, picked up Son 1 a Bit Late, got to Tesco Very Late, and then had a bored, tired, hungry and grumpy 4 year old to tow round while I did a mega-shop.  He got: jelly tots, character pasta, a marked-down Christmas biscuit icing kit, a black forest gateau and a box of ice lollies.  He did not get: a Ben 10 top, a Ben 10 chocolate egg (Yup, they’ve put them out already) a comic, a toy or a box of cream cakes.  I’m putting that down as a score draw.  We were back so late that The Man was trying to get Son 2 down for the night.  So we sabotaged that effort.  Son 1 said Goodnight to Son 2.  Son 2 let himself be cuddled, snugged, and let Son 1 stroke his cheek.  “I love you, Son 2, you’re so handsome,” said Son 1.

Pastimes

1.  Cookery

2.  Photography

3.  A Walk In The Park

Yesterday’s Tesco run included a marked-down 74p Christmas biscuit decoration set.  From the first, Son 1 aged 4y 3m wanted only to Ice The Biscuits.  “After breakfast,” I said.  He ate three bites of pancakes and declared breakfast over.  Originally we thought we’d do it when Son 2 aged 15m was having his nap.  But Son 1 couldn’t wait that long.  So we had one big boy in a Thomas apron, and a baby in a highchair, both with biscuits on plates in front of them.  Son 1 took the red icing squirter and made a start on Santa.  Son 2 watched him carefully, and then took an idle bite of his Christmas Pudding.   We squirted green on together.  We gave Son 2 a Rudolf.  Son 1 scattered white sugar stars three-deep over his biscuits.  I turned back to Son 2. He’d bitten a hole in Rudolf.  And a blank Christmas Tree.  We iced.  We scattered.  Son 1 devoured a Christmas Tree.  Son 2 licked all the squirty icing off the Christmas Pudding.  Son 1 watched him.  And then licked all the squirty icing off his Rudolf.

I put two chairs together in the corner of the kitchen to make a little raised playpen for Son 2 while I’m getting food.  He stands on the seat of one, opens the cutlery drawer and plays with the baby spoons and forks.  And the vegetable peeler.  I made lunch.  Son 1 arrived, demanding to know how to use our digital camera.  I showed him.  We now have about 40 pictures of Bag-of-Flour-on-Worktop, Mummy’s-Leg Cupboard-Front,  Kitchen-Floor.  Son 1 thought it was fantastic. 

Son 2 only napped for about 30 minutes in the morning, and was dropping with exhaustion after lunch.  So I thought I’d take both boys out, give The Man a break,  push The Pram till Son 2 slept  and then come back and let Son 1 watch some telly.  We pushed The Pram to The Park.  Son 1 shinnied up the slide ladder.  Son 2 clamoured to be let out.  He went on the slide, he went on the swings, laughing and chortling.  After a very good half hour, I put Son 2 back in The Pram and off we went to the shops.  He stayed awake.  Son 1 was asking to ride on The Pram.  In M and S, they were both crying for food and whining with fatigue.  I rang The Man.  Son 1 rode home on his shoulders.  Son 2 stayed awake the whole time.

Tarry A While, Said Slow

1.  Ding Dong Bell

2.  Humpty Dumpty

3.  And Jill Came Tumbling After

We went out to a Fondue Dinner last night.  Friends, and Friends of Friends.  A very nice time.  Too much wine.  Back at 0130.  Son 2 aged 16m woke us up at 6am with his skull-splitting, ear-piercing, only-mummy-will-do shrieking.    It was Very Hard.  I took both boys downstairs and got drinks and snack tubs, got everything back upstairs again, and told The Man that as he’d just had 25 minutes’ lying in, I was going back to bed.  I got in Son 1 aged 4y 3m’s bed, and just drowsed.  The Man brought Son 2 down to me at about twenty to nine.  That hour and a quarter extra in bed was A Very Good Thing Indeed.

i took Son 2 to Baby and Toddler swimming, and he loved it.  We bounced, we played Humpty Dumpty, he walked in the pool a bit, he wore his armbands, he swam with me a bit, he floated on his own for a few seconds.  He looked and looked at the other children, lifeguards, safety equipment, marks on the wall – there was nothing he didn’t stare at.  He fell asleep in the car and then slept in his cot for two hours.  He had a great time, but I don’t know that I’ve done him any good.  He had a cold, and he’s really not very well at all tonight.  I took him because I knew it would give him a deep sleep afterwards, I knew he was already tired and I don’t know how else to get him to wind down.  He does have long sleeps with Wonder Nanny, but it’s as if when we’re around it’s just “Mummy and Daddy are here so I’ll stay up, thanks.”

I took Son 1 up to the pool while Son 2 was sleeping. His Wednesday Friend was there, so he was happy.  He wanted to play a game I need goggles for, so I went to the locker and took them out of the bag.  When I got back he was being swept round the pool on his surfboard by the River Run.  I went round with him and he pushed me away “I’m doing it on my OWN.”  After our friends left, we went on the Flume.  Together about 5 times, and then, without warning, instead of waiting for me to sit down and then climbing into my lap, he sat on the hotseat himself and looked up expectantly at the Lifeguard.  A nod, he pushed himself off, and That Was It.  Son 1 goes down the Flume on his own.  7 times or more.  I slid down alone after him.   Pang.

Straight On Till Morning

1.  An Awfully Small Adventure 

2.  Lost Boys

3.  The Mermaid Lagoon

I have been on an Adventure.  My first visit to The Teeming Metropolis since before Son 1aged 4y 3m was born.  I drove up after bedtime on Monday, SatNav clipped to windscreen.  Heading for Holiday Inn in Commuter Town.  Arrival 0007.  Up at 7am, phone call to the boys, in on the train.  I commuted 26 years ago.  Then the trains were full of creepy old blokes who wouldn’t leave me alone.  This train was row upon row of gorgeous young men… chiselled cheekbones, pressed shirts, floppy fringes, brilliant teeth.  Maybe I haven’t turned into a Harry Enfield character.  Billions have been spent on male grooming since 1982.   A meeting for The Office.  Then back to the Commuter Town to pick up the car.  The train in front of the train in front has broken down we have to wait/driver change ends/go back/driver change ends again/train change routes. A nice man from The Train asked if I’d like to sit in First Class because I didn’t have a seat.  Oh all right then.  Can’t think why all those people make all that fuss.  I can recommend the Railways to anyone.  Back here at half past twelve this morning. 

It was my first night away from Son 2 aged 16m.  I didn’t spent a night away from Son 1 till the two nights I had in hospital when Son 2 was born.  And then last year, two nights without him.  First when Son 2 fell out of his pram like a little Lost Boy and hit his head, second when he had gastroenteritis in July.   ”Pleeeeeeeeze don’t go,” whimpered Son 1 on Monday night, his arms snaked round my neck.    I spent most of my time in The TM thinking “Son 1 would love this.”   He pestered me for a present through a nappy-wrestle this morning when Son 2 woke us all up at 0630.  A plastic Wild Mutt toy appeared to cure the psychological damage.

Son 2 is too young to be left.  It’s played havoc with my hormones.  I don’t watch telly, – I love it, i just never get time -  but tonight The Man was channel-flicking, and there was a beautiful shot of elephants round a water hole.  Before another seven channels flashed up.  “Put the baby elephant back on,”  I said.  “I want to watch Coyote Ugly.”  “Put the baby elephant back on.” “But it’s my favourite.  They’re all going to dance half-naked on the bar in a minute.”  “PUT THE BABY ELEPHANT BACK ON.”  She was called Breeze, and she was two days old, and she played in the mud in the waterhole.  On Monday Son 2 was in the bath with me.  I left him in it while I got out, and was dressing when I heard “Ah Ma,” which means “I want you.” I turned round, and he was standing up and holding out his fists,  which were each squodging fat handfuls of poo.

We Just Want To Bounce

1.  Lost And Found

2.  Delicious

3.  Two Little Monkeys Bouncing On The Bed

Very Tired Indeed.   Grumped out of bed this morning, cold-ridden, knackered, children chatting with The Man downstairs.  Ran tap, put contact lenses in.  Pulled out plug.  Shut one eye.  Opened it.  Shut the other eye.   Opened it.  Something not right.  One lens missing.  I checked the basin, the surrounds, the contact lens case, my nightie, the floor.  I froze.  Son 1 aged 4y 3m called me.  “Get Daddy,” I called back.  “He’s downstairs!” “Tell him I need him!”  The Man tramped up, grumpling.  He’d left Son 2 aged 16m in the kitchen, on his own,  three flights down.  He tramped down again.  And tramped up again,  grumbling loudly, carrying Son 2.  He checked the basin, the surrounds, the contact lens case, me, the floor.  He took the sink to bits.  I was still motionless.  No spares. How-much-are-contact-lenses/how-long-will-a-new-one-take/when-the-hell-will-I-be-able-to-get-a-new-one/how-will-I-see/how-will-I-work/how-will-I-drive.  “Found it!” chirped Son 1 cheerfully, diving into the corner.   By George he’d Got It.  He wins a Scooby Do Pirate Dvd.  I clapped him.  And dropped the lens again.  The Man grumbled murderously.

A late afternoon appointment in The Town, so I picked Son 1 up early-ish.  The children  were watching Tom and Jerry. When we went to get his coat there was a basin of apple chunks, and lots of little plastic plates and beakers arranged round tables.  “Were you about to have a snack?” “Yes.  A biscuit.”  “Why don’t you ask if you can have one in the car?” “You ask.”  I did.  The Assistant then produced a large plate of fairy cakes, topped with more icing than cake.  Son 1 helped himself.  In the car he told me about his snacks.  “We have banana and orange and apple and sometimes for a special treat mango. ” A pause.  ”This cake is delicious.”

At home Son 2 ignored me for the first 10 minutes and then wouldn’t let me go.  He was exhausted, so I sat him on the bed and started his books.  Son 1 came and bounced on the bed.   “You can be with us if you sit still and keep quiet.”  He sat quietly next to us.  Son 2 climbed over me and plopped his head between the pillows.  Then he lay on top of Son 1.  Son 1 giggled.  He piled pillows on  top of Son 2.  Son 2 giggled.  End of reading.  Cuddling, squashing, laughing, pushing.  Son 2 stood up and bounced.  Uncontrolled delight from Son 1.  He was carried off to the bath by The Man.  Son 2 carried on bouncing.  He wouldn’t go back to his books, and wriggled off to the bathroom. A cry rang out from Son 1: “We just want to bounce!”

Kindly Brightness

1.  Goat Bait

2.  Candlemass

3.  Brothers In Arms

The Man left at 3am on a Business Trip, so we collected Nanna and headed for The Bird Park.  Son 2 aged 16m couldn’t get into the Baby Area fast enough.  Ball Pool.  Jet Bits.  Sitting over one of the holes so the remaining air streams blew even stronger.  The thin, four-inch wisps of his anyhow pre-haircut fringe blown up vertical.   He waved at Nanna. “Eh-yo.”  He concentrated as he threw balls overboard.  He got down.  We crawled up and around.  Son 1 aged 4y 3m was cross.  Growling.  Clawing his hands.  Pushing me away.  He wanted his Best Friend.  Only his Best Friend understands his game.  I tried to get us all playing together and might have succeeded at times.  He had a great time when Son 2 was sitting on the jets and throwing balls down at him.  He liked it when we followed him over the Big Children’s Stuff.  Son 2 slithered on his stomach and went down the baby slide on his own.  He learned to go down steps the same way today.  We went to see the otters and the owls.  Son 2 was in his reins – he loves walking, we’re hoping that having him in them early will mean he accepts them later.  When we know we’ll need them.  We looked at the Guinea Pigs.  £12 each.  Son 1 and I looked at each other.  If they’d sold hutches we’d’ve taken two.  We fed the goats, Son 2 managing to hold the food so the goats licked it from his hands, giggling his head every time their tongues shot out over his fingers.  The goats were standing in a quagmire, and everytime they leapt up their hooves spattered us.  Slathered in mud and goat spit, we washed our hands and made for the penguins.

We went early (for us) because it was the Family Tea Service at The Church and I felt we should go.  Son 2 didn’t wake up between car, house and street, and stayed asleep till we were at the bottom of the church steps.   Son 1 was exhausted, but will fortunately do anything if promised a comic, so trudged down like a trooper.  Numbers were few.  The theme was “light.”  The student priest put everyone under a tablecloth to show how Dark Things Were When God Forsook.  “And then Simeon saw a little baby just like this one (Son 2, possibly about 15 months too old for the role), and said ‘here is the light that will save the world.’”   We went back to our pews.  “Is Son 2 Jesus?” asked Son 1.  We sang “Shine Jesus Shine,” the words on a screen at the front.  My eyes are dim, the light was poor.  I so liked the idea of Kindly Brightness that I googled “Shine Jesus Shine, lyrics” when I got back.  Ah.

And then they provided tea.  Vegetable Bake, sausages, pizza, squash and cake.  Brilliant.  We zigzagged home across the main street – closed to traffic while they dig it up, Son 1 liked leading us from one side to the other.  We bought a Shaun The Sheep comic.  It was late and we were all whacked.  The boys went in the bath.  I insisted on washing their hair to remove goat saliva and hoof flecks.  I washed Son 2’s. Then I washed Son 1’s, singing him his lullaby to keep him calm.  Seeing him lying back on Mummy’s arm, being sung to, destroyed Son 2.  He cried, stood up, grabbed the arm holding Son 1 and sat his little bare bottom down on Son 1’s face, sinking him under the water. Then he stamped his foot on his ear and slid off.

Nessun Dorma

1.  Overture

2.  La Donna E Mobile

3.  Finale

A little crittur aged 4y 3m slid into the Big Bed at an Ungodly Hour.  Thin snakey arms around my neck, bony body snugged into mine, fingers eventually falling away from my eyebrows and eyelashes.  He was in a coma.  I wasn’t.  The alarm went at 6.  I reached over him and switched it off, and then the fingers got going again.  I’ll wait till he goes back to sleep, I thought, and then get up and get drinks and snacks.   I lay still and silent till a stage whisper enquired “Mummy are we getting up yet?”   

The day of my Heart Scan. The Man is still away.  So I had to wait for Wonder Nanny, zoom to the Doctor’s to pick up the letter for the cardio people, and then head out to The Hospital in the Big Town.  Yet again, I was late leaving.  But I was ok.  If the roads were all clear, if there was somewhere to park, if I’d worn different shoes so that I could stride across the car park rather than totter.  I got to a Roundabout two miles out.  Something Was Up.  Stationary traffic, cars doing U-turns, nothing coming the other way.    I can get in the queue, I thought, and cut cross country.  I moved 20 yards in 5 minutes.  I’ll have to ring and tell them I’m stuck.  So.  Still parked,  I opened the doctor’s letter.  The appointment was back in The Town.  At the surgery next door to ours.  Ah.   I reversed and drove back.  “I work in the community,” said the physiologist.  “I’m cheaper than The Hospital, even with the cost of the consultant.  People had to wait eighteen months for this before the PCT started using me.”  She is a Good Thing.  My heart is fine, thank you for asking.  Another Good Thing.

The time at the Heart Scan made me late to The Office, and Very Late Indeed getting away.  Poor Wonder Nanny bathed the boys and was trying to keep them awake so I’d see them when I got back.  Son 2 aged 16m was grizzling and tantruming… Son 1 was just lying down with his eyes closed on the middle of the bed in Son 2’s room.  I am slowly cutting down on the time it takes to get Son 2 to sleep.  He has his lullaby, three rounds of “Summertime,” 5 counts down from 100 and then a “night night darling, I’m just going to say night night to Son 1 and then I’ll come back.”  WAAAAAAAH.  Three nights in a row now, although he is only crying for about five minutes before he drops off.   It makes me sick inside, but as the songs and counts take place when I’m bending into the cot with my head next to his, I do think it is A Good Thing that we’re trying.

The Princess And The Fairy

1.  The Flight

2.  The Pirate Ship

3.  Do You Believe In Fairies? 

The Man is not coming back today.  “The aeroplanes are full,” as I told Son 1 aged 4yr 3m this morning.  Howl.  “I want his body!” Wail. ”I want his T-shirt!” Curl up on the floor.  At that moment, The Man rang.  Son 1 gave him both barrells, fired straight at the guilto-plexus. Until Son 2 aged 16m snatched the phone from him, and waddled back and forth, chattering gibberish while Son 1 ululated in the corner.  Son 1’s day bumped along the bottom.  His Best Friend couldn’t come round because his Mother is ill.  Howl. Wail.  Curl.  His longed-for Scooby Do and the Pirates DVD didn’t come, despite a Royal Mail van parking outside and my calling “Son 1! Your parcel’s here!”  The driver smoked a fag, picked up a postman in the rain and pulled away.  Howl. Wail. Curl.

On The Bright Side.  A little 3 year old Friend and his Mother came round, and the boys played.   The Captain Hook Ship and The Lost Boys’ Raft stayed out – they can’t survive the wildebeest stampede that is 5 small boys at play… but three is manageable, so I didn’t hide them.    After they left Son 2 had a nap and a colleague from The Office came round, bringing biscuits and a chocolate cake for Son 1.  The colleague wanted to see the new dress and shoes I bought in The Sales.  I left her with Son 1, dashed to the bedroom, dressed up and tottered down in my finery.  The colleague coo-ed.  Son 1 sprang from his chair and gave me a huge hug.  “Do I look like a Princess?” I asked.  He just laughed.  But he made me feel like one.

Nanna came.  Son 2 played with the electric James and Percy engines.  Son 1 lay on the window seat  spearing a Tinkerbell finger puppet with 2 Woolies Ghost Pirates.  Nanna parked close to the house. I’ve been thanking the Parking Fairy when I get a space near.   “Is the Parking Fairy real?” asked Son 1.  “No,” I said. “It’s just Mummy’s bit of fun.”  Although, oddly, since I’ve been thanking the Parking Fairy, I’ve been able to park a lot closer to the house.  I was telling Nanna this when Son 1said “I don’t believe in fairies.”  “Oh no!” I said.  “Quick, clap.  Otherwise a fairy will…”  Son 1 made a spiral motion with his finger and pointed to the floor.  We clapped.  Son 2 joined in. Son 1 lay on his back giggling.  “I don’t believe in fairies”  Mad clapping, mad laughing.  “I don’t believe in fairies.” Mad clapping. Mad laughing.  Repeated many times.  Until: “Son 1 will you pack it in. What am I going to do if the fairy who – ” spiral motion, point to the floor ” – is the Parking Fairy?”

Tiddler

1.  Babyschool

2.  Message From A Blog Reader

3.  The Comeback

Son 2 aged 16m sat through the whole of Tiddler.  He has a fish-thing anyway, opening and closing his mouth as a baby sign whenever he sees one.   He is an entry level Julia and Axel fan – he likes Monkey Puzzle, which I always feel is a good tale for the child of a Working Mother.  Although in our house it was sabotaged somewhat when I read out “Mummy doesn’t have great big saggy knees,” and The Man walked briskly by and said “Oh yes she does.”  He likes The Gruffalo.  But until today we hadn’t got much further.    This morning though he was glued to it.  The only disruption came from Son 1 aged 4y 4m who came down from watching telly upstairs and said: “She didn’t write it down for Son 2, she wrote it down for ME.”  And then Son 2 picked it again this evening out of a pile on the bed.

While I was at The Office I had a text from The Man:  ”Glad to read the heart scan was ok.”  “Thanks for asking,” I texted back.

When I got back, Son 1 was insistent.  “Don’t put me to bed before 8 o’clock.”  The Man had rung and said he’d be back then.  Son 2 had been swimming with Wonder Nanny.    I put him down to bed.   Little fat arms round my neck, pulling my face close to his.   On his cot pillow.  Jaysus that child can cry.  He screeched and shrieked and sobbed.  And this was before I left him.  I am still doing my lullaby/three rounds of Summertime, five counts down from 100 and then Nighty Night thing.  And he is still doing his ATOMIC SCREAMING.  The Man came back.  And Son 1 smiled and cuddled and cuddled and smiled.  Happiness all over his face.

Signs Of Spring

1.  Brown Silk

2.  Green Shoots

3.  A New Best Friend

My Wise And Wonderful Friend and I discussed fashion, weight, shoes, Work Clothes and designer vs High Street last night, as she Sat-Navved her way around a motorway closure.  Inspired, this morning I got out a lovely size-14 dress and jacket combo which I haven’t worn since Son 2 aged 16m came along.  And lo.  I was in. Before, it skimmed and fell and hung.  Now, it clings and creases and strains.  But with the jacket done up, and enough care getting in and out of cars I can get away with it.  And of course my personal stylist, aged 4y 4m,  approved:  “You look like a Princess.” 

Dropping Son 1 off at Nursery, we parked along the Muddy Path.  Son 1 now has to tiptoe around the sprouting daffodils… at some points he can barely get his little boy feet in the gaps between clumps.  Some have flower buds… some are six inches tall.  Among the leaves vivid green primroses are pushing through.  And little self-seeded camellia bushes have tight knobby buds.  The suit was for a meeting in The City, two hours’ drive away.  The sunshine was so bright I had to root round for my sunglasses as I drove.  I can’t remember the last time I wore them.  Blue sky all the way.  A fantastic morning.  Coming back the sun was so bright and low in the sky I couldn’t actually… er… see very much.  And still light at 1730.     

A Greek Night in a local bar.  Some friends had taken a couple of tables and invited us.  We were late.  (Late home, late bedtime, late out of the house…)  On arrival, the tables were settled, and we were at the end, next to a Business Contact of The Man’s, and a middle-aged couple who we didn’t know.  On the other side of them, the receptionist of a Business The Man uses… and then two Good Friends.  We ate and drank and talked.  I told my neighbour about Son 1 and Son 2 and then asked about her children.  Grown, she said.  A daughter  getting married in the Spring; a son, younger, in the Autumn.  The ages clicked.  The accent clicked.  The Man clicked too and leapt into the conversation: “I think this might be – ” “Are you Wonder Nanny’s In-laws-to-be?”  I asked.  She was at home baby-sitting.  Son 2 had been at my neighbour’s house that afternoon.  She thinks he’s lovely, and she loves his name.  The Town is Very Small Indeed.

Boy Friends

1.  Extra Boy

2.  Mummy’s Boy

3.  Best Friends

A Friend was up for An Outing. First suggestion too expensive, second suggestion they’d already done.  Son 1 butted into all the discussions and phone calls.  He wanted to go to the New Play Centre.  I pretended not to hear. (Can’t stand it.)  The Mother of Son 1 aged 4y 4m’s Best Friend rang.  Best Friend had been whinging all morning, driving them mad.  He wanted to see Son 1.  What were we up to?  Could she bring him round and then she’ll have Son 1 overnight next weekend?  The New Play Centre it was.   Son 1 and the other Little Friend played together, Son 2 played in the baby area, the Ball Pool and the Toddler Section.  He rocked and pulled off and climbed and threw and slid and rode.  The Man talked Boats with Little Friend’s father.  Best Friend arrived.  Play. Lunch. Play.

Best Friend came back to the house, and hooray hooray, Son 1’s new Scooby Doo DVD had arrived.  That was them sorted.  I put Son 2 to bed.  Nappy change, in his sleeping bag, and then I put him in his cot. “I’m just going to do the window, and then I’ll come back and Son 2 and Mummy will have a sleep on the bed.”  For the first time he sat burbling instead of screaming as I pulled down the blind and put the blanket up. (Stuffed along the top of the roller and draped down the sides.  Son 2 does not sleep if there is Any Light At All.)  We snugged down together on the bed.  He hugged and held and scrunched his fists in my hair… and pressed his head against my cheek and clung.  And he’s lovely and cuddly, and we miss each other and I’ve decided.  When I’m off, he goes to sleep in the daytime by lying next to me.

Son 1 and Best Friend were having an elaborate game involving the Scooby Doo monsters, the Scooby Friends, all Son 1’s pirates, Captain Hook’s ship, the Lost Boys raft, the Woollies Pirate ship, the Tower of Doom and the ELC monsters.  Captain Hook was sitting in the front of the Mystery Machine with Shaggy and Scooby.   The DVD finished and the pirates paraded around the house.  They were warned off upstairs, but a jam on the toy keyboard woke Son 2.  I took him in the lounge and they melted away to Son 1’s bedroom.  Best Friend’s Mother came to collect him. I heard her ask Son 1: “Would you like to come and stay with Best Friend next weekend?”  “Will Mummy and Daddy be there?”  he replied.  Bit of work to do on that one, then.  At bedtime, when I left Son 2 in his cot, he screamed Blue Murder.

Invincible Lords Of Nature

1.   Storm

2.   Calm

3.   Seeds

Howls from Son 1 aged 4 y 4m when he plomped downstairs after two hours telly watching, found his Scooby Doo and the Pirates DVD and I said he couldn’t watch it.  “I can’t wait till this afternoon.”  “You can’t watch any more telly. You’ve watched cartoons all morning.”  Red face. Real tears.  “Forgive me Mummy.” “Darling you haven’t done anything.  I just don’t want you to watch any more telly.”  “If you let me watch it I’ll give you fifty pounds for your birthday.”  “Come and sit on my knee.  Son 2 (aged 16m) is very tired and he’ll need his nap this morning.  You can watch Scooby Doo when he’s asleep, and we’ll go out this afternoon instead.”   He composed himself.  I whispered.  “Go and tell Daddy he’s got to give you fifty pounds to give me.”  Son 1 padded over and whispered to The Man.  I held out my hand.

Another snug with Son 2 on the Big Bed to get him to sleep.  Little arms around my neck.  Soft hair, soft skin.  A friend ages ago said that lying down with a sleeping child is one of life’s great luxuries.  Son 1 watched Scooby with The Man, and I went for a run.   A bright, crisp, still morning with doves coo-cooing and sparrows twittering. I was in shorts.  Can’t remember the last time I was out running in daylight, or out running in shorts.  Down to the bridge over the river.  I did my stretches in the kitchen, with Son 1first trying to give me a cuddle and then lying on top of me when I was on my back.   From upstairs came a wail from Son 2.

We were blowing bubbles.  A consolation for Son 2 after an unfortunate incident in which someone screwed his finger into to the top of a toddler bottle, panicked when he screamed in obvious agony, couldn’t work out which way to twist the lid… and just yanked the finger out.  Deep groove in it.  Ahem.  Bubbles.  Son 2 chortled with joy, leapt up, clutched at them, laughed, clapped, giggled, and, finally, came to take the blower to see how it worked.  We were heading into The Town, so we mopped the floor before we went.  A friend walked past with his two girls.   We all met for lunch.  On the way back Son 1 stung us for some Gormitis:  “They have a Terrible Nature.”  Magmion is the Volcano King, smashing and trashing Hapless Peoples.  Delos is the Count of the Seas.  “And Stelios is the King Of The Air,” I told Son 1, who was sitting on The Man’s shoulders as we walked home.   Son 1 has gone straight from the ecologically, politically, ethnically, culturally, representationally-correct cocoon that is CBeebies into a world of Ben 10, Power Rangers and now Gormitis.   What lucky creatures are the women of 2034…

Famous Fights

1.  First Flower

2.  Country Roads

3.  Night Nights

Son 1aged 4y 4m and I left for Nursery ten minutes earlier than usual.  He has had enough of The Pirate’s Hat And Other Stories… he has had enough of Horrid Henry.  So this morning it was the Famous Five and Treasure Island, free with a paper some time ago.  Son 1 calls it the Famous Fights.  “I wish I was called Georgina.  If I was called Georgina I will say everyone must call me George.”   He also wishes he had a boat, and an island.  And a dog of course.  We arrived in plenty of time, and so parked up the drive and walked down the Muddy Path.  And there, in among the sodden leaves, on a little clump of bright green foliage, was a single pale yellow primrose flower.  Spring Is Sprung.  

To make up for this morning, the roads were heaving this evening, so I decided to explore some back routes to get home.  Mistake.  Tiny, flooded, debris-strewn barely-maintained tracks switchbacking this way and that as the light faded.  We went for miles.  The Famous Five had found some Ingots in a dungeon on the Treasure Island.  A Baddy threatened to shoot Timmy the Dog.  We got back on the usual route and pulled round a group of three of four cars parked together at the side of the road, broken glass, crumpled bonnets, people milling.  Perhaps a Good Thing that we were a little later than them.

Son 2 aged 16m waved from the window as we pulled up outside the house (Thank You Parking Fairy.) He was on top form.  Laughing, squealing, insisting on being held and carried.  He mineswept Son 1’s leftover smoothie from the car, and ate nearly a whole satsuma from his picnic bag.  Son 1 refused tea but accepted a couple of pieces of fruit, and listened to the end of the Famous Five on a laptop upstairs.  Son 2 is still crying as soon as I say night night and leave him in his cot.  Son 1, who used to send The Man packing when I went to see him for his bedtime stories, now says “Oh Mummy, you’ve come at exactly the wrong time.”  He fell asleep during Fairy Child.

Poorliness

1.  Night And Day

2.  Every Time We Say Goodbye

3.  Too Darn Hot

Oh Man.  Son 1 aged 4y 4m had another rubbish night, burning up, sweating, red in the face, crying.  His ears are fine but he says his throat is sore.  Son 2 aged 16m has the same, raging temperature – measured only with hand-on-forehead… absolute “no” from him to thermometer-in-the-ear – and not knowing what to do with himself.  Overnight, both dosed with Ibuprofen, calpol and liquids.  Son 1 was off Nursery, which isn’t a logistical problem because we have Wonder Nanny.  But I had a jam-packed day at the Office and there was nothing I could do about it.  Two poorly little boys who just wanted their Mummy and off I went, knowing I would think of nothing else all day.

At 1230 a colleague came by.  “Your Mum rang. She wanted to know how the boys are.”  Hell fire. I hadn’t had a minute.  I rang Wonder Nanny.  Son 1 answered.  “How are you?” “Not all right.”  “How is Son 2?” “He’s asleep.”  Wonder Nanny had dosed them, kept them quiet and they seemed ok.  “I was just about to text you,” she said.  “I know you’d be worried.”  I didn’t have time to ring Nanna…

By the time I got back, Son 1 was in his pyjamas with his temperature raging again, and Son 2 was in his cot asleep.  I was bereft.  All I wanted to do was wake Son 2 so I could be with him.  I went upstairs to get changed, and he woke up.  I got him to sleep and went in to Son 1.  “My poorliness is back again.” Son 2 woke again.  He howled.  Son 1 came in with us.  i went down, The Man took over.  Nanna rang.  I still hadn’t called her back. The Man came down after an hour, and Son 2 started again.  He woke Son 1.  They both bayed, louder and louder, in a comical, horrible duet.  The Man went to be with Son 2 while I finished work (and quickly wrote this) and then I’ll sort out Son 1.  We’ll swap boys at bedtime.

Infants And Influenza

1.  Fatigue

2.  Fretting

3.  Fever

Went to bed, Son 1 aged 4y 4m woke up, plastered in sweat, pyjamas wringing, face bright red, temperature up on the ceiling.  I gave him ibuprofen, changed his pyjamas and put him upstairs in the Big Bed with The Man.  Then I went in with Son 2 aged 16m.  And I was up all night.  He sleeps very deeply when he finally sinks off… but when he’s in a light sleep he’s allbut ready to party.  At 3am I went downstairs for a cup of tea and a read of the paper.  Being positive, it was lovely holding his little relaxed body, snugging the fluffy baby hair on his head and holding his soft little hands.  I don’t know how long to wait before I take them to the doctor.  The fever makes me think it’s an infection… they’ve both got sore throats… but they both also seem very fluey when their temperatures are up..   Poor lambos.

Son 1 was off Nursery again today with Wonder Nanny.  He was watching telly in the Big Bed while I did my hair and make up, and then when I’d finished he’d fallen asleep.  I hate leaving them when they’re asleep – I usually wait till they wake, or wake them up.  But I left Son 1, in the hope he’d feel better for it.  I rang at 1130 and he was up, not feeling too bright but about to play pirates.

I left The Office early and came back to two brighter boys playing in the lounge.  Son 1 got his fire engine out, and then went for the Thomas Wooden Railway… Son 2 likes to play with the engines, and is just about leaving the track where it is instead of ripping it up.. I managed to take a couple of pictures.  It was good to see them, but I’m not on good form because I’ve had three disturbed nights in a row. By 5pm both boys were disintegrating with tiredness and with the bug.  Wonder Nanny dodged and dived through the tantrums and tension.  “Son 1 you’ve been so lovely all day for Wonder Nanny, why are you doing this now? It makes me wonder why I bothered to come back early from The Office. ”    “All children do it,” said Wonder Nanny.  Son 1 just howled.  We added calpol.

A Whole New World

1. Australia

2. Madagascar

3. Nether Lands

Discussion and debate this morning. Son 1 felt he was up to his sleepover.  We felt he needs to show he can stay in his bed and be quiet overnight before we can let him out after 10pm.  Plan B was his first ever cinema trip.  A child-free colleague from The Office phoned.  “We’ll be in the Big Town later,” I said. “We’re going to see Madagascar.” “What’s that?” “Like Australia. Only with cartoon animals”    “Oh.” “Australia the film?” “Yes I know what Australia is.  I just don’t do animation.”    Neither did I when I lived in BC World.

We took Best Friend to Madagascar.  Horrid Henry on the CD in the car on the way, for which his Mother will thank me later.  Expose them to reality in literature first.  I loved Madagascar.  I think they did too.    Towards the end Son 1 kept telling Best Friend to come with him to investigate something.  It was the aftermath of a vat of popcorn dropped on the floor by a child at the end of our row.  I just about managed to keep Son 1 from eating it.   We want to see Monsters and Aliens next.

Son 1 went to Best Friend’s to play, and The Man and Son 2 aged 16m were just heading into The Town when I got back.  We all trogged round Boots, M and S and Argos.  Son 2 asked to get out in Argos, and he walked happily in his reins, calling and cooing, chasing pigeons, fingering plants, pointing in windows, peering in shops.  He walked most of the way home.  Back in the kitchen he was playing beautifully with his ambulance.  I  joined him.  Even my barely-there sense of smell could tell his nappy was dirty, so he must have been stinking. “He needs a new nappy,” I said to The Man. “It’ s such a shame because he’s so into his game.”  Son 2 toddled off to the back of the house.  The changing mat lives between the buggy and the washing machine.  He brought it back into the kitchen and triumphantly put it on the floor.  When I’d done his nappy, he picked the dirty nappy bag up and plopped it out the back – just like I always do.    What a perfect child.

The Salsify Paradox

1.  On The Rocks

2.  Tell Tales

3.  Anchor Rope

We woke up to a wild wind. Down the chimney, against the windows, blasting in through the letter box.  I opened the blind in the Big Bedroom to see the tide at its highest, white horses rolling across the river, heaving waves crashing into the riverbank walls and spray punching up over the top.   Boats come off their moorings when it’s like this, I thought, my eyes following the path of the white horses.  And down below, by the dinghy park, was a little fishing boat getting smashed up on the rocks and jetty.   Son 1 aged 4y 4m and The Man came to watch.  Son 2 aged 16m could see over the bottom of the window by standing on my huge pile of ironing.  We considered Doing Something.  The Harbour Master doesn’t work on Sundays.  Coastguard?  “They won’t do anything till the tide goes out,” said The Man.  He and Son 1 settle down to watch telly.  Son 2 and I went downstairs to read.  A few books in and ”Here comes the rescue!” I cried, as a launch chugged in.  Up we all went again.  Son 2 was brilliant.  Straight for the ironing pile, pulling himself up with his two little fists gripping the sill… hanging on so he could see.  The Man wasn’t sure the launch should try it.  Depth/rocks/current/cold/wind issues.  But one man reversed it, the other popped a rope on the stern and they hauled it off, dented and holed, woodwork in shards, mast broken and its gear splayed out like mangled ice hockey goals.  From up top we could see the Inshore Lifeboat pelting across the river. “Someone must have called it in,” I said. “Nah, they train on Sundays,” said The Man.  The rib zoomed in but the launchmen gestured they didn’t need help, and off it went again.  The wind howled.  In the garden the shed roofing felt flapped like sheets on a washing line.

We needed a trip to the Discount Store to get stuff to mend the shed roof.  The boys played in the lounge while The Man got ready.  Son 1 was playing pirates, Son 2 was sitting in the window seat sorting out chokeable Peter Pan pieces.  I’ll have a look at the paper, I thought.  Sunday Times.  Front page.  Having more than 2 children destroys the planet.  Review section. All children are destined to be pyscho killers because parents workand are too selfish.  I put the paper away, and went to talk to Son 2.   If I stop getting The Sunday Times I can have an extra two trips to the hairdresser a year.   

Freezing cold out, so we stopped at The Square and had coffee and biscuits.  Back home the boys stood on chairs at the sink and helped with the vegetables.  Son 1 made a pretty good job of scrubbing the carrots, parsnips, potatoes and swede.  “See Mummy, it’s perfect!”  Yes it was.  No mud on the veg.  But mud in the sink, around the sink, on the walls, on Son 1 and on Son 2,  on the microwave, and the floor was flooded.  Who cares.  Not us.  Son 2 played with the carrot peel and plopped the veg back in the sink one by one.  They went upstairs to play.  I peeled salsify, feeling guilty that I wasn’t going with them for quality time.  So everyone.  Make your mind up.  I can play with them and they can eat Turkey Twizzlers, or I can cook organic veg from the local box scheme and we can have a sit down meal together.  Whaddya want.  The other salsify paradox is how you’re supposed to cook it.  I roasted it with the root veg.  Nope.  Like chewing the sort of mooring rope that wouldn’t have broken in last night’s storm.

What A Difference A Child Makes

1.  Dreaming

2.  Dream Come True

3.  Nightmare

4am.  A shape by the side of the bed. Little fingers on my eyebrows.  I lifted Son 1 aged 4y 4 m over into the middle of the Big Bed.  Later, unable to get back to sleep, I got up to go downstairs.  “Mummy?” The little shape followed me down and we got into his bed.  Later, a terrified banshee scream from next door. I pelted in. Son 2 aged 16m was standing up in the corner of the cot.  I whipped him into bed and he went back to sleep.  On holiday in Portugal, I was in an Office suit, but no bra and no shoes.  I was carrying a small red ball.  I’d got on a bus and got off again, but I wasn’t sure where I was.   I needed to get back to get Son 1.  But I had no money and I couldn’t speak Portuguese.  I woke up.   Son 1 was standing on the landing. I went to him.  ”Let’s go downstairs,” I whispered. “Don’t wake Son 2.” He ignored me, clambered into the space I’d just vacated and cuddled Son 2.  Who giggled.

4.30pm. Heavy grey clouds hung low across the sky, thick snow whirled.  Son 1’s Nursery teacher rang.  “Can you come and get him?  We’re worried about the roads.”  By the time I got there the snow was thick on the ground, and there were only two other children left.  Outside, Son 1 was enchanted.  “I’ve always wanted snow haven’t I?” He tried throwing snowballs at me… but as he’s never made one he hasn’t quite got the knack.  He wanted to laugh and play.  I couldn’t see how we were going to get back.  I finally got him in the car and decided to try for home.  It was slow, it was horrible, snow fell continuously.  Before Son 1 was born I would have just gone back to The Office and stayed somewhere overnight.  I wouldn’t have been worried about making the trip with no snacks, blankets or water.  But That Was Then.

The main roads were worrying, but passable.  The Terrace was a snow sheet in the dark.  Son 1 was asleep.  I parked at the end, scuffed the snow away and realised I was on a double yellow line.  I rang The Man.  “There’s a space outside the house, just bring it up.”  I drove up the hill.  I double parked by the space and went to get The Man, thinking he’d be better at parking it than me.  I turned round and the car was rolling away from me backwards down the hill.  A young girl ran into the road to try to stop it.  “My son’s in there!” I shrieked.  “Jump in and put the handbrake on!” she said. “It is on!” I yelled.  I got to the door, leapt in, stood on the brake and yanked the handbrake up as hard as I could. The car stopped.  I looked back.  The girl and a man were standing behind the car.  I thanked them. “Are you all right?”  “No,” I was shaking.  Son 1 woke up and started to cry.   I drove a bit further up the hill and abandoned the car on the side of the road.  The Man opened the front door, holding Son 2 in his cotton pyjamas.  “What have you put it up there for?”  He’d looked out the window, seen me in the car outside, come downstairs and seen me take it up the hill.  Missing a teeny part of the story.

Snowmen

 1.  Snowed Under

 2.  Snow Regrets

3.  Snow Sports

Getting into The Office was a good thing. The Terrace was frozen, just single track tyre treads worn through white ice. Two inches of snow on top of every car. Our taxi driver friend said the main roads are ok, the side streets skating rinks. Wonder Nanny rang. Her road was snowed in. She could walk over. I thought perhaps two freezing miles in calf-high snow and then a full day looking after children was a bit ambitious. If she could get down to the main road I’d pick her up. She rang back. Fiance would bring her over. The Man got the car out of the space and turned it round, left the engine running and then off I inched. Second gear. Praying nothing would come the other way. And on to the main roads, and I was in.

At The Office a colleague came in happily. She hadn’t seen snow for 20 years. I rang home in the afternoon. Son 1 aged 4y 4m had built two snowmen with Wonder Nanny. He rolled up the snow to make the body of one of them on his own. Being positive, this has possibly saved us all a trip to Lapland at Christmas. But pang, pang, pang. I wanted to make snowmen with him. Wonder Nanny took pictures. So I can see how happy he was.

I parked at the other end of The Terrace, and got out of the car, carrying my chunky briefcase, and an overflowing Tesco carrier bag full of M and S fruit. Not strong enough, fruit falling out, but I was too mean to pay for yet another Marks one. A passing friend carried my briefcase to the house while I grappled with my fruit. There is a very good snowman in the front garden, and another very good one out the back. At home, I realised I’d left meat I’d bought in Tesco in the boot. The Man said he’d go and get it. Son 1 wanted to go. Son 2 aged 16m wanted to go. We all went. Son 2 trotted down in his reins, burbling and whooping all the way. Son 1 chased The Man, scooping up handfuls of the scant remaining snow and throwing it at him. Big relief. Wonder Nanny doesn’t do hand-to-hand combat. He clearly still doesn’t know how to make a decent snowball. I still have a role.

The Young Visiters

1.  Hunting

2.  Gathering

3.  Nurturing

2 small boys played upstairs in Son 1 aged 4y 4m’s bedroom.  They had the Duplo out, Son 1 laying train tracks, Son 2 aged 16m taking out all the little animals and people, then all the little vehicles, then all the little bricks.  Chatting, absorbed.  Flow.  A Good Thing.  Only everything I needed to do was two floors down.  Who needs a workout.  Down two flights, load washing machine.  Wails from upstairs.  Up two flights. Son 2 has dismantled Son 1’s Duplo robot.  Down two flights.  Tidy up breakfast things.  Stop.  Listen.  Silence.  Absolute silence.  Up two flights.  Game continuing, no foul play.  I lay down on the bed in the next door room.  I will just rest and relax while they entertain themselves.  In toddled a small laughing boy, carrying a Duplo giraffe.  He got the joke.  Mummy was hiding and needed to be found.  Closely followed by a slightly bigger boy.  He got the joke.  Mummy was lying down waiting for someone to lie on top of her.  The phone rang.

It was the Wednesday Friends.  One set is still ill, the other were going to Grandparents while Mother and Father go away for a couple of days.  They were going earlier than planned because the weather forecast is bad.  I rang Friend With New Baby (Third Boy.)  Can we come?  We will bring Ready Meals.  We stopped off at Asda.   A kind man found me a trolley with 2 baby seats and I jammed the boys in.  Max 15kg.  No idea what that means.   Clearly doesn’t apply to Children Of Older Parents.   The weather forecast is Saving Retailing.  The trolleys were tessellated in the aisles.   We added ours and bingo, gridlock. The boys leaned out for packages, pointed and picked, and pinched and slapped each other all the way round.  “You’ve been so good,” I said brightly, as arms shot out like swords on chariot wheels to destroy leaflet stands on both sides of the checkout. 

We had a great time at Friend With New Baby’s.  Son 2 clapped eyes on the 5 week old new arrival and was enslaved.  A house full of toys, shelves, buttons, fireguards and televisions… and he just pitter pattered back again and again to the lounge where New Arrival sat in his bouncy chair.  “You can play when he wakes up,” we said, taking him back to the playroom.   Pitter patter pitter patter.  When NA awoke, Son 2 bent over and kissed his head, he laid his head on his tummy, he patted and stroked and touched and held.  The Elder Brothers are 4 and nearly 3 and formed a gang with Son 1, playing Spiderman, Power Rangers, Pirates and Sinbad.   Son 2 occasionally showed an interest in them, and had a look at some toys, but all he really wanted was the baby.  After lunch we watched Nanny McPhee.  Two boys slept all the way home.

Surrendered Parents

1.  Capitulation

2.  Corruption

3.  Celebration

A New Family Rule.  If Little Children Want To Sleep With Their Parents They Can.  Son 1 aged 4y 4m thinks this is good idea.  “Is this because of me?”  “Yes,” I said.  No.  It’s because we had the most wretched night with Son 2 aged 16m.  Plot summary:  he wanted to lie in the big bed with a grown up;  I wanted him to sleep in his cot.    Neither The Man nor I sleep particularly well when we have a child with us.  And we both get grumpy when we don’t sleep.  So when Son 2 stood up and bayed at 2315, I tried to get him back to sleep.  He roared.  He shouted till his voice went hoarse.  He screamed and screeched and shrieked.  He woke Son 1.  He finally stopped at 1am.  i put Son 1 back in his bed.  Made hot chocolate.  And was then worried that something might be wrong with Son 2 so went into his room.  In the early hours he awoke again, and I just popped him into bed with me.  He went straight back to sleep.

We had Horrid Henry again on the way to Nursery.  I am going to retire him.  Too many: “Bor-ring”s and raspberries from Son 1.  I like to think a “You’re terrible parents” was rooted in Horrid Henry, rather than any seriously thought-through conclusion.  So at Ottakars I began the re-education programme.  We now have Peter Pan, Roald Dahl, and Stories For Five Year Olds.   Back from The Office, I walked in as Son 1 had just hit Son 2.  Oh somehow he got his new CDs.  “I hope you choose Peter Pan for us to listen to tomorrow,” I said.  “Which one do you want to hear?”  “Peter Pan,” said Son 1.  Hooray hooray.  We may yet get him back from Horrid Henry.

Reading to Son 1 after bathtime, I tried to get any information at all from him about his day at Nursery.  “Who did you sit with at lunch?”  “Can’t remember.”  “What did you do that was fun?” “Nothing.” ”What was your favourite bit of the day?”  “When Mummy came home.”  He deserved every one of those new CDs.

Sound Effects

1. Shouting Out

2. Listening Up

3. Quietening Down

 So Son 1 aged 4y 4m had permission to creep in bed with Mummy and Daddy if he woke in the night. He woke in the night and screamed The Terrace down. Son 2 aged 16m woke and went into air-raid siren mode. It was 3am. I am now finding it difficult to set a good example of restraint under stressd. But looking on the bright side, when you’ve already decided your strategy is Giving Up, at least you don’t have to waste time Teaching Them To Sleep Independently (The Greatest Gift A Parent Can Give.) I went into bed with Son 2 while The Man took Son 1.

Getting to Son 1 before the After School Club closed was a Good Thing. One of those “If the road is clear, if the clock is right, if nothing happens, if I can park” journeys. I got there with about 4 minutes to spare, and Son 1 shone a smile at me and ran to find his things. On the way back we listened to Peter Pan. It was dark, Son 1 was silent, and I wondered if he’d fallen asleep. Back in street lit territory and I snatched a glance in the mirror. Son 1 was sitting forward in his car seat, hands on his knees, leaning forward to listen, riveted. We got to the house just as the Lost Boys shot Wendy.

We were late back, and Son 2 was already upstairs with The Man. We went up and obliterated The Man’s attempts to follow our routine. Son 2 laughed, tottered, held out his arms, ran after Son 1, ran away from Son 1… The Man took Son 1 downstairs for tea. Son 2 and I read books, and then I put him in the bath. He’s such a poppet. He’s just started shaking his head and nodding his head, only he does little, fast to-and-fro movements like he’s shaking water out of his ears. I put him in the cot, did my singing and counting down and left him. Not only did he lie down without trying to clamber out of the cot, but he also cried for less than 5 minutes after I’d gone. A Good Thing.

I Believe In Cats

1.  Louder Than Words

2.  A Perfect Lunch

3.  Pat And Peter

Three years to the weekend since Son 1 aged 4y 4m was christened.  He was further forward in his speech than Son 1 aged 16m. When the water was splashed on his forehead he said “No, no, no.”   Son 2 can’t do yes and no.  But this morning,  I called across the room: “Son 2, have you done a poo?”  And he looked at me and did his tiny-fast movements nodding thing. He did indeed need a new nappy…

We went shopping in The Big Town.   Son 2 had stayed awake all the way there and was barely conscious. Choice.  Push the pram, have him fall asleep for a very short time, and then have to stop and get him some food Or Else.  Give him lunch at 1145 and let him fall asleep for a longer snooze.  We went to a cafe/bar.  The waitress understood the situation perfectly.  She slapped the children’s lunch order in before taking the rest of our order, and brought out 2 x sausage and chips in minutes. The children behaved impeccably.  The first stress-free family lunch we have had.  We shopped, and called into see Son 2’s Godmother, who isn’t well.  In her lounge was Son 2’s thirteen year old Godbrother, six girls and two boys.  The girls were making tutus for a party.  The Godmother had no idea who any of them were.  But she says at least she knows where Godbrother is.

Back home, the boys played with the Thomas Wooden Railway.  We have a lot of this, and Son 1 has always been a bit ambivalent.  Not many Pirates in Thomas.  But Son 2 loves it, which means Son 1 is also playing with it more often.  I made broccoli in cheese and onion sauce with pasta for tea.  They wolfed it.  Son 2 had fourths.  They got down from the table.  I read the paper and drank wine.  Son 1 came back, perching himself on the chair next to me, and playing with a Postman Pat van, and a plastic Postman Pat and Jess.  “I believe in cats, I believe in cats, I believe in cats.”  I looked up.  “What’s Postman Pat saying to Jess?” “I believe in cats.” “Why?”  “Because Jess has died.”  The pervasive Peter Pan again.  If you say you don’t believe in fairies,  one dies.

Party Time

1.  Sleeping In My Bed

2.  Banana Cake

3.  The Play Den

Midnight.  A stir in the air which means Son 1 aged 4y 4m is heading upstairs.  Son 2 aged 16m started roaring.  I sat up.  Son 1 crawled into bed behind me.  I waited to see if Son 2 would settle, but he wanted someone to come, and he was doing his shouting-so-angrily-you-can-hear-his-throat-strain thing. “Did you wake Son 2 up?” I asked Son 1. “No.” “Did you peek in his room at all?” “I didn’t go in his room.”  Son 2 was using everything he had, heels upwards, in his yelling.  I went downstairs to him.  The quilt of the bed in his room was turned back.  Son 1 had obviously got in the bed, snugged across unsuccessfully looking for a parent, padded away upstairs… and set his brother off.  By 0130 Son 2 was back in a deep sleep.  I plopped him in the cot, and went next door to sleep in Son 1’s bed.  I was freezing and needed an extra blanket.  Ah.  Son 1’s broken nights have coincided with this cold snap.  We are indeed Terrible Parents.

In the morning I told Son 1 that someone had, indeed, been into Son 2’s bedroom in the night and woken him up.  Son 1 laughed.  “It was me.”  Son 2 wanted food.  I took him downstairs while I made drinks and snacks.  He stood on dining chairs propped up by the worktops.  Direct line of sight to  the tub containing banana cake made by Wonder Nanny on Friday.  “Aahhh,” points Son 2.  I don’t think it’s possible to deflect Son 2 from a food mission once he’s got an idea in his head.  He ate two pieces.  And another piece for breakfast.

Son 1 had an invitation to a joint Nursery party at a Tourist Attraction 30 miles away.  The day was planned.  Son 2’s sleep.  Lunch. In the car and off we go.  Son 2, bunged up with banana cake,  wouldn’t eat an atom of lunch.     We walked into the Tourist Attraction. “You know Mummy, this isn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” said Son 1, taking in the slides, the soft play, and the Big Uns’ playstuff.   Half the size of the Bird Park play area, with four times as many children.   He sat on the sides, swinging his legs, and trying to get me to ask his Nursery friends to play with him.   He got there in the end.  Son 2 loved it.  Ball pool, play with the air jets.  Slides.  Climbing over the Big Uns’ playstuff. 90 minutes of heaving Son 2 up and down, round and along… sometimes checking on Son 1, sometimes playing with him, and it was time for Party Tea.  I tried to get Son 2 to eat a ham sandwich.  He settled for a chocolate doughnut.  At last I could go and get a cappacino.  The coffee machine was out of order.  Twenty minutes later, an announcement.  The loos were also out of order.  Tea over, more play, and then we rounded up our balloons and headed home, listening to Peter Pan and (one of us) munching cake and eating lollipops all the way.

Tags: ball pool, balloons, banana cake, birthday party, broken night, crying, disturbed night, loud crying, midnight waking, Party Tea, peter pan, Play Den, problem sleeping, soft play, summer quilt

Once A Mother

1.  A Suitable Boy

2.  The Wake Up Call

3.  Homecoming

Yesterday, before I left, for my overnight trip, a colleague was telling me about her student daughter.  She has chucked the Very Suitable Boyfriend.  The New Boyfriend is 11 years older.  His band is called ******.  Their single is called ****.  He wears a pink leotard.  The Very Suitable Boyfriend keeps ringing my colleague to give her updates on the Unsuitability of the New Boyfriend.  My colleague is “letting them get on with it.”

I drove through the rain to The Big City.  I met colleagues I hadn’t seen since before Son 1 aged 4y 4m was born.  It was great to see them, and I’m pleased I went.  I stayed in a hotel, looking forward to my lie in, missing Son 1 and Son 2 aged 16m, but looking forward to my morning off.  The phone rang, extraordinarily loudly, at 0530.  I couldn’t work out what it was.  It stopped. It started again.  Amazingly loud.  I picked it up and put it down to stop the noise.  And lay, wide awake, pondering the chances of an alarm call coming to the wrong room and disturbing me on my second morning ever sans enfants.  I told my story to my colleagues over breakfast.  Great news.  I am not the World’s Most Unlucky Mother. It was the fire alarm.  

A colleague told me about a mutual acquaintance who, when I last saw him, was going through the process of adopting his last child.  She is now 4, and a delight to the family.  When she was 2, they had a phone call from social services.  The birth mother had had another child, a girl, with a number of serious health problems.  The family could be considered first.  For a number of reasons, they’d had to say no.   I thanked my lucky stars, counted my blessings and there-but-for-the-graced.  To go through their journey, and then to have to make a decision like that on a bolt from the blue… I just about made it back for bedtime.  The Man has Flu.  Son 1 has a horrible croupy cough.  Son 2 has a cough, not quite so horrible, but with definite potential.  Son 1 has a huge scratch on his cheek: “It was Son 2!”  They were madly excited as I came up the stairs.  They are too wonderful to be left.

A Wandering Star

1.  Where Do The Children Play?

2.  The First Cut

3.  Hard Headed Women

Went down to The Museum with The Wednesday Friends.  We had a full house, thanks to an Inset Day, so the Eldest Boy, in full time school aged 4y 7m could come.  Son 1 aged 4y 4m wore his Captain Hook outfit.  Son 2 aged 17m just wanted to walk and walk.  3 4 year olds, a 3 year old and a 2 year old played, clung to mothers, fell out, fell over…. and the little toddler just toddled.  Out towards the windows.  Down the slopes to the lower floors.  Out to the lifts.  Up the stairs.  And, back down in The Square, off alongside The Museum to where The Man had dropped us all off.  Toddle toddle toddle.   At one point I had Son 1 snuggled up in The Big Pram and Son 2 on the reins.   Son 1 has always stayed close to heel.  For Son 2, There’s Such A Lot Of World To See.

On the way back we stopped in at the Hairdresser’s to see if they could give Son 1 a long overdue trim.  He is now too big for the little cars in front of the DVDs.  Pang.  Where did that go?  He sat on a special older child’s chair, watching Ratatouille, a Gold-Medal winning Pout on his face.  I chatted to the other hairdressers.  We decided they should trim Son 2’s fringe.  We sat him in the car.  He laughed and laughed at the joke.  When the scissors came near his head, he batted them away and tried to grab the hand wielding them.  Then he tried standing up, even though he was belted in.  Then he wanted to get down.  Then he wanted to get into the other car.  I caught his baby hair, and the salon owner put it in a money bag for me.  Son 1 gathered up two cupped handfuls of his hair from the floor and presented it to me.  I needed his hairdresser to tell me: “I think he wants you to keep his as well.”   We gazed in the nearby jeweller’s shop at the lockets in the window.   “Daddy will have to buy me one of those to keep your hair in,” I told Son 1.  “And I need one for my treasure chest,” he said.

Half price food at a local pizza place, so the two other Wednesday mums and I went out for a meal.  We discussed children and men, the days before we had our families,  childhoods, people we know and food and faddy eating.  And had a very nice time.

Stille Nacht

1.  Darling Buds

2.  Primroses

3.  Hazelnuts

And Good Thing No 1 is that for the first time in ages (since they had their colds?) Son 1 aged 4y 4m, and Son 2 aged 17 went to sleep and woke up in their own bed/cot.  Not without trauma or incident, but it’s a start.  Son 2 cried so much yesterday evening that we simply had to leave him.  We were both working and in the end, after each of us had spent a couple of 20 min+s with him, we had to give up and let him cry.  Which I’m not doing again as I can’t stand it.  But… he did stay asleep in the cot till morning.  A Gold Star to the little boy with the Very Loud Voice.  Son 1 came floating up to the Big Bed at 4am, and I led him back down to his own bed.  I got in with him, and then when he’d gone back to sleep I went in the bed in Son 2’s room.  After so many nights of me in one bed with one child, and The Man in the other bed with the other, I am pleased. 

We got to Nursery in plenty of time.  Son 1’s last day before his half term.  There are some daffodils in bloom on the other side of the road to the Muddy Path.  And primroses.  “I won a prize when I was a little girl for drawing a primrose.” “What did you win?”  “I can’t remember.  I got a certificate.”  “Can i see the picture?”  “I haven’t got it anymore.”  “Can I see the certificate?”  “I haven’t got that any more either.  I know I was very proud.”  In the Nursery, Son 1 showed me his snowmen pictures, up on the wall.  Son 1 with his Snowman.  The Snowman, without Son 1.   Nursery wrote us a note in Son 1’s book thanking us for the photos.  “Son 1 is very proud of them.”   

Son 1 and I went shopping.  He struggled to get past the Power Ranger toys, Ben 10 jumpers/socks, and power ranger/Ben 10 outfits.  I let him choose a cake to eat at the till.  He chose a doughnut with chocolate icing and chopped hazelnuts.  Up and down the aisles.  He sat in the trolley.  He did pretty well, although it really isn’t a good idea to take him.  At the till I gave him his doughnut.  As I packed the shopping: “Mummy can you take these bits off, I don’t like them.”  I packed up, I paid.  I pushed Son 1 to the side.  And then stood there picking off scores and scores of hazelnut pieces.  I got most of them off, and gave the doughnut back to Son 1 with just a few dotted about on it.  He spent the time from the shop to the car meticulously picking every piece off.  In the car on the way home he ate the chocolate icing and then passed me the ring with it’s top chewed off.

V For Valentine

1.    Starting Early

2.    Sea Bass

3.    Looking Superficial

 A rubbish night.  Son 2 aged 17m woke screaming at 1am.  I went down pretty quickly and lifted him out of his cot. Rigid with tension.  How does he do that so fast?  It really makes me think there’s little point at this stage trying to leave him in any way to settle himself back to sleep.  He’s awake, he’s wound up… only a Parent will do.  At 4am Son 1 aged 4y 4m woke with a horrible croupy cough.  I heard him trailing upstairs to the Big Bed.  Son 2 seemed to be in a coma, so I gently lifted him back into his cot.  On the basis that anytime spent sleeping without an adult is a right step.  He woke.  And then he didn’t go back to sleep for an hour and a half.  There are times when he simply cannot settle himself – even when I’m there.   At 0530 I left him and went downstairs for coffee.  And i got some Office work done.  Which was a Good Thing.

Six Valentine’s cards in the window.  The Man’s, Mine, two cards (identical, bought by The Man) for me from the boys.  Two cards (similar, but different, bought by me) for the boys.  We had vague going out plans but decided they were too ambitious after the broken night.  Son 1 wanted to play with his Moon Sand, so we said he could during Son 2’s nap.  Then Son 1 wanted to hold a fish in his hands.  He was still thinking of the Sea Bass in the Fishmonger’s he’d wanted me to buy on Wednesday.  Fine.  We would go down and get a Sea Bass for tea.  Off we went.  Son 1’s haul from the charity collectors was one red rose and two red balloons.  We bought the Sea Bass. He held it in his hands in the Fishmonger’s.

It’s still in the fridge.  After lunch we were all in the lounge when Son 2 trod on the Castle of Doom drawbridge.  It collapsed under his food and he split his lip open on a pointy battlement.  He roared.  His mouth and nose were full of blood – his mouth was awash in it.  I took him up to a nurse at the Minor Injuries Unit.  She said they could glue it, but we could take him to see a doctor at The Hospital if we liked.  Off we went.  The Man and Son 1 came too, because Son 1 wouldn’t stay  behind.  The doctor at the Hospital said it was superficial, a graze, and she didn’t need to do anything to it.  We bought the boys back and gave them their baths.  It isn’t superficial.  It’s a whopping great trench, like an inverted V, and if it doesn’t look any better tomorrow then I’m taking him back.  The doctor, like so many I see these days, looked about 18.  But then as all her workmates are plastic surgeons, that may not necessarily mean anything.

Tonic, Treat And Teeth

1.  Four Good Things Before Breakfast

2.  V For Vaseline

3.  CuddleBlast

The Man and I both went to sleep on our own in the Big Bed last night.  This is a Good Thing.  For a while it’s seemed like one or other of us is in with a child from the off.  Son 2 aged 17m stayed in his own bed till 3am.  That’s a lot better than last night.  Tick. Another Good Thing.   I woke up in daylight, got up and he slept on,  so that’s actually only four hours in with a parent.  Son 1 aged 4y 4m stayed in his own bed all night. Four Good Things already and it was only 7am.  The Man and Son 1 were downstairs and pottering, Son 1 itching to decorate a biscuit.  I said he could do one for breakfast if he ate all his fruit tub first. 

Son 1 span out his tub for a good hour and a half, watching telly in the lounge. Son 2 and I read, had our shower and went downstairs for breakfast.  Son 2’s lip is still horrible, but now the swelling’s gone down it isn’t gaping as much as yesterday.  He’s still got his cold though, and wiping his nose – which was always a bit of a trauma – just made him weep.  So I spent today cleaning up snot, drying the wound and slathering vaseline on it.  Most mornings we have Tonic, Treat and Teeth.  Omega 3 vitamin medicine, a biscuit and then teeth cleaning.  They had their Tonic and were allowed to decorate their biscuits as their Treat.  They both stuffed their faces with the sprinkles and sugar balls, Son 2’s sticking to his vaseline.  Son 1 started squeezing the icing straight from the pen into his mouth.    His sprinkles stuck to the icing round his mouth.  Son 1 ate some of his biscuit.  Son 2 just licked the icing and sprinkles off.

We went for lunch with Son 2’s Godmother and Godsister, who had vouchers for Pizza Express.   Son 1 had a serious shyness episode.  Godsister had changed.  She wasn’t like she was before.  Godsister is a beautiful, willowy, 14.  Son 1 last saw her about 6m ago.  She’d got Very Big.  The boys did well at lunch – Son 2 was on great form.  Godmother and Godsister swore by Bio Oil for Son 2’s lip.  We shopped on the way home.  Nappies, Bio Oil and Ibuprofen sachets.  And Son 2’s first pair of shoes.  He loved them.  Stomped around the shop in them squealing and squawking,  Godmother and Godsister had to come round to see Son 1’s Omnitrix.  They were introduced to Heatblast, Wildmutt and Co.  Son 1 helped me cook the Sea Bass for tea.  Son 2 wolfed it. Son 1 finally ate a reasonable amount after exhausting cajoling.  We invented CuddleBlast, a superhero who cuddles the baddies every time she catches them.  Peels of laughter from Son 1.  At bathtime, Son 2 was very chilled when the Bio Oil went on his lip.  They went to bed. I went for a run.  A lot of Good Things.

Coastal Conditions

1.  A Dark And Stormy Night 

2.  Sea Breeze 

3.  What A Beautiful Day

Oh What A Night.   Son 2 aged 17m woke up at about 2300m and The  Man went to him. I went upstairs… The Man was already in bed with Son 2.   I went to bed and Son 2 still fretted and called, and called and fretted.   Son 1 aged 4y 4m cried out.  I heard The Man snoring.  My left ear,  which has been cracking since last summer was agony if I lay on it.  After well over an hour of Son 2 bawling and miaowing. I went down.  The Man had Son 2 and Son 1 in bed with him.  I sent him and Son 1 upstairs, gave Son 2 Calpol and snugged down with him.  At 0130 I said if he didn’t go to sleep he was going back in his cot.  At 0200 he was asleep on the bed, and I went downstairs to sort my ear out and get a cup of tea. He started howling again.  I came back upstairs and put him in the cot.  I bent down next to him for a good 20 minutes, killing my ear, jaw and throat.  He finally passed out.  At last A Good Thing. I went downstairs and drank tea till 3am.  And then went to sleep in Son 1’s bed. 

  Son 1 slept till gone 9am. The first time he’s still been asleep in bed when Wonder Nanny arrived.   We rang his Best Friend.  Going to the Gardens by the Beach with their scooters.  We were under pressure, because Son 2 was so tired after his disturbed night.  We loaded up the car with The Big Pram (portable bed,) Son 1’s scooter, Son 1’s skates, knee and elbow pads and helmet, and Son 2’s pushalong car.  When we got there Best Friend had had such a huge tantrum that he wasn’t allowed in the Gardens, and had no telly all day.  We went on The Beach.  Son 2 loved it.  He was still screaming to stay awake when I wheeled him up and down to get him to sleep at 1330.  Amazing stamina.  Must get it from his father.   The split lip is still looking pretty grim.

A Northerly, so we were protected a little on The Beach, the sun shone, the air was clear, children ran around everywhere.  Next to us we had a half-term club, who had a parachute,  piles of buckets and spades, and a huge sand racing car they’d dug.  They wanted Son 2 to sit in it.  Until he started taking great handfuls out of the steering wheel and bonnet.   Our four welcomed a stream of small children who wandered in and out of their play zone…   Son 1 in the end folded.  He’s still got his temperature thing, where he suddenly starts to burn up, and he wanted to go home. I have a nasty feeling he’s just not drinking enough.  Being positive, we now have a new sticker chart.  He can have a star each time he has a cup of juice/water/milk.  And so we’ll soon find out if it’s a dehydration thing.

A Herd Of Peacocks

1.  Reveille

2.  Rendezvous

3.  Muster

Hooray hooray. Both boys stayed in their own beds all night.  Son 1 aged 4y 4m lost a few points for waking up screaming at 11pm, but he’s still not well.  A croupy cough.  Severe nasal congestion.  And a temperature that shoots up suddenly and can barely be tent-pegged down again by big slugs of calpol and ibuprofen.  Son 2 aged 17m lost points for waking up when I tiptoed down at 5am for coffee, and then refusing to go back to sleep.  I put the light on to give him some calpol, and his eyes were wide open, his pupils huge and spookily darting back and forward in REM.  And at the same time he was gripping me so I couldn’t go.  He was instantly awake and alert.   I thought REM meant deep deep sleep.  Clearly Son 2 represents Man’s Next Evolutionary Leap.  Humans Who Need No Sleep. 

We decided on the Peacock Playground, and it was a Good Thing when I found the paperwork for the family membership after half an hour’s hunting. (Son 1, booted and coated and crunching on the gravel outside: “Are we giving up yet?” Me: “Of course not darling, it’ll turn up in a minute.”)  Recycling pile.  We arrived and played.  Weather fabulous.  Bright sunshine, spring garden.  Son 1 climbed and slid and rocked and rode.  Son 2 rode and tottered and crawled and swung.  Wonder Nanny had packed pitta, pepper and hummous, and the boys dived in.  A  beautiful peacock sauntered up looking for food.  We fed it pitta. Son 2 gave it pepper.  It was amazing in the sunlight.  Iridescent, shimmering blue, greeny golds, goldy greens, and on its back a fantastic vivid deep lime green. It wandered off, and our two slipped down from the table to follow it. Then a pack of eight year old boys chased it into the bushes.

We collected feathers.  Not the great big Event ones… but little ones, dotted and speckled in browns, greys and blacks, fluffy and white, very small with just a hint of brilliant blue.  We even have a couple of red-tipped ones from some Golden Pheasants/Lady Amhersts. Son 1 is going to make a peacock picture with them.  We have in fact collected enough for a New Hat for Mummy.  The peacocks were out in force. At one point there were nearly 20, mostly female, mostly young, on the lawn and moving like grazing animals.  “What’s the collective noun for a group of peacocks?” asked Wonder Nanny.  “A herd?”  A male suddenly spread his tail.  With his back turned to the girls.  “Mummy mummy!” Son 1 was jumping in excitement.  Son 2 ignored it all and watched a tractor and trailer.  He walked miles today.  Both boys slept deeply on the way home.  And as soon as we got in, Son 1’s temperature rocketed…

The Cuteness Of Piglets

1.  Daring To Kiss

2.  Spring Animals

3.  Dinner With A Friend

I spent the night with Son 1 aged 4y 4m.  He’s still hot and bothered. I got up just before 5am, and decided I Do Not Drink Coffee till 6am.  I cracked at 0520.  Did some admin/paperwork.  The Man got up.  Off on a Business Trip.  Very pleased to see me Downstairs.  He’d thought, as I wasn’t with Son 1, that I must be behind closed doors with Son 2 aged 17m.  The Man dares not go into The Lightest Sleeper In The World’s bedroom, and thought it would be bad luck to leave without kissing goodbye.  After all these years I think that counts as a Good Thing.

A text from a Wednesday Mum.  Little Three Year Old Friend fell off the new bunk bed ladder last night and has broken his arm. Overnight in The Hospital, in theatre this morning.  I rang.  Tib and fib.  Carried off in an ambulance.  Five weeks in plaster ahead.   We went off to the Bird Park.  It was indescribably busy.  Every table packed, buggies everywhere, people standing round the edges.  The Other Wednesday Mum went for coffees while Son 2 and I played in the toddler area.  A table became free right next to it.  I stepped over and plonk.  Camp struck, Good Thing bagged.  Son 1 played, but as his calpol wore off his mood crashed.  We went outside. Down to the Farm.  The goats weren’t hungry – half term, they ‘d eaten hundreds of bags of pellets.  they just wanted grass.  There was a great fat black pig with ten gorgeous tiny piglets.  As a vegetarian, I can enjoy the cuteness of piglets guilt-free.  The quails had chicks.  The Big Fat Hens had laid eggs in the hen houses.  We went up to the Penguin Pond.  Son 1 climbed up on the wall and sat, in a “W,” which meant he takes up three times as much room as a child sitting cross-legged.   About sixty children were crammed round the wall.  Buckets of fish arrived with two keepers.  “We need about 12 volunteers!”  Every had shot up.  Son 1 has learned from previous disappointments, and is now much better at getting picked.  He was the best penguin-feeder by far.  Coat off, shoes off, dive into bucket.  Fling Those Fish.

Only. We’d forgotten Nanna was coming at 4pm.  I tried ringing, and off we sped.   Her car was parked near the house, no sign of her.  My mobile went.  She was waiting with our neighbours.  We drove down to The Square and went into Pizza Express for tea.  The boys were worn out and loudly fractious.  And then in came Son 1’s nearly six-year-old friend with his Mother, just back from the panto.  They sat on the other side of the restaurant, and Son 1 spent the entire meal with them.  I sent over a glass of Pinot Grigio as a babysitting fee.   So. Rude to Nanna, but he wate nearly every scrap of pizza, and Nanna and I got our food. Son 2 went for a walk round the restaurant with Nanna, fell over, hit his nose and split his lip open again.

After a long, late, exhausting bedtime, I rang 3 year old’s father at home, and then his mum in the hospital. They were both within 1m of him when it happened.  Second rung from the bottom of the ladder, foot slipped in, child fell and they heard the “snap.”  He has two greensticks and one proper fracture.  He was X-Ray Of The Day.  He’s on calpol.  He seems fine.   In the next bed is a little girl still recovering from the car crash in which her brother died.  It’s really only a scratch on Son 2’s lip.

No Place Like Home

 1. Lying In

 2. Lying Down

3. Laid Up

Son 2 aged 17 shrieked, sobbed and shouted at 11pm. I got him back down in his cot. Son 1 aged 4y 4m woke screaming at some Godforsaken hour. I went down. He was still half asleep, so I carried him up to the Big Bed. Son 2 slept till 7am, starlet. We went downstairs, he had snacks and milk, I had coffee. We came back and read some books. We had a shower… I dressed him. I didn’t dare go back up for either my clothes or contact lenses, so I sat playing with him in Son 1’s abandoned bedroom till Wonder Nanny arrived. We headed on down for breakfast, and Son 1 materialised at about 0845, draped round a stair rail, half-crying, half-sulking.

We had a slow morning; Wonder Nanny took Son 2 upstairs for a nap. He cried and reached for me, his eyes beseeching. She got him settle without so much as a dust speck stirring. How can that happen? She took him upstairs… she came down after 15 minutes. No yelling, so screeching, no punching through ear drums like he’s opening a new jar of coffee. On the Bright Side, she’s an excellent Control in our childcare experiment. Son 2 doesn’t toss and turn and refuse to settle because he’s a wired child, acutely receptive to stimulus, who finds relaxing very difficult. Son 2 has no problems at all with Wonder Nanny. Son 2 just Wants His Mum.

We roasted a chicken and some vegetables which they kind of ate, and then went out on an expedition to get a present for, and visit, the Three Year Old With The Broken Arm. Playdoh Operation. I thought it was funny. At the invalid’s house, we inspected the new bunk beds. Very nice indeed. “We were hoping they’ wouldn’t sleep in our bed anymore once they had these…” said the Mother, as Three Year Old heaved himself up, the plaster casted arm trailing. “Well it’s worked for Three Year Old, hasn’t it?” I said. “Two nights in hospital instead.” Back home, The Man returned. Son 1 chose stories about sleepovers and poorliness for bedtime. We read “There’s No Place Like Home,” in which a mole looks for a new house. “There’s no place like my home,” said Son 1, snuggling down.

Sandcastles In February

1.   Shorter Nights

2.   Lovely Morning

3.   Precious Days

Son 2 aged 17m woke at 1130 last night, just after I’d gone to bed.  He screamed and I let him.  I hated it. It went on forever.  But I’ve been so tired, and I couldn’t help thinking that he had gone to sleep without a whimper for Wonder Nanny.    It was all for my benefit.  He roared.  He hollered himself hoarse.  He sobbed.  He shouted.  He woke Son 1 aged 4y 4m in the next room, who cried a bit for “Mummy” and then went back to sleep.  And then, finally, he stopped, and slept till morning.  So it was a Good Thing, especially in view of the amount of times recently either of us has slept with him.  But when I finally get some rest, I still may crack again.  Because I know he won’t Want His Mummy forever.

Blue skies, crisp winter sunshine, little or no wine. We went to a new beach.  The Town’s are sandy shingle/stoney sand.  We wanted wide expanses of golden sand.  We took: the beach bag (beach toys, sun suits, beach shoes, beach mat,) the beach tent, Son 1’s inflatable surf board, two changes of clothing, two towels, two pairs of wellies, jumpers, a massive packed lunch and the Big Pram.   Son 1 checked my packing.  Son 2 fell over and split his lip open again, for the third time. (Minor Injuries again.  They said they can’t do anything now; put Vaseline on it.)  We drove for 25 miles and the boys slept.   On arrival the car park was empty.  We loaded up the Big Pram like a sherpa’s mule and trundled over a bridge across a rushing stream.  Pooh Sticks.  We all got our sticks, we got ready for “Ready Steady Go” and Son 2 chucked his stick in.  Every time.  Basic Human Instinct.  Lean over fence, look down, get given a stick, throw it in the water.   Laugh.  

Son 2 had his lunch with Wonder Nanny, Son 1 and I climbed rocks.  He pushed my hand away, he said: “I can do it!” as I reached for him.  He slipped and said “Don’t worry Mummy” before I could hoik him up again.  He wanted to walk all round the edge of a tidal pool as the tide came in.  Next time, I said.  I wanted to help him down; he jumped without me.  Pang. Slipping Through My Fingers.   We put the Beach Tent up and had our lunch.  Son 1 decided he wanted his sun suit on so he could play in the sea.  I blew up his surf board and rolled up my trousers.  In he went.  Splashing, wading, kicking, lying down, falling off, getting soaked from chin to toe in water which was so cold it hurt my feet.   Son 2, also in his sun suit,  came for a splash with Wonder Nanny.  The boys played and played.  Son 2 started crying with cold, so back in the tent I dressed him.  Son 1 came out, also crying, also blue with teeth chattering.   We made a massive sandcastle.  Son 2 kept sitting in the moat, Son 1 did all the work patting the sides down.  We took pictures.  Son 1 kicked it flat.  17 days ago he was making snowmen.   We used everything we took, which is an extra bonus point for me.

The Gift

1.  Reasons To Be Cheerful, Part One

2.  Reasons To Be Cheerful,  Part Two

3.  Reasons To Be Cheerful, Part Three

Both boys slept through the evening and the night.  Flags, fireworks, fiesta.  Another Fine Forecast. I suggested ferry, castle and beach.  The Man voted in favour.  Son 1 aged 4y 4m “I like that plan.”  We hurried to get ready.  Son 2 aged 17m was like a caged bear cub.  He was supposed to be in the kitchen with me, so he climbed up the stairs, came into the lounge and tipped my laptop off the table.  Loud bang.  Wah.  Ma-ma.  Ma-ma.  I took him up to the Big Bedroom where Son 1 was watching Citv.  I put my make up on.  “Mummy! Come and see what our baby’s done to the baby wipes!”  Our baby had pulled most of a full packet out, one by one. Climbing on chairs. Climbing on tables. Pulling out toys.  We strapped him in the buggy and fled.

The ferry was fine, Son 2 waved at another ferry, Son 1 came outside and we all stared back at The Town as we chugged away.  The harbour on the other side of The River was a bit dodgy, fishing nets, buoys, ropes and gear everywhere, unfenced, and Son 1 desperate to touch everything.  We bought pies to eat on the beach and he pestered and whined for them.  Till we got to the beach, when suddenly he wasn’t interested.  Over the rocks, into the rock pools.  Climbing, peering, prodding.  Son 2 toddled.  Off. Towards the sea, towards the rocks, away, anywhere.  I put him in his sunsuit and took  his shoes and socks off.  The shingly sand and broken shells on soft baby feet cramped his style.  For a few minutes.  He paddled and played in the water, laughing, splashing, picking up handfuls of tiny stones and letting them go.  Son 1 got in his sunsuit, and climbed and sat and fished with his net.  Another boy joined him, and they played together, refusing to come down when we called.  The beach was near-empty, the water was flat and turquoise,  the sun shone, the light was sharp.  Our coastline is always a joy, but across the deserted river on a still and clear day it was pretty much as it would have been centuries ago.   It would have been an amazing day in August. In February it was a Very Special Gift.   

Son 2 crashed out in the buggy, and we pushed him up to the Castle.  Son 1 was enchanted.  We went up narrow, spiralling stairs, we went down into chambers of cold stone.  At the bottom we saw the cannons in the gun rooms.  We peered through the gun slits: “Can you see an enemy ship?”  “Yes!” “Then Fire!” “Ker-boom!”    We went up to the top.  Son 1 was spooked by the life-size figures of soldiers in the armoury, but then fascinated: “Can I touch them, can I take their shoes off? Can I feel their hair?”  From the top of the turret, we heard Son 2’s wails.  We all went outside.   Son 2 trotted along on his reins, singing, his floppy old man combover hair blowing vertical. Son 1 crawled around under the cannons.  “Son 1! What are you doing?” “Mending the cannons!”  Ferry back, all of us psychotically tired.  I still cooked, pasta in cheese and five veg sauce.  They’ll be starving, I thought.  They’ll gobble it up.  They were.  They did.  We had them both asleep at 1930.  Fireworks. Flags. Fiesta.

Ten Swans A-Swimming

1.  Swimming Beauties

2.  Swimming Babies

3.  Swimming Boys

A Grim night.  Son 2 aged 17m woke hollering at 0030, and I went to him, switched his fan on (white noise) and helped him back to sleep.  I hadn’t got back to sleep when Son 1 aged 4y 5m woke up, and I went in with him.  When he went back to sleep I went in the double bed in Son 2’s room. I was so wrecked when he woke up that I tried to get him back to sleep.  He refused.  Needed new nappy.  Son 1 arrived.  No chance of getting back to bed.  Looking out at the river while I changed Son 2 I saw 10 swans, seven swimming in a long line, three stragglers bringing up the rear.   A record for the river. Son 1 said something about  seeing a long line of swans a few days ago.

Son 2 was again, uncontainable this morning.  Climbing, pulling things out of drawers, demanding mobile phones and the fancy ear thermometer.  He wriggled down from the bed while I was reading to him and marched off  to the bathroom, patting the taps, tugging at his pyjama top “A-ma.  A-ma.”  He always comes in the shower with me, but I’d already decided we were going to Baby swimming.  He was desperate to get in the pool, swam on the noodle with me, but really wanted to wander off on the tiles without me.  I let him the first time.  Skid. Bang.  Wah.  Huge bump on his head.  Split lip open again.  Blood everywhere.  I mopped him up and we went back in.  A bit more swimming, but then he wanted to get out.  He was asleep in the car seat when we got back to the house, and stayed asleep while I took his coat and shoes off, put him in his sleeping bag and put him in his cot.  

I went back to the Pool with Son 1. Best Friend and his brother were there with their parents.  And a colleague of mine from The Office with his three boys.  And the two boys nannied by Wonder Nanny’s friend.  And Lifestyle Guru Hairdresser and her two boys.  Son 1 played with Best Friend in the spa pools and the main pool.  He went down the Flume twice, me following behind him. Best Friend left. Son 1 played, I followed.  Lovely Chair (I sit on the noodle and he pulls it away; I pretend I don’t know who did it,) Terrible Weather (we sit under surf boards under the big fountain and the water hammers on top,) Killer Whales and Crocodiles.  Back at the house Son 2 had only just woken up and was having lunch.  Afterwards Son 1 made a picture of peacock with the feathers we found on Tuesday.  I was thinking eco-material collage.  Son 1 did his own thing and wouldn’t accept parental guidance.  It was roadkill.

Lord Of The Air

1.  First Night Self-Soothing

2.  First Day Back

3.  First Knights Kaput

The boys slept ok, I didn’t.  Son 2 aged 17m woke three times before midnight.  The first time I helped him back to sleep, and put his fan on.  The other two we left him, and he didn’t cry for very long before going back to sleep on his own.  That was a Fantastic Thing, from a child who has months and months of evidence that if he just STANDS IN HIS COT AND SHOUTS VERY LOUDLY FOR LONG ENOUGH HIS MOTHER WILL COME.  Son 1 aged 4y 5m woke crying after time 3, and I went into bed with him.  I did get back in the Big Bed with The Man eventually, but it felt like I was up a long time.

Back to School.  We left on time and had a relatively painless trip to Nursery.  Back to The Office, which was also ok.  The Colleague we saw at the Swimming Pool yesterday asked about Son 2’s lip.  And I confessed to something I left out of the blog yesterday.  In the Pool, after he’d fallen over and split his lip open for the fourth time since his accident, I was trying to stuff the blood back up Son 2’s nose so the lifeguards wouldn’t see I had a bleeding baby in the water.  I had already paid £2.80 and didn’t want to get out so soon. This parenting technique is apparently not yet in the manuals. 

The Man is off on another Business Trip.  I picked Son 1 up late, hey ho, and tried to make up the half an hour we needed to get back for Wonder Nanny’s leaving time.   Temporary traffic lights in Next Town.  No chance.  When we got in Son 1 had just woken and was crying… Son 2 demanded to be picked up.  Son 1 was clinging on one arm, so Wonder Nanny put Son 2 on the other.  He reached and cuddled Son 1.  Twice.  It was lovely.  Part of the reason Son 1 was crying was he’d lost his new Dragon Fly Gormiti at Nursery.  I gave him another one, A Lord Of The Air.  Situation sort of saved, although Son 1 did love the Dragon Fly.  He took them upstairs to play with at bathtime.  Son 2 picked up Magmion, Lord of the Lava,  ran with it and left it on the bathroom floor.  And I trod on it and broke the tail off.  Situation … er… AFU.

Till Sunbeams Find You

1.  Linger Till Dawn

2.  Singing In The Sycamore Tree

3.   Sweet Dreams

A blast from Son 2 aged 17m last night as I went to bed.  I find that hard.  If I’ve worked and finished after 10pm it can be way after 11pm before I go up.  The last thing I need when I just want to go to bed is the Loudest Baby On The Planet cracking the plaster with the force of his yell.  However.  I got him back to sleep in the cot… I left him awake (YEEEELLLLL) and he didn’t disturb me for the rest of the night. 

I woke just before 6am and tiptoed downstairs.  Unloaded dishwasher silently.  No chinking cups at all allowed.  It wakes Son 2.  Coffee.  I made the boys their snacks and drinks, and headed upstairs at first light.  I stopped off in the lounge and sat in the window.  Metallic skies with paintbrush dabs of dark grey in wide swathes… the shining, flat river, with a long, single ship at anchor half way across, the reflected light from its windows forming straight lines down on the surface of the water.  Still, peaceful, tons of birdsong.  I rang The Man.  And then heard a child’s voice upstairs.  I went up.  The light was on in Son 2’s room, the fan was switched on. Son 2 was lying face down, drowsy in the cot.  Son 1 aged 4y 5m was sitting in a “W” on the double bed and looking very pleased with himself.

Home again late, well past Wonder Nanny’s leaving time.  She’d done the baths, the teeth and put them in pyjamas.  “No worries!” she always says brightly.  If it were me I would SEETHE.  She had mended the broken Gormiti.  The Man had arranged for a new Magmion to be delivered to the house, and it was being dropped off, together with a new Series 2 Gormiti  as I got back.  Son 1 went for the Series 2.  A Forest Person.  Can’t remember the name, but it’s vulnerable and anxious and attacks by suddenly being sick on you.   Not unlike Son 2.   Son 1 and I had a mature and mutually-respectful little Learning Discussion about why he wanted the new Magmion when he had already helped himself to the new Gormiti.  Oh all right then, we didn’t.  I called him a Greedy Pig and said he’s not having any more new toys if he can’t be nice when he gets a treat.  He said he won’t ever buy me anything for my birthday and then I will have nothing.  I said I wanted him to come upstairs for bed.  He pulled the mended tail off the old Magmion.   “Best Friend can have this and I will have the new one.”  He lay quietly in bed while I put Son 2 down to sleep so that he can have another star on his chart tomorrow.

Song And Dance

1.  Independence

2.  Insurrection

3.  Initiative

Son 1’s star chart means he stays in his own bed.  But it also means the odd foghorn blast in the early hours. My choice: leave him and face hell unleashed if Son 2 aged 17m wakes up, or go in with him.  I woke up in Son 1’s bed.  Son 2 was calling.  He had his snack, we read, he came in the shower with me.  As I got out, he suddenly cracked how to scoop up water in a tub and pour it in the top of his Winnie-The-Pooh stacking cup tower so that all the water comes out of the elephant’s trunk at the bottom.  He chortled.  He squealed.  He panted. He laughed.   Suddenly he no longer needed to wait till Mummy or Son 1 did it for him.  He could do it himself.  There it was! The water coming out of the trunk! He could put his hand under it! He could collect it in another tub!   He could put his finger over the end of the spout!  All by himself! He sang.  He giggled.  He was magical.

We had five boys under the age of five round this morning. The Three Year Old with a broken arm can’t get sand in his plaster, and probably shouldn’t be climbing over boats in The Museum.   Son 2 stood on his table and nearly bounced off in excitement when Best Friend and Little Brother arrived.   They all played very well, considering what they’re capable of.  Tinkerbell’s head was pulled off by Son 2 before they arrived.  (Every Child Is Different.  Son 1 always went for the wings.)  They played with the Wooden Thomas, the pirates, the castle and the monsters.  Three Year Old and his mother left, the others stayed for lunch.  In the time it took to make, Son 1 and Best Friend had pulled most of his bedroom and all of the lounge to pieces.  Mountains of miscellaneous books, toys and pieces of games spread across the floor.  

Put a sobbing Son 2 to bed, tidied lounge, cleared up lunch things.  Son 2 woke, put him back to bed. Heard Nanna downstairs. She’d  knocked on the door, got no answer, rung the house, Son 1 had answered the phone, and she’d got him to go down and let her in.  Son 2 woke. Tidied Son 2’s room. Started tea.  Son 2 hadn’t slept enough, and was demanding, fragile, clumsy, loud and clingy.  I put the Wiggles on and he loved it. ”Snap Snap”ped to the crocodile, and got up and danced.  He went across to Nanna and held her hands so she’d dance too.  Again, he was absolutely lovely.

Hello Mum

1.  Flowers Are Red

2.  The Fastcoach

3.  Wordcount

0530.  Son 2 aged 17m stood in his cot and bellowed. I pelted down and tried to get him to go back to sleep.  Fan on.  Snuggles in bed.  Lie still.  He kept trying to crawl over to the bedside table to look for a drink.  At 0610 we were Up.  Son 1 aged 4y 4m said he wanted to watch telly upstairs, but stayed down with us singing Nursery Rhymes and playing with Son 2’s puppets.  We have an extra verse in  Baa Baa Black Sheep: “Mummy’s got two little booooyyyys, and Son 1 and Son 2 are their names.”  “That used to just be about me, didn’t it?”  said Son 1.  Up until 17 months ago, I used to sing: “Mummy’s got a little booooyyy, and Son 1 is his name.”  As soon as Son 2 arrived, I upgraded the song.  Just as I was admiring Son 1’s ability to remember things from when he was two years old he said: “They wouldn’t let me sing my special verse at my Old Nursery.”  I expect they made him colour inside the lines of drawings as well.

Son 1 and I planned to do a Big Shop after The Office, so I’d already warned Wonder Nanny that we’d be late.  I was a little bit…er… late picking Son 1 up.  I parked up the Muddy Path so he could enjoy his woodland walk back to the car.  And halfway came those four dread little words “I-need-a-poo.”  Back to the Nursery.  Afterwards Son 1 dillied, dallied and dawdled all the way back to the car.  “Son 1 will you stop being such a slowcoach!”  “I think you should stop being a Fastcoach.”  Couldn’t agree more.  This is the child who has also brought us “sadpatch” and “naughtypatch” to go with “crosspatch.”   We got a Good Big Shop done, but we were embarrassingly late. We bought Wonder Nanny two bunches of flowers.

And upstairs to the  lounge when we got in.  Son 2 toddled up the stairgate, looked up and said “Allo Mama.”  Perfect.  Wonder Nanny and Son 1 both heard it and instantly commented.  His first sentence.  He’s beaten Son 1 to that.  Son 1’s first sentence was “Chocco?  Yeah?” lying on his nappy mat, looking up at me on Easter Bank Holiday Monday, after a day spent stuffing his face with sweets.  Son 1 had about 25 words by the time he was 18 months old.  Son 2 can do Mama, Dadda, Bye bye, allo, a  vowelly version of Son 1’s name, a good shot at Wonder Nanny’s name, na na for crocodile, rah for lion, tiger, dinosaur and bear.  An even louder RAH for parrot (he’s seen a vocal one at the Bird Park) ooo ooo for owl, oo oo (as in book) for dog. Mer for cow. mouth opening and closing for fish, wa wa for duck.  Son 1 had the proper words; Son 2 makes all his up.  i get the feeling no Nursery could stop him singing whatever he likes.

Party Bag Or Daddy?

1.   Morning Has Broken

2.   A Choice

3.   Deep Sleep

4 am.  Son 2 aged 17 m, lifting the roof again.  I went down, put him back to sleep in his cot and went back to bed.  At first light he woke again, and I plonked him in the double bed and lay down next to him.  He wouldn’t go back to sleep.  He cried, he wriggled, he crawled off in his sleeping bag, he peered this way and that for drinks, he grumbled.  I refused to move.  I became aware of a Presence.  The bedside light was switched on and a bright voice aged 4y 5m said “Rise and Shine!”  Son 1 went back upstairs to watch telly, Son 2 and I went downstairs.  Wonder Nanny made flapjacks yesterday and left them in a plastic box on the work surface.  Son 2 took one look at the box and insisted.  “Ah Ma.” Hand outstretched, palm open, fingers spread as wide as they go. I rang the upstairs phone and Son 1 answered: “Hello!”  “Son 2 is having a flapjack for his snack.”  “Can I please have a flapjack?”  “Ok.”  “Goodbye.”

A 6 year old’s party this afternoon.  Fancy Dress.  Son 1 was a Power Ranger – a surprising Pang as I wondered whether he’d ever choose any of his pirate outfits again – and Son 2 was a Halloween Bat.    The party was in a Church Hall, with Son 1 and Son 2’s old Male Nursery Nurse presiding.  Many team games.  Son 1 was a bit younger than most of the children, but played very well most of the afternoon with a three year old girl friend from Down The Terrace.   All the other children loaded up on fingers of fudge, haribous, fairy cakes, chews, crisps,  chocolate crispies and squash.  My two chose cherry tomatoes, plain rice cakes, cucumber slices, and batons of pepper, carrot and cheese.  It’s the internet, I can make up anything I like.  They were both given party bags bulging with more sweets.  On the way home, Son 1 “just wanted to look at his.”  I said no, because he wouldn’t be able to stop himself opening it.  He asked if he could stay up till Daddy got back.  I said he could either have his party bag after tea, or he could stay up till The Man’s eta of 9pm.  He chose Daddy.

They had a quick tea, then a bath.  While I was putting Son 2 down, Son 1 crept in and slid into the double bed.  I carried him back in his own room when Son 2 was asleep, and he didn’t make it through Winnie The Witch’s Birthday before passing out.  The Man got back and I went upstairs, as I promised, to get Son 1.  He barely woke as I carried him downstairs, sat on The Man’s knee and cuddled him for a few minutes, but then when I offered to take him back to bed so he could go to sleep he reached out for me.  He was back asleep before I’d left his room.

Reflections

1.  Reception

2.  Remembrance

3.  Remedies

“Thankyou Mummy for waking me up when Daddy got back.”  In the middle of the night.  Son 1 aged 4y 5m, climbing into the bed. Being sarcastic.  No memory of my carrying him down two flights of stairs for Daddy cuddles.   The Man being back is a Good Thing.  Yesterday marked 22 years of us Being Together.  One day Son 2 aged 17m will feel special because his parents were together for well over 20 years before he was born….  Two pairs of hands, so things were easier, although kick off was still 0615.   Son 1 was excited, Son 2 was happy but clingy.  Now both parents were around, he wasn’t going to get fobbed off with the Second Best one.  

We went to a Garden with a friend and her 3 year old.  There were nature trails for the children with treasure hunts, and we needed seaweed from the beach, so we trailed down the long steep woodland.  Son 2 walked a bit, was carried a bit, picked up gravel a bit.  Son 1 and 3 year old friend found sticks and fought, and looked in ponds for fish and frogs, and trampled through bamboo clumps.  Son 1 fell over and smashed his nose and forehead on the path.  The sky was blue, the sun was warm, there were few other visitors.  The big pond at the bottom of the valley was filled with foot-long rainbow trout, clamouring underneath a viewing platform, suggesting many packed lunches have headed their way.  Last time I’d stood there I was miscarrying Son 1 and a half.  The memories were vivid. Who we were with.  Son 1 aged 2y 2m in wellies, saying “I’m stuck!” when his foot was jammed between two rocks.   Holding his sticks all the way down.  The bleak, hopeless, misery.  We didn’t get onto the beach that time, so the vivid flashback vanished as we walked up and down the steps. All three boys loved the seashore.  Son 1 and his friend charged around, climbed rocks and balanced on walls.  Son 2 scrunched on the shingle and headed, time and time again, for the sea.   

Back home again and we were all exhausted.  Son 1 and I watched Madagascar.  Son 2 played “beds,” laughing, giggling, cuddling Mummy, and finally pulled out the Thomas Wooden Railway.  Son 1 joined us and we built a track and Son 2 put electric trains on it and added carriages.  He pushed the engines up the bridge and watched intently as they rolled down the other side.  At tea time I made pizza while they both went out into our miniscule yard with The Man, who was trying to put an artificial grass playsurface down across the lethal concrete.  Son 1 rushed for his toy tool set,  hammmered walls and tried to fit pieces of astroturf together.  He was in raptures, helping Daddy, playing with his tools, knowing what the job was.   Son 2 tottered about and fell over a lot.  They were both asleep in minutes of us getting them in their beds.

I Love Mummy

1.  Dropping Off

2.  Running Off 

3.  Cooking For Two

0430.  Son 1 aged 4y 5m beside me in the Big Bed.  The Man long gone.  I tried to get back to sleep and got up at 0530.  A lovely drive to Nursery, blue skies, Spring definitely in the air. Daffodils, camellias and primroses growing among the trees along the drive.  Son 1 has a huge grazes all  the way up his nose, on his forehead, on his hand and on his knees.  We had to do two explanations on the way in, so I announced to the class that he’d been doing the Fastest Run In The World down a gravel path only he had on the Wrong Shoes…  Son 1 sat cross-legged, gazed at the teacher and had to be prompted by the other children to wave me goodbye.

PIcking him up, he escaped. Slid out through the door as another set of parents were coming through, pelted into the playground and ran full tilt towards the gate, laughing madly.  “Chase me!” “I can’t chase you, I’m wearing clumpy shoes!”  I chased him.  He hid in a little wicker hidey house they play in.  The boy belonging to the parents who let Son 1 out tore across the playground and into the house.  We just about got them out.  On the way home, Son 1 sang: “I love Mummy.  She does the cleaning, she does the shopping and looks after me.”  “Is that one of your made up songs?”  I asked.  “No. We’re learning it for Mummy’s Day.”  Verse two goes like this: “I love Mummy.  She has two degrees and looks after me when she’s not working 10 hour days.”

After Son 1 and Son 2 aged 17m had gone to bed The Man and I made dinner.  Vegetables, and bacon for him, sesame seeds for me.  And then we sat at the table and it together.  We managed an adult conversation, used up some of our veg box and had a very nice meal.  When we’ve managed to do that more than twice a year we’ll know we’ve cracked it…

A Matter Of Time

1.  Fascination

2.  Forgotten

3.  Forgiven

Both boys stayed in their own beds.  And Son 2 aged 17 didn’t start crying till about 0615.  Calloo, callay.  Son 1 aged 4y 5m invaded Son 2’s book-reading.  A crane parked on the road outside.  Big.  Orange.  Flashing hazard lights.  Son 2 was transfixed.  Seizing the mo, I read him the crane page from Dig Dig Digging.  He loved it.  And then, raptures and relish, the bin men came, so he got to watch the Rubbish Trucks Made For Gobble Gobble Gobbling.  He squealed and pointed for The Man when he came in.  He stared at pictures of vehicles in a photo book and stabbed at them with a little chubby finger.  He kept going to the window to see if anything else good was coming down the road.

At The Office someone was talking about their very elderly father, and some memory questions he’d been given.  He did all right on his name and date of birth.  But then when he’d been asked about his parents: “I know I had a mother, I just don’t remember her name.”  Ouch. Pang. Yow.

Very Late Indeed.  Two boys in the bath when I got back, shiny, wet, smiling.  They’d been to the Zoo with Wonder Nanny.  Son 2 held out his arms and tried getting his foot over the side to get out.  He cried and clamoured to be cuddled, and then instantly snapped his interest over to the sink, standing on the chair, can I help him wash his hands which is his favourite thing.   And Son 1 had coloured me a picture of The Incredibles.  “You will be amazed.”  “All day long I drew it.” “Do you really really like it?”  I love it.  ”I will do one for Daddy tomorrow.”

Where’s Your Mama Gone?

1.  Mama

2.  Na Na

3.  Ta Da 

I didn’t make it back from The Office yesterday in time to see Son 2 aged 17m before he went to bed.  And I didn’t make it back in time tonight.  Pang.  Not enjoying that.  But Hey ho, it’s the weekend so I’ve got two days with him, hooray hooray.  I ended up in the double bed in his room last night… insomnia, then Son 1 aged 4y 5m screaming out for me, and then “I think I’ll just bump into a few things in Son 2’s room in the night and maybe he’ll wake up and I can have a cuddle.”  Nope.  The only time you can guarantee that child will sleep like a stone is when you need him awake.  But it did give me the full benefit this morning, at 0615, of Son 2 standing up in his cot, gripping the rail in both little fists and yelling out “Ma-Ma!”  

He did a “Na na” as he reached for his snack tub as well, not that we’ve got any.  He could say Nana for banana months back, and then it just faded away, so I’m pleased it’s back.  I’m  hoping I can catch the way his language develops in the blog; he’s certainly having lots of attempts at words.  Ni Ni Ni is just peering through for “no.”   He did a “mooo” at a picture of cow during reading today.  And then Son 1 and I left for Nursery and the office and That Was That.  I haven’t seen him.  The Man says he’s on fine form.

Son 1’s coat was covered in mud yesterday during a game which involved making a hide out for Four Arms.   So he went to school in a third hand blazer.  Owner 1 is now on a £30k first job for a commercial law firm.  The second owner is thirteen, Son 2’s Godbrother.  And there was Son 1.   A little urchin with a cropped fringe, dimples, bright eyes and a dazzling smile, in an oversized 1980s acrylic blazer.   Eating a chocolate cookie and listening to Peter Pan all the way home.

Put Your Hand Up If You Like Cucumber

1.   Fruit

2.   Health Food

3.  Unexpectedly Vegetable

Gadzooks.  Son 2 aged 17m woke us with foghorn blasts at 0430.  “I’ll go,” said The Man.  “No I will,” I said.  “I didn’t see him last night and I miss him.”  I took half an hour getting him back to sleep.  He woke again at 0530 and I got into bed with him.  He wanted food.  I clung to a dopey wish that if I just stuffed him with food he would go back to sleep.  At 6am I took him down to the kitchen, where he ate everything he could see: a plum, a bagel, a banana, grapes.   Son 1 aged 4y 5m came down.  We were up. 

We had a 5th birthday party; one of Son 1’s Old Nursery friends, run by his Old Nursery Nurse.  We’d bought him a Power Ranger.  Son 1 had stood in front of the Ben 10 shelves, fingering each packet, clearly in love.   “We don’t know that Five Year Old likes Ben 10 do we?” I’d said.  “But all Little Boys like Power Rangers.”  Five Year Old opened the door.  He was wearing a Ben 10 outfit.  They played, we went outside and Son 2 had a great time playing with the diggers and building toys.  At lunch, Son 1 ignored the chocolate fingers, pizza, crisps, sandwiches and flapjacks in favour of some long breadsticks and cut up strawberries.  Never happened before.  Later, when I asked him why he hadn’t eaten much he said: “I wasn’t hungry.” I just need to get the hang of doing that and bingo I’m size 12.

I washed 3 cashmere jumpers this afternoon.  This is an Exceedingly Good Thing.  Two have been in the bottom of the linen basket for months.   The boys played making potions in the sand table while The Man watched.  This was also a Good Thing.  He is Obsessive Compulsive… and they were trashing everything.  Son 1 was painting the shed with a Big Paintbrush and water.  Son 2 was mixing plants, mud, stones and twigs with a watering can and then drinking it.  At tea we told Son 1 pudding was yoghurt, because of the huge slice of chocolate cake he’d eaten from his party bag.   “Wonder Nanny lets us have raisins after tea, they’re not too bad for us,” he said hopefully.  “Then she takes us upstairs for books and bath and bed.  And then Mummy comes home.”  He looked at me.  “And sometimes you don’t.”  Cannon ball shaped hole in middle of body.  At bedtime, he was on the bedroom floor looking at a dinosaur book with The Man.  I was lying in his bed, trying to get him to hurry up.  The Man told him how tired I was.   “Put your hand up if you like cucumber,” said Son 1.

A Day Of Rest

1.  Messages From The Deep

2.  Sunday At The Pub

3.  One Star Dining

Son 2 aged 17m and I were sitting on some steps round a sports race track.  I dropped him, and I snatched at his clothes but no matter how much I tried I couldn’t get a good grip.  I called to The Man who was with Son 1 aged 4y 5m but no matter how loud I yelled he didn’t hear me.  The last bit of Son 2’s clothing fell away from my fingertips and he tumbled to the bottom of the steps, out of sight, and then emerged screaming, no longer wearing his trousers or nappy, his face red, his eyes closed in slits.  I woke up, realising that the reason my scalp, hairline and skin behind my ears has been itching for the last week isn’t head lice.  It’s a reaction to the new conditioner I’ve been ladling on to comb through with the Nitty Gritty.  It was 7am, and The Man was downstairs in the lounge with the boys watching Dora The Explorer.  I think I need more sleep.

Friends rang before 9am offering to take Son 1 out for a walk for an hour.  I said no, I can’t do without him when I’m not at work.  By 1015 we were coated, booted and ready for a walk through town.  Grey clouds descended and a cold wind whipped up.  The Friends’ van was parked outside the family pub and they were outside, having already done a bracing Sunday morning stroll.  We all trooped inside the pub for coffee, tea, and a play for Son 1 with their 3 year old.  By 11 Son 2 was unravelling, so off we went.  We picked up some bits we needed; Son 2 fell asleep in the Big Pram.  I said I wanted to make the most of his snooze so we went for coffee.  Son 1 had a new Ben 10 sticker book.  When he recited the names of twenty different aliens I wondered whether I should abandon my vague anti-mode and teach him to read.

This afternoon the boys played in the lounge.  Son 2 had the Wooden Railway out.  Son 1 alternated between playing with his castle, doing a puzzle and plonking himself in the middle of Son 2’s game and starting a completely different one.  Son 1 wanted to watch Harry Potter.  I said he couldn’t have it on with Son 2 around.  We settled for The Wiggles, again.  The Man rightly decided we were all too knackered for a Sunday roast, so they had sausages, leftover potatoes and peas and I had omelette.  Son 1 managed to sit at the table throughout.  He has another 8 weeks to learn to do it in front of Granny and Granddad on holiday.  Ever hopeful, we have started a new sticker chart.   8 stars gets him a Gormiti egg.

Joy

1. Lavender Blue Dilly Dilly

2.  You Will Be King Dilly Dilly

3.  An Essential Oil

I put a drop of lavender oil on the boys’ pillows last night.  Son 2 aged 17m woke screaming when The Man went to bed, and I helped him back to sleep.  Then just a yell in the night, and that was it.  Son 1 aged 4y 5m apparently woke afterwards and The Man went into bed with him for a while to get him to sleep.   And then he slept through.  And I, whisper very quietly, got a Reasonable Night’s Sleep.  So. Fingers crossed.  Positive Thinking.  Oh The Things I Can Think Up If Only I Can Get Some Sleep.

Parents’ evening at Nursery again.   Son 1 is lovely.  Polite.  Well-behaved.  Says please and thank you.  Knows his numbers.  Listens. Has an excellent vocabulary.  A confident speaker.  A joy.  Interested in everything.  Well socialised.  Plays well with the other children.  A great sense of right and wrong.  Congratulations to his parents.  He’s a bit slow putting his shoes on, but that’s about it for bad points.  Son 1 got two bonus stars for his chart for his glowing report.  He has eaten cucumber again, and got a star for that too. 

We took Son 2 to the Nursery, and he was lovely.  Tottered over to Son 1 and tried joining in his drawing.  Waved bye bye to the Nursery teacher.  He’s saying Bye Bye very well now too, and his MaMa is impeccable.  He chatted nearly all the way to the Nursery, and stayed awake all the way back as well.  They both ate pasta and pesto for tea, then yoghurts, and then books and bath and bed.  I put two drops of lavender oil on Son 2’s sleeping bag and he passed out almost instantly, and hasn’t cried yet.  Son 1 had one large splodge on his pillow, yet still hung on for five Paddington books, and would have had more if I hadn’t put my foot down. I am going to have to check on Son 2 before I go to bed.

A Marvellous Night

1.  And The Little One Said…

2.  Bags Of Books

3.  Moondance

Son 1 aged 4y 5m and Son 2 aged 17m slept through, and I had another Reasonable Night’s sleep.  I am Glad About This Good Thing but am being careful about getting excited.  Son 2 woke just before six and The Man went down.  He can get Son 2 back to sleep by putting him in the double bed with him.  It all went quiet.  Then Son 2 started to cry.  And then it got unambiguous.  “Ma Ma!  Ma Ma! Ma Ma!”  I got up.   

I took their books into the library in the Big Town at lunchtime.  Two carrier bags full of books, lugging them from the car park all the way through town.  We usually get them from The Town and put the books under the Big Pram, so weight’s never an issue.  It was today.   I put 15 books back in the machine.  And I have still left one at home.  I picked a couple of books for Son 2 and a great pile for Son 1.  When Son 1 was very small I used to choose him books from The Big Town’s library, but must be nearly 3 years since I’ve been.  It felt strange.  Usually I pick educationally, multicultural, boundary-broadening books while Son 1 pulls out about 20, all of which he has to have, and in the end we put my choices back.  Today there was no-one buzzing round ”Can I have this one?” “I want this one”  Just me, in my big coat and high heels and M  and S Bags For Life.

They both loved their choices.  Son 2 had the book with hardly any words and lots of vehicles twice… Son 1 had 5 out of 6 Winnie The Witch stories.  I held off on the lavender oil to give them a rest form it.  I went out for a run.  It’s been weeks.  I ran down to the Bridge Over The River again,  walked for a bit at the two-mile mark because of a hip flexor twinge, but ran home after a bit of a rest.  A clear, cold, moonlit night.  Very nice to be out.  On the way back the surface of the river was shining silver in the full moonlight,  slightly rippled by a breeze.  Reflected orange, red, blue and white lights wobbled in the water in the distance by The Pier.  There are a few more boats on moorings now… another sure sign of approaching Spring.

Telling Stories

1.  The Very Busy Spider

2.   Peter Pan

3.   Bob The Builder

Son 1 aged 4y 5m and Son 2 aged 18m both slept through.   Three Reasonable Nights’ sleep out of four.  With cat-like tread I tiptoed downstairs.  0615.  Son 2 woke.  Son 1 woke.  We went downstairs in search of The Man, who’d gallantly slept on the lounge floor so he didn’t wake me up after a night in the pub. They invaded his makeshift bed.    We gathered snacks and drinks.  The Man and Son 1 vanished upstairs, and Son 2 and I started his books.  He had The Very Busy Spider three times.  The first library book I may have to go out and buy.   He can’t do the names of any of the animals, but he can neigh like a horse, moo like a cow, baa like a sheep and a goat, woof like a dog, miaow like a cat, quack like a duck and crow like a cockeral.  It really made him have a go at speaking. He loved it.

Son 1 didn’t squawk about going to Nursery.  He dressed himself, ate all his tub, and tumbled out of the house in plenty of time.  We listened to the end of Peter Pan on the way: “Oh Peter, Is There Anything You Can’t Do?”  I’m getting quite fond of Peter Pan.  For a 100 year old story, it’s not bad. A great plot, some raw mother-child bonding stuff,  three fairly strong female characters and a disabled anti-hero.  Son 1 went straight in without a whimper.

A grim Office Day.  I didn’t get breakfast or lunch, and wanted to snack as soon as I got back.  The boys wanted me.  I left them upstairs and went down for soup.  Before it was even in the bowl, I could hear Son 2 screaming and sobbing.  I went back up.  Blood and snot was pouring out of his nose and he was loud and hysterical.  “What happened?”  I asked Son 1. “I put a muslin on the floor and he fell over.”  In the bath, four little fingermarks were clearly visible on Son 2’s back.  “What happened?” I asked again.  “I put a muslin on his back and he fell over.” After Son 2 had gone to sleep, and Son 1 was in his bed I asked him again. “I’m not lying,” he said.  “Show me what happened on Bob Bob.”  Son 1 punched his soft toy Bob the Builder on the back so hard he flew across the bed.  Son 2’s lip has split open again.  I am going to take him back to the doctor tomorrow and give a little bit of helpful feedback on the caring hospital doctor who told me it was a superficial graze which wouldn’t scar.

Red Nose Day

1.  Red Eye

2.   Red Nose

3.  Red Letter Day

Son 1 aged 4y 5m is the night waker now.  We’ve drilled him out of coming into our bed, so he just lies awake shouting until I turn up or he dozes off again.  0130 this morning, and then I couldn’t get back to sleep.   Son 2 aged 18m was perfect.  Not a peep from pillowdown to sun up.  The Office was in Eighties clothes For Charity today.  I can’t remember when it last took me so long to decide what to wear.  There was a real risk I would turn up in 80s wear and no-one would realise.  I settled on a Fun Boy 83 tee shirt and white mules.

I also put the Captain Hook outfit in the car in case we got to Nursery, and once again, everyone was wearing something funny for money except Son 1.  All in uniform.  One little girl walked in clutching two red noses.  The Office was very Red Nose.  The Big Town was very Red Nose.  I made a hair appointment and they were all Red Nosing.  I went to TK Maxx at lunchtime and they were all at it.  People were walking round with their faces made up, jangling buckets.  When I picked Son 1 up, he wanted a Red Nose.  “Mrs Nursery Teacher says you can get them anywhere.”  ”You can, I’ve seen heaps today, we’ll get one on the way home,” I said.  Tesco.  Nope.  Shell garage. Nope. Co-op. Nope.  MacDonald’s.  Nope.  “Red noses, red noses, red noses,” sang Son 1 annoyingly in the back.  “We’ll get one from Oxfam tomorrow,” I said.  He wailed.

The Wednesday Mums and I went out for a drink when I’d finished work this evening.  This is a Good Thing as we are rubbish at getting out.  Topics of conversation… children… Northern Ireland, the state of the economy, fitness, families, Doing Everything.  It is Good To Get Out.

The Playground At The Beach

1.  Crocs

2.  Rocks

3.  Tuck

Son 2 aged 18m woke at 0630, Son 1 aged 4y 5m wasn’t far behind.  I went through my “Is Son 2 at the window, is he on the bed, is he on the chair, no! he’s in the cot” routine.  Son 2, crouching blearily, ran his hands over the rail – correcting me.  I usually run my hands up and down first looking for his little gripping fingers.  Son 1 cuddled him on the double bed.  Son 2 cuddled him back.  Mush.  We did “What’s That Noise, Mr Croc?” as one of our books.  Son 1 came in wearing the crocodile mask from the dressing up box.  Son 2 slid off the bed, clearly with an idea.  Downstairs. Into the lounge.  Jigging about, clutching  a train.  “Do you want to watch The Wiggles?” Mad nodding.  The Wiggles were doing the crocodile song when we stopped watching them yesterday.  We danced.  Son 2 is in love.  We have the Wiggles on Safari. “Crocodile Hunter – Big Steve Irwin.”   Son 1 wants to go to the Australia Zoo.  I wonder when I should tell them what happened to the Khaki Wiggle.

We drove down to the fantastic playground near the fantastic beach.  Two friends and their Three Year Old joined us.  Son 1 and Three Year Old ran onto big rocks.  Son 2 played in the rock pools.  I put him in a swimming costume wetsuit and his age 9m to 12m sunsuit top from last summer.   And Factor 50.  He picked up handfuls of mud and threw them into the pools.  Out of our sight, Son 1, who was wearing his school shoes,  stepped into a rock pool.  I put him in his sun suit, and found sun suit trousers for Three Year Old too. We built a huge sandcastle.  The Man and Three Year Old’s Dad flew kites.  Not enough wind.  (I have been with The Man for 22 years, and there is Never Enough Wind.) There were other kites on the beach, and dogs, and tractors, and horses.  It was a glorious day.  Bright sunshine and shimmering water.  There’s a tidal causeway and we crossed it to the Island. 

By the time we’d got back it was 2pm. Son 2 was yelling for his lunch in the pram, Son 1 needed carrying. Lunch was sausage baps from a kiosk, and assorted picnic stuff for Son 2 and me. Son 1 ate a bit but then pestered and whined for the playground.  We took them in.  Son 2 crawled up to slide down, crawled through tunnels, played with sand, climbed around a train and went on the swings.  Son 1 went on the aged 6 to 12 section, very pleased with himself.  An amazing afternoon.  We bribed them out with ice creams.  Back here at 5pm.  Son 1 has caught the sun on his face.  We were expecting them to sleep well, but Son 1 has already been up…

Comic Relief

1.  Black Night

2.  Spring Colour

3.  A Rolling Nose

A murderous night.  Son 1 aged 4y 5m again.  Waking screaming for Mummy.  At the fourth time, at 5am, I was not patient, understanding or tolerant.  “Stop making that noise or you will wake Son 2!” I snapped.  Son 2 aged 18m woke, and screamed.  The Man went in with him.  Son 1 went back to sleep.  I went downstairs for coffee and the Sunday papers. 

It was a beautiful day.  Daffodils everywhere I drove.  The Crocuses we planted outside The Office in December are just about over, but still a great splash of colour.   The road near the entrance to Son 1’s nursery is wooded, and there are carpets of yellow primroses, and clumps of daffs.  Bright pink camellias, and fresh green leaves unfurling on a hydrangea.  The birds are singing, the sky was blue.  Son 1 went to Nursery without a coat because we can’t find his blazer.  It was just about warm enough.

After a tortuous weekend of failing to find a Red Nose anywhere, I found a leftover one at The Office.  I picked Son 1 up from Nursery.  There is apparently a school play on Friday afternoon for which he is learning some songs.  And he says I am going to it.  Only I’m supposed to be in The City, 60 miles away on Friday afternoon.    I am still mystified as to where everyone finds out this stuff.  There was a tiny  book of dates-in-the-year given out at the start of term.  This obviously has to be decanted into the calendar when it comes into the house.  I’ll learn. We parked near the house, and  Son 1 clutched his Red Nose as he got out of the car.  He dropped it.  It rolled across the road, and then into the entrance to some sea-level riverside properties opposite.  Son 1 howled.  “My Red Nose!” A passing youth couldn’t help laughing out loud.  The Nose picked up the pace, rolled away down the steep slope to the waterfront and disappeared out of sight.  I put a sobbing Son 1 in the house and went to investigate.  There was a red blob in the road at the bottom of the hill.  There was more comedy potential in it plopping off into the river and drifting out to sea, but I’m glad we saved it.

On The Road Again

1.  Climbing

2.  Pining

3.  Shining

Better.  Both Son 1 aged 4y 5m and Son 2 aged 18m slept through, apart from one screaming session from Son 1.  The Man went down, but that was a genuine sitting-bolt-upright-in-bed-still-asleep night terror, as opposed to imperious yelling for Mummy because you’ve been banned from going upstairs into her bed.  The Man left early on a Business Trip.  Son 1 wailed.   I washed up some breakfast things and turned round to see Son 2 climbing up on to the kitchen table from a dining chair.  He stood up, smiled, and reached for the light.

There were some Office things I needed to do at home today. I’d planned it carefully, picking the day that was reasonably clear and picking Tuesday, because Son 1doesn’t go to Nursery so I had no need to drive.  Only the boys didn’t quite see it like that.  Son 2 clung.  Son 1 was deliquent.  At the point where he gripped Son 2’s shoulders from behind and shook him,  I sent him to bed.  Wonder Nanny removed them for the day to a Garden with a playground.  I cannot remember the last time I was in the house on my own. 

At lunchtime I went for a run.  For only the second time in about a month.  Blue, clear skies, bright sunshine, a chilly breeze.  Down to the Bridge Over The River and back.  I was in shorts, and it was lovely being out in great weather in daylight.  I ran the full three miles, and I haven’t seized up, and I don’t think I’ve pulled anything.  The nervous systems check of someone who’s been injured running in the past.   I found one prob…my dodgy arthritic ankle is very puffed up.  I will go back on the Glucosamine so I feel like I’m a proper runner again.

Substitutes

1.  A Hard Day’s Night

2.  This Will Be The Last Time

3.  You Really Got Me

Son 1 aged 4y 5m was in with me all night.  He’s always allowed the night before The Man comes home.  He is a heat-seeking missile who cannot be stayed from his course.  He is in bed to snug with Mummy, to lie against me and feel my eyebrows.  (Used to do it when he was breastfeeding.  Has never stopped.  Does it when he’s asleep. In my absence anyone’s eyebrows will do.  Also does it on Son 2 aged 18m.)  Son 2 aged 18m slept through, but woke at 6am.  I put his fan on (white noise) and got into the double bed with him.  He dozed.  Then he woke, cried, and wanted his sleeping bag removed.  I took it off.  He slithered out of bed, onto the floor, and off he went on his own.  ”Mummy’s staying in bed.” I said.  “Bye bye,” he said, stopping only to pull the blankets off the chair as he went past, opened the door and went out onto the landing in the dark.  He had the grace to totter back again and stand in the doorway.  “Mama.”  Ha.  Yes I had to get up but I think I still won on goal difference. 

We went to the New Play Centre.  On the positive side  (I Do Not Like The New Play Centre)  Son 1 had a blast, playing with Best Friend, Best Friend’s brother and another boy they know, Son 2 loved it.  He loved the Ball Pools, he loved being pushed around the baby area in a Little Tikes ride on car, he loved walking over the rope bridge, he loved playing with the sponge ball cannons, he loved rolling and climbing and sliding and pushing and just generally Being Big.  Son 1 was hilarious when I told him we weren’t buying lunch there. “Is that your tricking voice?”  No darling, they have again annoyed me and I shan’t be giving them any more money.  How do you explain the concept of a boycott to a four year old who wants sausage and chips.

Back home we had a good time. The boys ate their picnic lunches.  I got out some ham. It was smoked, and I’d bought 2 packets. “Try it, and if you don’t like it I’ll give it to Nanna.”  They wolfed it.  We played with the Wooden Railway.  Son 2 did a poo so big it went up to his neck.  Too much information, sorry.  But there was a big part of a crayon in his nappy.   He wears a one-piece vest.  His nappy tabs are fastened too tight for a crayon that size to fall down.  If something was blocking the tubes, that would account for the sheer volume when it came out.  But if Son 2 had swallowed that crayon he would have choked.  So how did it get there?  

Nanna arrived.  Son 2 wanted to watch The Wiggles again.  I booked tickets for The Wiggles.  Nanna will come.  I made Veggie Mince and tomato sauce.  Son 1 didn’t want the Veggie Mince.  But then ate it all.  A real breakthrough, offering  the possibility that I may be able to eat the same as them.  “Shall we try Daddy on this?” I asked Son 1.  “Daddy won’t eat Veggie Mince,” he said wisely.  The Man came home.  Nanna waved goodbye to Son 2 in the bath.  “Bye Bye,” he said.

The Spring Concert

1.  Rising

2.  Shining

3.  Sinking

The Man slept with Son 2 aged 18m last night.  Son 2 started crying at 5.30am. “Mama.” I went downstairs. “Watch out,” hissed The Man. “Son 1’s in here as well.  I’ll take him upstairs.”  Son 1 aged 4y 5m was staying with Son 2 and Mummy.  I lay in the double bed, with one of them on each arm. They dozed.  A quiet moment of loveliness. The Man shifted position.  Son 2 woke up.  Son 2 was getting up. And so were we.  We made it out of the house on time, leaving The Man with the responsibility of posting the cards for Teenaged Niece’s 18th birthday tomorrow.

I managed to combine my trip to The City with Son 1’s Spring Play.  An hour and a half on the road,  a productive morning, and then haring back.  Within the speed limit of course.   A beautiful morning and afternoon, very pleasant walking down to the Nursery.  Loads of parents sitting near the front.  I picked a pair of chairs at the back, next to Year 4’s cubist collages on the wall.  The Man arrived.  The children filed in and Son 1’s face lit up when he saw us.  “Where’s my brother?” he asked.  Son 1 was of course Talented and Marvellous.  I waved.  He waved back.    All show long.  Even The Man was at it.  A tot of about 20m or so made friends with The Man.  Laid his head on his leg.  patted his tummy, played with his watch and chatted up at him.  The Man was petrified and kept hissing: “Go to your mummy.” Little One wandered off, but tottered back, again and again.  On stage, Son 1 asked “Mummy where’s Son 2?” .The children sang the song about Mummy doing the shopping and the washing and the cooking Because She Loves Us.  I asked Son 1 if he’d sung the verse I’d taught him, where Mummy works full-time and has two degrees.  ”Mummy has two deggees,” he obligingly warbled.  

Son 2 was back home with Wonder Nanny.  We arrived home and he laughed and laughed. This morning he did bah for bath (and ball,) and di di di for Diggers are good at dig dig digging.  Wonder Nanny said he’d been playing with his ambulance, and then stood up and patted his bottom. “Have you done a poo?” she’d asked.  Mad nodding. I think the mad nodding also now comes with an “issss.”  He was tired, and clingy and fretful.  He’s got a horrible cough and a cold.  Just when we’ve got a big weekend planned.  And I’ve got a horrible feeling that Teenaged Niece’s 18th birthday may have been today.

Merriment And What-Not

1.  The Planning

2.  The Party

3.  The Power

Son 1 aged 4y 5m slid into bed in the night.  Son 2 aged 18m woke early and cried.  The Man went down to him to try to get him back to sleep.  ”Mama!” cried Son 2.  I was undone and got up. He wasn’t well.  Temperature, snotty, dry cough.  He felt wretched. He flopped. He clung. He cried.  I tookhim downstairs and it took Ibuprofen, Calpol, milk, raisins and a yoghurt to cheer him up.  Son 1 woke up “Is it my special day?”  In January, I made the mistake of telling Son 1 that when he and Son 2 were older, instead of having one joint party to celebrate their birthdays in September, we would probably start having a party in Spring as well.  From that moment onwards he scouted venues like a bride-to-be. “Shall I choose here for my Spring Party?” We chose the Bird Park.  

The first Good Thing was that The Bird Park was expecting us.  They were supposed to ring this week to confirm… they didn’t, and I didn’t have time to check.  The weather was fab, the boys slept in the car on the way, we pulled into the car park and remembered we’d left the Ben 10 cake at home, half an hour’s drive away.  I had steered Son 1 away from the idea of balloons, party bags, a bouncy castle and presents, but I had promised a cake with candles.  The Man tore off in search of another.  The guests arrived, the children played.  Son 2 stood on the airjets in the Ball Pool, his teeshirt and long fringe blowing upwards. The hair on the top of his head was glued down with Bio Oil and didn’t move.  (I have been reading Mumsnet Talk cures for cradle cap.)  We had 12 Boys and 1 Girl.  The Girl (aged 3) wanted to look after Son 2.  We went on the Big Slide.  Son 2 loved it, and pointed back up. “Again?” I asked.  Mad nodding.  The Girl was a revelation.  She picked up a mat and handed it to me, smoothed our our mat at the top of the slide before Son 2 and I got on it, and checked we were all right at the end.  She picked up litter.  She waited for us.  An amazing insight into another world.

Lunch was wolfed.  Ice cream and chocolate cake also.  Son 1 went back to play.  I had a coffee and Son 2 was looked after outside on the balcony by The Man.  We went out to the animals.  The selection is red pandas, otters, owls, parrots, cockatoos, macaus, hornbills, rabbits, guinea pigs, sheep, goats… Son 2 stood and stared at the little dump truck re-building the outdoor playground. “Dum Dum Dum” he said.  “Di Di Di” he said at the diggers.  Just as I wondered what we’ll have in common when he’s older, he hoo hoo-ed at the owls. Down by the goats, he wouldn’t let Little Girl hold his reins.  Son 2 doesn’t realise the reins are to stop him running off.  He thinks they’re to keep Mummy close while he explores. We charged to the penguins for feeding time.  Packed, three deep.  I lifted Son 1 over the top and he was picked to feed them.  He was wearing a bright red Power Ranger outfit.  Best Friend didn’t even get near and was sobbing.  I promised him we would come back on a quiet day and I would make sure he was picked.  Goody, hooray.  I love the Bird Park.

Rules For Mother’s Day

1.  Rule Number One

2.  Rules Two And Three

3.  Rule Four

Yesterday I ordered from The Man: 1) A Lie In  2)  Breakfast In Bed (scrambled egg on toast.) 3) A Long Bubble Bath With No Children In it. 

Son 2 aged 18m woke up at 0530.  Screaming.  Hungry. Feverish. Exhausted.  “Mama.”  I trailed downstairs after them, and Son 2 clung while The Man sorted him a Tub of Grub.  I had a Mother’s Day card from each of them. Son 1 aged 4y 6m came down, another one from him.  I had already been to the Boots Lancome counter and bought myself two items so I could also have a free gift.  Mother’s Day Rule Number One.  Avoid Disappointment, Buy Your Own Present.  We all went upstairs to the Big Bed and I got in, pulled the covers over me and lay down.  Son 1 stuck Ben 10 stickers a book he was given yesterday at his party.  Son 2 played with the Duplo with The Man.  The Man closed the blinds and tried to put Son 2 in the bed with me, saying he was so tired he’d go to sleep.  Son 2 refused.  They all went downstairs.  I dozed off.  I was on The Beach with Son 2 playing at the water’s edge. A mist came in, and I said we’d better pack up. The mist turned to snow, everywhere. I couldn’t see  Son 2 but there were snow ploughs in the ditch where I’d last seen him.  An oblongy snowball was skidding down the road but he wasn’t in it.  “Mummy. Son 2 fell off the chair and you’ve got to come.”  A little head at the side of the bed.  I went downstairs.  Made my own breakfast.  I did get a bubble bath, but the children went mad because they weren’t allowed in it.  As I read my magazine, The Man tried to put Son 2 to bed next door.  And Son 2 refused to go…

I had booked lunch for us all at The Peacock Playground.  Complimentary skincare sample, organic fudge and free entry for mothers. Rule Number Two.  Avoid Disappointment, Make Your Own Lunch Arrangements.  We went to pick up Nanna.  We arrived and took the boys to the playground.  They played; the peacocks patrolled.  The Man and Nanna sat in the sun.  I climbed up ladders, slid down slides, swung on swings, climbed through tunnels, lifted up, helped down and held on.  In for lunch, and they brought the boys’ hot dogs straight away. A new mark of a good restaurant for me: do they get the urgency of bringing food for the  children NOW.  It all took a while, but Son 1 dived in and out through the sliding doors next to us, checking his stick, chasing peacocks, sitting on a wall.  They stuffed themselves with their pudding, our pudding and the organic fudge.  The Man got very bored with having to look after Son 2 while he was eating his own meal.  Rule Number Three: The Mother’s Day is the only day you can act like Father.  All Day Long. 

We walked down to the lake afterwards.  Son 1 and I played Pooh Sticks every time a stream ran under a bridge.  He loved it.  Son 1 started off with the biggest sticks, and soon realised the smaller ones win.  He leaned over edges, through railings and off bridges.  Absolutely no concept of danger. I hadn’t been down to the bottom of the garden since I dropped Son 2 on his head when he was 4 months old.  (Laid him down in pram asleep after screaming reflux episode, didn’t dare strap him in case he woke up. 30 minutes later, had forgotten I hadn’t strapped him in.  Took pram up flight of steep concrete steps.  Baby slid out like he’d been fired from a peashooter.  Overnight in hospital.  His head was fine. But they got very tired of mopping up the sick, and they gave us a paediatrician and dietician who eventually sorted out his reflux.)  It was very strange passing The Steps, seeing The Tree where a pic of Son 1 had been taken afterwards, seeing the bench we sat on to peer at Son 2’s head… remembering the sick feeling inside as we marched back to take him to the MIU.  Son 1 walked miles, and was soon fast asleep in the car.  Son 2 stayed awake till after we’d dropped Nanna off.  We parked near the house, and The Man brought me a cup of tea and the Sunday papers to read in the car while the boys slept. Rule Four: When Opportunity Knocks, Ask For A Cup Of Tea.

She Can Run The Pants Off A Kangaroo

1.  Action Man

2.  Crikey

3.  She Can’t Fly But I’m Telling You…

0605.  Son 2 aged 18m.  The usual. Downstairs for snacks and drinks.   Son 2 stopped off in the lounge.  Doing his little jig.  Over to the shelf with the DVDs on. Pointing. “Mama.”  This means “I’ve got a good idea. Let’s put The Wiggles on.”   In the kitchen he disappeared out the back by the washing machine.  This means “I’ve got a good idea. Let’s go outside.”   Back upstairs The Man had a shower and first Son 1 aged 4y 6m, and then Son 2, got in and joined him.  And then they were back in the lounge. Both boys played with The Wooden Railway and I put The Wiggles on for Son 2. 

The boys went to the Aquarium today with Wonder Nanny, her Nanny friend, and the two little boys she looks after.  They went around twice.  They touched rays’ eggs and lobsters.  They saw the giant octopus out of its tank.  Son 2 loved it.  I came in just as the boys were finishing their tea. Son 1 acted out the giant octopus.  Son 2 tried to Go Outside.  “Can we play Pirate Snakes And Ladders now?” Son 1 asked Wonder Nanny.  We looked blank. “On top of my wardrobe.” Son 1 said helpfully.  “Where did we get Pirate Snakes and Ladders?” I asked. “When I was four.  From Best Friend.” “Have we played with it since then?” “Not for a long long time.”  I went up to the big bedroom and burrowed in the eave.  Son 1 did indeed get some presents for his birthday (and for Christmas) which we put away almost as soon as they were unwraped because he had so many.  He’d seen the Snakes and Ladder set in the Aquarium shop, and remembered it from six months back.   Crikey.

Son 2 howling with temper and tiredness at bedtime, so I picked digger books to make him feel better.  “Di Di Di Di” he now says when he sees the digger page.  “dum dum dum” for the dump trucks.  The words are coming through.  His bye bye is strange – a perfectly formed adult phrase delivered in an adult tone.  I will do another list of words.  I am still putting my head right into his cot to help send him off to sleep.  He has started slinging his arms round my neck, grabbing my hair and pulling me close.  I don’t see enough of him.  wednesday tomorrow, which is a Good Thing. And I got out for a run, which is another.

Bright Sides

1.  Brothers At Dawn

2.  Museum Visit

3.  Paperwork

Very late, so very fast.  An ok night, The Man went prowling just before 6am, and Son 2 aged 18m started to cry at about 0630. And then he just did his little barks.   I went down to find both lights on, Son 1 aged 4y 6m on the big bed, and Son 2 still lying on his tummy in the cot, sleepy red in the race, looking divinely cute. I put him on the bed for a cuddle with Son 1 and they were the sweetest little things, lots of cuddles and kisses.  They do seem to love each other so much. I hope it lasts.

To The Museum with the Wednesday Friends. Not our most successful visit.  Son 2 kept trying to emigrate so I walked miles after him.  And of course he gets a ride home in the Big Pram. He only slept for about 20 minutes and I could not get him to go back to sleep when we got back to the house.  Son 1 woke him; I coughed;  Son 1 coughed. I gave up and let him get up, knowing there would be a meltdown by tea time.  There was.  However. On the  bright side.  We had asparagus in the Veg Box and both boys ate it at tea time – Son 1 asked for seconds. I consider this a triumph of Mummy Might.  An unidentified green vegetable lands on both their plates and they both try it and eat it.

After bedtime The Man and I did the filing.  I cannot say how overdue this has been.  But we have a Mortgage Offer, 11 months after our last deal expired.  And Son 1 has a place at a nice primary school so we need to work out what we’re doing about him.  And I’m kind of hopeful that if we managed to do it by cracking down and cracking on this evening, we might possibly be able to keep on top of it a bit better in future.

A Year In Cyberspace

1.  Writing

2.  Talking

3.  Reading

I have been back at The Office, full-time, for One Whole Year.  I just read my blogs from March last year.  Pang.  Little six-month-old Son 2.  I know I’ve done brilliantly keeping at work, keeping well, keeping everything together and keeping time with the boys sacred.  Keeping at The Blog, which I think has helped ward off depression.   But Pang Oh Pang.  You really don’t get it back, do you?  Thankfully I have a week off now, which is why I’m writing this so late. It always takes me forever to finish on Fridays before I have leave.  Stinking cold.  Exhausted. And I’ve been reading a year ago, when I was hoping to get back into my pre-pregnancy clothes.  Wouldn’t it be great if you lost weight wnen you cut down on your sleep?  Much fairer to mothers.

Little 18 month old Son 2 is sliding down the stairs on his tummy now.  Fast. With a daredevil grin.  A year ago he was just on solids, and just had his first teeth.  Now he wants the Wiggles on the telly, he wants a smoothie from the shopping, he can say bear, and ba (for bath, sheep and ball) and dum dum for dump truck and di di for digger.  And bye bye and mama and hallo, and mi for milk. And snap snap for crocodile. Accompanied by a dance. And a point at the DVD pile. 

Son 1 aged 4 y 6m finished at Nursery for Easter today.  He lay on his bed this evening and looked up at his animal alphabet wall chart, sounding out the start of all the letters.  Foxed a bit by N. And baffled by Q.  He also for the first time stopped me in a story to sound out the letters of a word m-on- k-ey.  I was thrilled, but none of it is anything to do with me.  I’ve deliberately not taught him to read because I Do Not Believe In Forcing Boys To Read Too Early. It Will Put Them Off.  Nothing to do with never having a minute to sit down with him.  26 letters and 40ish sounds?   I haven’t got the time.  Just that year.  Sitting in cyberspace. Maybe one day he’ll read about himself.

Feathers In The Playdough

1. Soaking

2.  Nesting

3.  Choices

I had a bath.  Door closed. Several drops of Tea tree oil.  I have a stinking cold, and The Man entertained the boys this morning while I soaked and steamed.  It was great. Younger Sister gave me a very nice bottle of bubble bath for my birthday last year and I’ve only just finished it.  I never get near the bath. Just showers. With one or two boys at my feet, playing in the water collecting with the plug in.  Or with the plug out. If they like.   I used to be very into aromatherapy, but then I had a godawful cold lasting about three weeks, and afterwards I had no sense of smell. About 6 years ago.  No-one minded except me. I saw a consultant privately: “Oh sometimes you get catastrophic nerve damage with upper respiratory infections. There isn’t anything anyone can do.”  So. I still can’t really smell anything, but I had a tea tree oil bath last time I felt fluey and the bug wandered off again.  I’ve been putting lavender oil on Son 1 aged 4 y 6m’s pillow, and Son 2 aged 18m’s sleeping bag, and, unarguably,  they have been sleeping better.  And this morning I was wrecked and wretched, but able to function after my bath. Even though I can’t smell.   I am reconverted. I think you’re supposed to alternate camomile with lavender for sleep problems, because in the end your system gets used to the oils and they won’t work as well. But can I use it on children?  I never learnt that Before.  

The Man is stressed, so he was building shelves all day.  Under pressure,  it is usually sheds, but sometimes shelving. Or compulsive tidying.  We now have a new shoe and coat rack in the hall.  Hooks expected any day now.  He’s also made a mammoth book shelf in Son 2’s room for all the childrnen’s books. While he went to B and Q and Jewson, we played.  Playdough mainly.  Son 1 was engrossed in operation: making little shapes that the patient had eaten.  Earlier, his game had been scratching in an ink pad with a feather to try writing.  Son 2 was now pressing the feather into a big lump of red playdough.  Then he was waddling around with the playdough under his sock and the feather stuck to his foot by the playdough.

The boys and I went to the library.  I’n’t Libraries Great? They just are.  I apologised for our 14 books. ”It’s ok, it’s 18 per ticket.”  Son 1 had a book that I said we shouldn’t get. He took it over to the scanning machine and put it in the tray. “Mummy bring me the ticket!” Won’t be long before he can download all my pictures and back up my blog for me.   Of course we took out the book he wanted.  Nanna came over.  Son 2 took one look at her, did his dance and pointed upstairs.  = “Shall we watch The Wiggles?”  He cried when the DVD finished.  I made Jamie Oliver fish pie for all. Reasonably successful, although Son 1 has decided he doesn’t like prawns. He had two helpings of cabbage though. Paragon sticker to him.

Nanna waited after bedtime and The Man and I went out for a drink. I had a champagne cocktail to celebrate being back at work a year.

I Don’t Want To Miss A Thing

1.  Far Away And Dreaming

2.  Smile While You Are Sleeping

3.  A Moment I Treasure

An undisturbed night, and The Man and I woke before the boys.  We went downstairs, eventually Son 1 aged 4y 6m wailed. The Man went up. I followed with drinks and snacks. They were in Son 1’s bed. I got in too.  Me: “There were three in a bed and the little one said – ” Son 1: “I’ll just go and get Son 2.”  Me and The Man:  “NOOOOOOO!”  I read three library books to Son 1. He eventually went to peek at Son 2 aged 18m.   And he was UP.  Sleepy and hot, standing up in the cot, gripping the rail and smiling and laughing.  The Man took Son 1 downstairs for telly, Son 2 and I read. 

Breakfast. The Wiggles.  Thomas Wooden Railway. Every piece we own, and we own a lot.  The Man wanted to go to the Big Town, so off we drove.  The boys fell asleep in the car, so we drove down to the Big Town’s park, left them sleeping and went and got takeaway coffees. I sat outside the kiosk with the paper, The Man looked at the boats in the river.  Sunny, with a cold breeze.  Cawing rooks. We parked for shopping, the boys woke. I took them on the Merry-Go-Round. We met colleagues from The Office who’ve had an incredibly worrying time with their two-year-old.  Some very important tests have come back negative.  The Best Thing.   We walked Son 2 on his reins and he chuckled and called and kept stopping to pat the pavement.  We looked unsuccessfully for shoes for Son 1. He wanted shoes with toys in the heels; or Ben 10 shoes. He has long narrow feet. Nothing fitted.  We have to find something soon because his trainers just don’t fit him any more.

On the way back Son 1 was holding Son 2’s hand in the car, and the air was filled with burbling baby giggles and hearty little boy laughter.   They kicked off their shoes and took off their socks and I tickled their feet with Five Little Piggies, and Round And Round The Garden.  More peels of magical baby chortles.  “I don’t want to be tickled any more Mummy, I need a nice rest,” said Son 1.   So did I.  The Man did pizza for tea, and we had them in bed and asleep by 1830 old time.

Bees Can’t Fly

1.  Order, Order

2.  Brains And Brawn

3.  Root A Toot

A good night.   A day off. A slow start. Son 1 aged 4y and 6m wanted me to read Mr Men books to him.  He and The Man seemed to think he was banned from telly this morning.  He wasn’t.  But I wasn’t going to let on.  We were still in our pyjamas when Wonder Nanny arrived.  She is very impressed with The Man’s new coat hooks and shelves in the hall, and with the new shelves in Son 2 aged 18m’s room.   There are no longer piles of about 100 books on the floor in Son 1’s room.  I never minded, I thought it added a certain don-ish quality to the place.  But apparently it was Not Normal.   Always, the people who can’t see mess are married to people who see mess when it isn’t there.   For the same reasons bees can’t fly.  

We went to the Bird Park.  We all love it, and I wanted to go places before the schools break up.  “Shall we have a little play and then have some lunch and then see the animals?” said Son 1.  That’s what we always do.  The dear mite and his love of routine again.  (As I often say about The Man.)  Son 2 can go down the baby slide sitting up now.  Son 2 picks up his own mat for the Big Slide.  Son 2 climbs up slopes, climbs up stairs, totters through, tried to get over… anything Son 1 does.  Son 1 is not a fan of Big Slides, but loves doing circuits including a smaller slide, and loved us all doing it together.  I am so glad Son 2 is such a little bruiser.  I always used to think Son 1’s physical caution was related to me being too over-protective.  Along came Son 2, and with one bound Mummy is free…

After lunch Son 2 was fainting with tiredness, so we put him in the Big Pram and wheeled him round to the birds.  He lasted as far as the otters before demanding to get out again. And then he walked down to the farm, hoo-hooing at owls, squawking at parrots and saying “Bye bye” to the cockatoos.  We fed goats and sheep, and sang Baa Baa Black Sheep to the black sheep with the black tongue. Son 2 baa-ed at them.  I put him back in the pram and he finally nodded off.   Son 1 prowled and ran round to the penguins.  Sat demurely on the wall. Got picked to feed them.  On the way back we stopped off at a big M and S looking for shoes.  We finally found a pair of flashing trainers that fit. Not quite what I wanted, but Son 1 is happy.

Young Guns

1.  Wake Me Up

2.  Bad Boys

3.  Freedom

Son 2 aged 18m had an awful night.  I got back late from the Big City, he cried, I went in and he was burning up.  So, worried he had my cold, and worried he needed Mummy Serotonin, I slept with him. And was instantly reminded why I don’t do it.  He just doesn’t sleep if I’m with him.  At one point he had me pressed against the foot of the cot, the bars in the side of my head, as he lay T-boned alongside the pillows, his hard little head shoved into me.  In the morning he cried to get up, his sleeping bag twisted round and round him so he could no longer move.  My head stayed on the pillow.   Son 1 aged 4y 6m came in, chattering.  Son 2 pushed himself up on his arms and smiled.

The Beach By The Garden was the Wednesday trip.  The other two mums were already there.  Son 1 played with Best Friend, Best Friend’s little brother, and 3 year old.  Son 2, flashing through the Seven Dwarfs of Over-Tiredness.  Crabby, Floppy, Clingy, Tetchy, Dozy, Clumsy and Loud.   The four big boys scattered like marbles.  I put the beach tent up, hoping it would keep them all in one place.  They tried to tow it away by the guy ropes.   One Mum went, Son 2 fell asleep At Long Last, and we de-camped to the Garden.   The three big boys played among the young Gunnera on Snake Island, lying on their tummies, watching the fish flicker back and forth in the streams. I bought them ice cream.  They stripped off and played monkeys, eating chocolate ice creams and climbing on railings.

In the evening I picked up one Wednesday Mother and drove over to the other’s.  We drank Cava and sauvignon blanc, and planned virtual dinner parties to stop us talking about children.   We got as far as Jo Brand, Michelle Shocked, Sawyer from Lost, Jane Austen, Jesus and Shakespeare.  We had problems coming up with enough women, and decided Society Was To Blame.  Then we did Which Chef?  And we got back late.

Not Sharp Or Dangerous

1.  I Can See You

2.  Pub Crawl

3.  Sand Dunes

So if Margaret Thatcher got by on three hours sleep a night, why wasn’t she permanently ratty or cold-ridden.  The Big City on Tuesday, 400+ miles round trip, 15 hour day including 8 hours driving.  Round a Wednesday Friend’s house last night; the carriage returned here well after midnight.  I was in with Son 2 aged 18m.  Now the mornings are light, he can see me lying in the double bed.  It doesn’t matter how still I am, how quiet I keep. When he wakes up, I get up.

We drove over to the Sandy Beach. Played Pooh Sticks on the bridge.  Got the tent up.  Sunny, but with a bitter wind, and a cold mist rolling in and out from the sea.  Son 1 aged 4yrs 6m was not on good form.  Not enough Mummy Time apparently.  He played in the sand in his sun suit. I could see from how he was standing that he was frozen, but left it to him to tell me he wanted more clothes.  In my defence, he’d said “no” to every single thing I’d suggested all day long. He pitter-pattered off the sand towards a beachside pub.  “I’m cold. I’m going in that warm cafe.”  I got his parkha on him, and followed him, asking him to come back so he could get dressed.  An out-of-season, barely-open, dim and dark beach bar.  But.  On the plus side.  Loos.  Coffee machines. And a sign saying children mustn’t be left alone on the play equipment.  There wasn’t any play equipment.  But maybe there is in the summer. 

By late afternoon I’d managed to work out that he wanted me, me, me.  So, still carrying Son 2 who was refusing to be put down, I suggested we explored the sand dunes.  “What’s a sand dune?” “You know, like the Crocodile Hunter. ‘Rolling down the sand dunes…’”  Son 1 loved the Sand Hills.  The grass was very scratchy, but he loved climbing through the fenced wire, he loved the little tracks, he loved going up and down.  He rolled, he scrambled, he scrabbled, he climbed. He Could See For Miles.  He wanted to poke in the remnants of illegal campfires. “Please be careful!  There are lots of sharp and dangerous things in sand dunes!” On the way back he told me he’d found treasure and wanted to take it home. ”It’s Not Sharp Or Dangerous.”  It was a brilliant blue hard plastic crescent.  A decorative bead from a bag perhaps.  On the way back Son 1 thumped Son 2 so hard in the back he fell flat on his face in the sand.  And I let him off, because he said he didn’t mean to be so rough, and he didn’t realise Son 2 would fall over.  Then he went and played in the tidal stream in his new flashing trainers.  And after that, there was No Ice Cream.

This Is The Life

1.  Girl 1

2.  Girl 2

3.  Dancing With The Tide

4.  Girls 3

I am still riddled with cold and over-tired.  Today I should have stayed in and let Wonder Nanny look after Son 1 aged 4y 6m and Son 2 aged 18m.  But the forecast was good.  If it rains, I can stay in. And if it doesn’t, I have to go out. The boys fell asleep on the way to the Shingly Beach. Wonder Nanny and I drove around Remote Touristy Village, looking for an Out-of-Season takeaway cappacino.  We found one. We parked. The boys woke up.  We bought our coffees, and walked with the boys to a playground we’d spotted on our drive-through. Son 2 loved the seesaw. Son 1 loved the roundabout.  He played with A Girl.  Quick, where did I put those flags and fireworks. 

Lunch was a dream.  The pub had a little play area with toys for children.  Son 2 built a mad thing with plastic bricks.  Son 1 alternated listening to Wonder Nanny reading a story with wailing that Son 2 was playing with his toys.  Another family with four primary school-aged children on the next table proved more entertaining than telly. Especially when the elder daughter said “Bugger!”  Father didn’t hear.  Mother was mortified. She recited the names of teachers who would be disappointed with Elder Daughter.      

And then down to a Cove by a Farm.  Son 1 was in raptures. He ran on to the rocks, he ran into the sea. Son 2, on his reins, wanted to follow him. Wonder Nanny tried to gently coax him away. Nope. He was Going In.  Son 1 played Saltwater Strip.  First he took off his wellies and socks, then his trousers.  Then his parkha. Then his sweat shirt.   Son 2 sat and plopped sand and stones in the lapping water. Son 1 hared around madly, darting, splashing, chortling and whooping. The sun came out.  There was just him, small, naked, his reflection dancing on the golden sand, his silhouette sharp against long, low waves as they rolled in and out.  It was very Cave Boy. I felt children had been playing in the same way, on the same rocks, for hundreds of years.  After a good half and hour, Son 2 started to sob with cold and Wonder Nanny scooped him up.  Son 1 fell in the sea up to his ears, but still got up and cavorted around. He finally came to a trembling, frozen halt, and I put him in my jacket and carried him back to the car. Dressed in: a fleece, his sun suit trousers, his wellies and his pirate towelling robe, we went back to look at a field full of mighty great Freisians with massive udders.  “This is so peaceful,” he said. “This is the life.”

After we got back, he demanded a bath. The Man came in and said another family had invited us for an early drink. I said I’d stay in with Son 2. Son 1 almost climbed out of the bath to make sure The Man didn’t leave him.  His first time down the pub with his father.  When he came back I asked “Did you sit quietly with the grown ups, talking, or did you race round with the girls?”  He laughed. “I raced round.”

North And South

1.  The Quick

2.  The Quack

3.  The Quest

Son 2 aged 18m can come down the stairs upright, holding onto the bannister with one hand.  Or, if he is in a hurry, he turns round and lies down on his tummy and slides down at top speed. The Man and I watch in terror, but he gets there, and seems unbothered by friction burns.  Son 1 aged 4 yr 6m has got this far without sliding down the stairs on his tummy.  Today, watching Son 2, off he went. Two boys sliding down, The Man and I yelling at Son 1, who started from behind and looked like he was going to bounce the baby off the mountainside like an avalanche.  He elegantly zoomed past him, Son 2 stopping to watch with a huge, delighted grin on his face.  We are a four-storey house, so three flights of stairs.  Maybe we don’t need the stairgates.  Maybe we need a bungalow.

“Wac, Wac.” Son 2 was going mad, pointing at the table.  “Yes yes,” I said absently. “We’ll just get the drinks and then we’ll go upstairs and read some books.”  “Wac, Wac.” I glanced at the table again. Keys, a comic, an FT. Something had made Son 2 think of ducks.  He was wriggling. He was getting upset.  He was shouting.  “WAC WAC.”  “Come on, up we go. Have a think about which books you want to read.”  He burst into tears and lunged for the table. “WAC! WAC!  WAC!”  Ah.  That would be his library book about tractors then.  On the table.   Silly Mummy. Quacks and Twactors have whole syllables in common and I never noticed.  

The Trade Show season.  The Man and the boys were coming with me, like they did last year. A grim trip, with Son 2 wailing for miles.   But when we pulled into car park next to a field full of sheep he smiled, pointed and said “Baa. Baa.”   It was packed.  An organiser told me they had a waiting list for traders, and loads of businesses sold both days’ stock today and were driving back for more.  We fed the boys first.  I had a mega picnic. They wanted only Hula Hoops and Frubes. Son 2 kept running off to a pond. Son 1 was picking up fallen camellia flowers for me. A free face paint for Son 1.  Spiderman. The best one yet.  I nearly asked if she did tattoos.  The family went off while I worked.  Later, Son 1 told me he’d take me to the North Pole and the South Pole.  Through the crowds he dashed.  A stall of sculptures, including three polar bears on a little plinth. “The North Pole!”  Back to a gatepost with a joke penguin on the top.  The voyage included a short cut  through an ancient rhododendron bush the size of a bus.  Fine for Son 1, less so for me with my pink nubuck pumps.  I went back on the stall, Son 1 sat playing with his comic. Then he ran round and fell over on the gravel. Hit his hands, forehead and knees.  He screamed.  We cured him with ibuprofen and a chocolate pancake.  Ingested, not applied externally.

Balancing Lambs

1.  Slumbers

2.  Climbers

3.  Numbers

I bought Son 1 aged 4y 6m two new DVDs.  Tarzan and Cars. Two-for-the-price-of-one at Tesco.  Bribery for behaving at the Trade Fair yesterday.  This morning, for the first time ever, I managed to get Son 2 aged 18m back to sleep after he’d woken up at 6am.  I snugged in bed with him; he snugged in bed with me.  He dozed.  I read somewhere that some children are hyper-stimulated by their mother’s presence in bed, and always counted Son 2 as one of them, lucky me.  But this morning, we did it.  His body relaxed, – he’s usually rigid with tension – his fluffy hair in my face.  Unheard of.   And then Son 1 strode in and switched on the lights: “I want to watch my DVDs.”

He watched. I got ready for work.  I went downstairs.  Tarzan was on.  Son 1 was climbing along the top of the sofa back, hoo-hoo-hoo ing.  Television of course has no influence on children’s behaviour.  On the way to The Trade Show, I passed some sheep in the fields.  A ewe lay on her stomach on the grass.   A lamb stood on the top of her back, sure-footed, walking a few tiny steps forward, and a few tiny steps back.  The ewe didn’t move.  The lamb turned round.  All without watching Tarzan.  

The Trade Show went well.  A lovely day, a lovely location. I was in linen and a black straw hat.  I bought ostrich burgers for The Man.  Back home, the boys were playing with a 3 year old friend who’d come calling.  His mum supervised upstairs while I grabbed a cup of tea and some food.  The boys had  been out to the beach, and were pretty shattered and hyper. Even in bed, Son 1 was still playing for more time before lights out.  Eventually, five books later, he passed out.

Round And Round

1.  Bared Teeth

2.  Hand Holding

3.  The People On The Bus

The Man took Son 2 aged 18m downstairs this morning while I grabbed some more time in bed.  Son 2 howled and hollered.  Stood at the bottom of the ground floor stairs baying upwards.  Son 1 aged 4yrs 6m woke, shrieking for Mummy.   I collected Son 1 on my hip and took him downstairs.  Son 2 cranked up his tantrum because I was carrying Son 1.  I picked up Son 2.  He screamed and shouted and pushed Son 1 away. I put Son 1 down.  He curled up in a miserable ball on the kitchen floor.  I tried to get Son 2 to give him a kiss and a cuddle to make up.  He wouldn’t. And he wouldn’t stop yelling.  We gave him teething powder. He quietened down.  He has three canines coming through.  They seem to pop out and then sink back.  The bottom right one is now an iceberg tip – I’m sure it was bigger a few days ago.  And the bottom left one came through with a shred of pink gum up the side.  The pink bit’s gone, but the tooth still looks like it’s gone back in.   Poor child.

Dressed, breakfasted, shoe-d and coat-ed, the boys were ready to leave the house and waiting for me.  Son 1 opened the door. This terrifies us.  He’s fine, but Son 2 never stops trying to escape. A whiff of fresh air and he’s straight outside.  I rolled up the blind and put a chair next to the door so Son 1 could see out.  Then Son 2 needed a chair next to him.  Two little backs. One little head peering out, another little head, shoulder-high, alongside.   Holding hands.  Mush.

 Son 1 has been nagging me to take him on a bus. We are a rural, two-car family, so buses aren’t big in our lives.  We drove to the Big Town to the Park And Ride.  Both boys in raptures.  Son 2 pointed and pointed.  “Buh!  Buh!”  “And what do The Wheels on the Bus do?”  “Rah rah.”  And, as it was raining, The Wipers On The Bus Went Swish Swish Swish. All Day Long.  Son 1’s cheeks were fat with his smiles.  We went to the Big Town Museum. Free entry, and full of other rained-out families. The boys dressed as spacemen and played with lego.  We walked from one end of the Big Town to the other to get the bus back.  We were last off. Son 1 had removed his waterproof trousers and taken his shorts and pants down as well.  And we needed to sort the buggy.  A Bus Man came on and started pressing all the bell buttons.  “It’s the law,” he said, self-consciously. “Because we’ve got them, we have to check they work.”  “Do you need anyone to help you?” I asked.  “Because Son 1 would love that job.”    Son 1 got to press button after button after button.  He did indeed love that job. And The Bells On The Bus did indeed Go Ding Ding Ding.

Returns

1.  A Nice Rest

2.  Back To Work

3.  On The Road Again

The Man and I were up before Son 1 aged 4y 6m and Son 2 aged 18m.  6am.  He was on his computer.  I was reading Sunday paper magazines.  Son 1 arrived with a “Ta Da!” entrance.  He sat playing with his toy karaoke machine, singing away to the alphabet, counting songs and dances.  After the alphabet he snuck a quick over at me to make sure I was watching.  I had of course made sure that I was.  At 7am we started wondering whether Son 2 was still breathing, so Son 1 helpfully said he’d go upstairs to check.  In we went.  A little form, lying, still, on his tummy, his sleeping bag corkscrewed around him, his breathing deep and quiet. Son 1 and I buried ourselves in the double bed.  He eyebrowed.  “Don’t go to sleep Mummy,” he said, noticing me taking a sneaky opportunity for a Nice Rest and peeling my eyelid up.  In the end Son 2 stirred.  Bleary-eyed. red-faced, round-cheeked, and adorable.

I haven’t been into The Office for eight days, and everything was ok.  A Good Thing. The woman on the Lancome counter at Boots swapped the foundation I’d bought myself for Mother’s Day.  No receipt. But she changed it for one I like better.  Another Good Thing.  I’ve been credit-crunching with some Tesco foundation, and it’s made me look old and exhausted.  At least that’s what I think it is.

Quite late back so didn’t see much of the boys.  They were both in the bath, gorgeous.  Son 2 was militant as soon as he saw me, standing up and trying to get out.   Then he slipped and nearly zoomed under water, panic in his eyes, little hiccup-ing cries.  I scooped him out, wrapped him up in a towel and there-there-d him.   Son 1 instantly dived like a striker in the penalty box.  Again and again.  When they were in bed I went out for a run for the first time for ages.  I didn’t get to three miles because of a hip flexor twinge… but I certainly did a good two.  I got rained on, but it was light, so who cares.

Suitable Boys

1.  Words

2.  Pictures

3.  Action

I woke at 4am and couldn’t go back to sleep.  At 5am I went downstairs with Vikram Seth’s Two Lives.  A Wednesday Mother is running her book club this month so we are reading it in support.  A Suitable Boy defeated me.  I can’t remember why, especially as I’m really enjoying this one.  And I’m usually good at persevering.  I think the only other one I abandoned, bored, baffled and bewildered, was Ulysses.  One miserable summer when I decided I would only read mind-enriching work.  I escaped into  Harlan Coben and wouldn’t come out for months afterwards.   The Man came down at 0530, and then decided he’d have another go at going back to sleep.  And next thing I heard from upstairs was the shower running. 

Son 1 aged 4y 6m wet the bed and Son 2 aged 18m did a mighty poo that went through his pyjamas.  The Man showered Son 1 and stripped the bed while I pressure-washed Son 2.  Into the bath together.  Two shiny wet faces, looking up smiling. They’re grrrreat.  Our morning routine destroyed, we ended up in the lounge.  Son 1 was pulling out the train track; Son 2 was pressing the button to make the DVD drawer come out and go back in again.  And removing the Sky card.  And taking the DVDs out and putting them somewhere.  Poor Cars.  We’ve only had it five days and it has been posted somewhere that only Son 2 knows about.

We went to a Family Fun Day at the local secondary school.  Loads of activities, all free.  Son 1 loved it. He skateboarded and ran round with Best Friend.  Son 2 was harder.  I spent a lot of time trying to catch up the others with the Big Pram in a school riddled with stairs. And then packed it up in the car and carried him.  Son 1 was playing on the skateboards, but Son 2 just wanted to run around.  In an area where 10 year olds on BMXs were swooping back and forth between ramps.  He was tired, strong-willed, deeply interested, not old enough and more than I could manage.  We went inside.  Son 1 waited for half an hour for a dinosaur balloon from the Balloon Man. And then we went outside and Son 2 ran around, picking daisies and crunching up fallen leaves.  The sun blazed down.  Son 1 stripped to his pants and played with Best Friend.  His Mother and I finally got to sit on the grass.  Until Son 2 spotted a gap between some classrooms and started his usual bid for freedom.  

I put Son 1 to bed, lying next to him.  And fell asleep.  The Man woke me when he went to bed at 11pm.  I still needed to work… and stopped at 1am.

Good Friday 2009

1.  Animals

2.  Fish

3.  Insects

A slow start today, with Son 1 aged 4y 6m watching Cars (found posted between the speakers.)  And Son 2 aged 18m pleading for The Wiggles at every opportunity.  There is a pair of Son 1’s pants sitting on the side waiting to be put away. Son 2 stared at the picture.  “Digger,” he said, clearly. He’s using Bah a lot now. For: Bath, ball, book, boat and sheep.  If I listen very closely, I realise that he’s got far more words than I give him credit for.  He has a word for “toes” which is similar but not quite. And eye. And arm. And nose. And mouth. And hair.  All not quite near enough to be pretty damn close.  But the big things in his life show no sign of moving.  Crocodiles are still “Nap nap.”  Fish are still opens-and-closes-mouth.  Cows, owls and dogs are all variations of “oooo.” But he can do roh roh roh for Road Roller (and Row Row Row Your Boat.) And Dum Dum for dump truck. HIs Bye Bye is beautiful, but he rarely bothers with his Allo any more.  And often there is a hint of Son 1’s name.  Each time I think I hear it, and I ask him to repeat it, and he goes all fey and faraway: “Me?  Speak?  Don’t know how.  Not trying.”

We went to the Garden With a Beach.  With two Wednesday Friends and their parents, and a couple of friends of theirs.  The beach is at the bottom of a long, steep jungle-like garden, all bamboo, pine and gunnera.  There is a lake at the bottom full of rainbow trout, which Son 2 loved.  On the beach I put both boys in their Sunsuits.  Son 1 because within 15 minutes he’d soaked his shoes, tee shirt and vest. And Son 2 because he just aimed himself at the water and nuclear rockets wouldn’t have stayed him from his course…  Son 2 was great. The water was freeeeeeezing.  The beach was tiny stones, hell to walk on. But he didn’t care.   There was moving water. There were sandy stones.  Pig in muck.

Back home, Son 1 slept, Son 2 watched The Wiggles, and I made pizza for tea.  I was late with it, and then we got them to bed late.  Then, after four books, Son 1scratched the back of his head in a way that made me reach for the Nitty Gritty.  Bedroom light full on.  Contact lenses out.  I simply can’t see any more.  I don’t think there was anything living, and he may have a touch of sunburn on his hairline from not wearing a hat today.  Famous Last Words.  Then when I finally poured myself a glass of wine ands switched the computer on… there he was at the top of the stairs. “I can’t sleep.”  Very, very unlike him.  I’ve only just got him back, and normally he’s a head-on-the-pillow and that’s it kind of boy.

Shaking Tail Feathers

1.  Like A Duck To Water

2.  Proud As A Peacock

3.  Eggs

4am. Son 2 aged 19m woke screaming.  I went down and got him back to sleep in the double bed. And went back upstairs to read Two Lives.  He woke again. I went down again. It’s His Teeth.  Fast Forward. The Hotel Pool.  Son 1 aged 4y 6m wanted to go the Hotel Pool because he wants to go swimming with Son 2.  The Man won’t go with us, and you need two adults for two children at the Town Pool.  Not at the Hotel.  Son 1 had the noodle, Son 2 was in foam armbands and a swimming costume wetsuit.  We played in the baby pool, we splashed in the fountains. We played Humpty Dumpty.  Son 2: (pointing) Dump! Dump!” We swam. Son 2 can float a bit.  Son 1can push and glide, do dolphin dives and do star, pencil and frog floats.   Only not in the Hotel Pool, which is four foot deep all the way through.  They both worked incredibly hard.

After, we drove over to the Farm Butcher to get a joint for tomorrow’s lunch. Son 2 passed out in the Hotel car park.    He woke up when we stopped the car at the Farm Butcher.   Peacocks wandered around the car park.  As we all watched, a male spread its tail, shaking and shimmering at an unconcerned female idly pecking by.  It was fantastic.  Amazing moving colours, brilliant blues and emerald and lime greens.  In the shop, at the back, there were scores of peacock feathers sticking out of a row of about 10 vases.  “Let’s buy one,” said Son 1. “I don’t think they’re for sale,” I said.  “Ask the gent,” he said.  I did.  It is apparently bad luck to take a peacock tail feather outside.  You can take them in to a building, but not outside again.   Many people have asked for a peacock feather, but the Butcher is superstitious.  The Butcher himself went out to look for new one.  It was left outside by the door for Son 1, who was truly delighted with it.  Back home, the feather has not come into the house. 

We went to Nanna’s for tea.  Nanna always comes to us.  It was easier. But after a particularly difficult teatime, we decided to try every other Saturday at her house.  I dropped off Lightning McQueen buckets for her to use in an egg hunt.  We arrived. The boys took their buckets and went into the garden.  Son 1 found one egg and started eating. Son 2 found one, I peeled it halfway and he started eating.  Son 1, squealing, found marshmallows and more chocolate.  Son 2 found a Creme Egg.  “Ur Ur,” he said, having bitten through the foil to eat it, the other egg still in a hand.  I removed the foil from his mouth.  Nanna has a tiny ancient bird pond full of dark green water.  Son 2 went for it.  So did Son 1.  Nanna gave them tubs.  They scooped and poured.  Within 10  minutes Son 1 had soaked his clothes and was stripped naked. Son 2 was down to his vest. It was freezing, the skies charcoal. Upstairs was a vintage tin bath which Nanna used to bathe us in, 40 years ago.  I put a kettle of boiling water in it, added cold, and put it in the garden.  The boys both went for it, and, spotting it as the only available outside warmth, wouldn’t come out. The Man brought out new clothes, and we had tea.  Nanna had bought oven chips. “They’re not as nice as I thought they would be,” said Son 1 casually.   Our chips start life as potatoes, cut into chips, blasted  in the microwave for five minutes, dried and then roasted off for 20 minutes in olive oil in the oven.   ”Delicious, yum, yum,” says Son 1. Now all we need to do is get his manners as refined as his palate.

The Goodest Day I Ever Had

1.  Hallelujah

2.  Guns And Roses 

3.  A Doll On A Music Box

Take two organically-reared children, add large quantities of chocolate and stand well, well back. For maximum effect begin dose before 7am and continue for 12 hours.  I am knackered. I took Son 1 aged 4y 6m and Son 2 aged 19m to The Church with Nanna.  Son 1 coloured beautifully at the back. Son 2 was just too tired to be there, but he liked the singing.  He ended up colouring too.  In the Prayers for Intercession the name of a widowed neighbour was read out.  My heart stopped.  She’s an Easter Church attender, and she wasn’t there. Neither was the friend she goes with.  My mind span.  When? How? Why didn’t we know she was ill?  She lives with her son, a great friend of ours.  How was he? Where was he? Could it have happened yesterday? Overnight?  At the end of the service, while Son 1 was egg-hunting round the pews,  I asked the vicar.  Same name, different woman.  Lordy Lordy Lordy. Son 1’s haul was three Creme Eggs.

And a comic for being good in Church.  Son 2 passed out in The Big Pram.  The Spar was open.  We checked about four comics. All had guns as the toys.  Son 1 is Not Allowed Guns.  He hummed and hah-ed over the only one he vaguely liked, an ITV arty comic.  Feeling sorry for him, I picked out a sealed bag for a comic covered in cars.  ”The toys probably won’t be very good though,” I said. “Because they don’t want us to see what they are.”  Son 1, exhausted from the walk, dawdled up the hill on the way home.  “Shall we open the bag to see what toys you’ve got?”  A gun. With four bullets.  Son 1’s face shone with a golden glow. His smile lit the street. “At last! My very first one!”  He fired it in the kitchen. It nearly took the vase out. The other toy was a mobile phone which fires discs.  Luckily I can see the funny side. She glowered.

“So Son 1,” I said.  Easter,  you’ve been eating chocolate all day and you’ve got a gun. He cackled like a demon. “It’s the Goodest Day I Ever Had.”  The Man had made the Sunday lunch while we were out.   He lost a couple of points for forgetting to put my veggie pastry thingies in, but apart from that he did a pretty good job.  Son 2 woke but was too tired to eat.  Son 1 managed a bit of beef, a roast potato, the top of a Yorkshire pudding and a pile of purple sprouting broccoli.  After, The Man went to work, and we all watched Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Son 1 hid from the Child Catcher.  He leapt up to copy Dick Van Dyke in the Music Box bit.  So I was Truly Scrumptious.

Daddy’s Lullaby

1.  The Impersonator

2.  The Copycat

3.  The Mimic

The Man is Off On A Business Trip, so was trying to be helpful this morning.  He got up with Son 2 aged 19m, whose unappreciative, grief-stricken ”Ma Maaaaaaaaaaaaa” rent my heart as he was carried downstairs.    Son 1 aged 4y 6m, in the Big Bed with me, remained comatose while I put in my lenses, fussed about and tucked him in theatrically.  The Man made them pancakes and then Got On.  We went upstairs for books.  Son 1 watched “Babe” with Son 2.  Huge comedy potential, as Son 2 communicates mainly in animal noises, his favourites being dogs, sheep and pigs.  Snorting noises for pigs, baa-ing for sheep and his strange, owl-like woo woo for dogs.  Next time we watch it I’ll make it into a drinking game.  One swig for a snort, two for a baa, and three for a woof.  And a short for every Son 1question: “What’s pork?”  “Why did they take the Mummy dog’s puppies?” “Why does the farmer want to shoot Babe?”

Glorious weather yesterday, grim today.  Grey, wet and dark.  We went shopping.  We needed: 1) a present for  Son 1, who didn’t get an Easter egg from us.  (NB. Four barrowloads from friends-and-relations) 2) some Omega 3 tonic. 3) a wetsuit for Son 1, who strips off and runs into the sea, even in February.  Blue lips. Not a good look on a 4 year old. 4) fruit.  Son 2 fell asleep, so we went straight to the Toy Shop.  Well Son 1 hunted high and low.  And clearly, there was nothing he wanted.  A £70 Playmobil Knights Castle, which I already know, compulsive Mumsnet Lurker that I am, that I can get half price from the right website.  And which I don’t want to buy him,  as Son 2 is scarred for life from the split lip he got falling over on the battlement of the castle Son 1 already has.    We went to the Discount Shop.  Son 1 wanted a Biotronics toy.  Lego. 7 – 11 on the packet.  “You’re not old enough,” I said.  At that instant, a Little Blond Moppet Boy, clearly much younger than Son 1, arrived and stared at the stand, excitedly.  “Haven’t we got all these?” said Hearty Father, loudly.  LBMB drilled through and produced one he liked. “What shall we call him?” said Hearty Father.   Son 1 stood, staring.  “Excuse me,” I said. “Are these ok for four year olds?  He really wants one, but I’m so conventional I have to abide by the age range on the packet.”  “Oh we love them,” said Hearty Father. ”We’ve got four already.  They’ve all got names.”  “Brian?” I suggested. “Well, we have one called Stephen, don’t we X?”  X is an extremely distinctive name, and as I have said before in this blog, we are Really Rural.  Son 1 used to get bitten to death by an X at the Old Nursery he left seven months ago.  A Blond Moppet Boy, Littler than this one.  We got him his toy. “Is that X from the Old Nursery?” I whispered. “No,” said Son 1, cuddling his box. “X had different hair.”  We went in the queue behind Hearty Father, who had a shopping basket overflowing and a pillow under each arm. “Is that all you’ve got? Would you like to go first?”   How do such lovely fathers have such murderous children?

Didn’t get the wetsuit.  In the shop. “I need a poo!”  At home, at bedtime, Son 1 wanted “Daddy’s Lullaby.”  A library book I took out for Son 2, because it’s about a baby who can’t sleep.  Son 2 loves it, and will have it 3+ times a session.  I read it to Son 1 in the style of Son 2.  “And when he sees the empty cot, he goes ‘Bah!’ because he means ‘I’ve got one of those.’  Then Daddy takes the Baby into see the Big Brother.  ‘And I say, who’s your big brother?’  “‘Bah!’ and he points at the door.”  Son 1 thought this was hilarious. ”Read it again! Say: ‘Bah!’ “Sometimes,” I said, “Son 2 says something Very Like ‘Son 1′ when I say ‘Who’s your big brother?’ And I get very excited and say ‘Tell me again, tell me again,’ and he just sucks his cheeks in and looks around and pretends he can’t talk.”  Son 1 cried real tears.  “Read it again and I’ll pretend I’m Son 2 and I can’t talk!”  He couldn’t do it.  At the point where Son 2 is usually cat-like staring into the middle distance pretending he can’t hear me, Son 1 was laughing till he hurt.

Changing Things

1.  How Many Independent Superwomen Does It Take To Change A Light Bulb?

2.  Leftovers

3.  Blue Glass

Just one.  Oh Yeah, Oh Yeah, Oh Yeah.  Get me.  The light over the dining table has been annoying me. As the years roll on, it’s become harder and harder to read my paper.  Poor light of course, not fading sight.  And then last night, on the first evening of The Man’s two-week absence, the bulb went.  Complicated.  Standing on table to dismantle overhead light fitting.  Staring at bulb the size of a motorbike headlight and wondering whether it comes apart any more.  Getting new one while carrying Son 2 aged 19m in my arms.   Requiring an old man in B and Q to go up a cherry picker to hunt along the Top Shelf.  Climbing up on table again.  Slotting, twisting, bodging, clicking.  And now it is Bright And Beautiful.  And I am Very Clever Indeed.  Yes I know to the casual observer this is just a lightbulb.  But to me, it’s more important than that.  It’s a Start.  

We took Son 1 aged 4y 6m and Son 2 aged 19m to an Old Friend’s.  She has three sons, one a week older than Son 1, a three year old, and a four month old.  The elder three boys went instantly feral, and ran in and out of the large house and garden.  I went to investigate two huge patches of feathers spread underneath some trees.   Clearly a fox had taken a pigeon.  I was looking for blood, bones or giblets – anything that small boys shouldn’t really be seeing.  Nothing at all left but the feathers.   I took the rest of Sunday’s beef, and it was added to the lunch menu of roasted quail and freshly-baked bread.  At least the Mother said it was quail.  Could have been pigeon I suppose.   Our adult friends ate the quail and the beef. I ate the bread.  The boys ate Quavers and pizza.

At home Son 1 watched a DVD while Son 2 clung.  Wonder Nanny did tea.  I put the boys to bed, spoke to Younger Sister on the phone, and sorted out the recycling and bins. Then I did a bit of tidying.  My new mantra is: Eat A Bit Less; Spend a Bit Less; Tidy Up One Thing, Throw One Thing Out.  A Little And Often.  So, I was putting away the vases which loiter by our sink, which don’t really have a home because they’re big and fragile and need looking after properly.  And I broke my big blue one, which was my favourite.  And sliced my finger open on the broken glass.  There are still of course, Good Things.  First, it’s Recycling Day tomorrow, I can give it to the men on the wagon and ask them to sort it out. And Second, I’ve now proved that tidying up is dangerous.  I’d better leave it till The Man gets back.

Getting Along Famously

1.  Someone To Care For

2.  To Be There For

3.  I’ve Got You Two

We slept in till 7am. I heard a wail from Son 2 aged 19m downstairs in his cot at some point… and I woke wearing Son 1 aged 4y 6m like a scarf.  Downstairs they gobbled rice cakes and Philadelphia. Then Son 1 watched Treasure Island, which he’d been given by my Old Friend yesterday.  Son 2 and I read, showered and then we all went up to the Big Bedroom and sorted laundry.   This was a Good Thing, as it can be hard with two under-fives wrecking piles and throwing small socks around.  The secret was to let them help.    They both got very bored and wandered off to unwind loo rolls instead. 

The Wednesday Friends were going to the New Play Centre.  I don’t go there any more, so we went back to the Hotel Pool.  We were joined by another Friend and her Three Year Old. This is the pool too deep for the children to put their feet down anywhere.  Son 1 had a brilliant time, swimming/running or jumping for nearly an hour.  Son 2 loved it too, relaxed in his little baby wetsuit, floating on his armbands, sinking himself by rolling over and then coming up smiling.  Son 1 alternated between the arm bands and the noodle, but was brilliantly confident.  He needs a little more help though with his Awareness Of Other Pool Users scores.   There was a grim lane-counter in a red swimming hat who was unsmiling and uncommunicative about her several near-misses from Son 1’s exhuberant jumping.  I lectured him.  But the New Me also kinda thought… Wet Wednesday in the school holidays, not a good time to pick for training…

The heaviest rainstorm I can remember, machine-gunning into the car roof.  The marvellous Parking Fairy put us right outside the house.  I mis-timed everything, we were out over lunch; I gave the boys chocolate eggs as their after-swim treat.  They were exhausted, sugared-up and hungry.  When we got in at nearly 3pm I gave them a picnic in front of the telly.  Popcorn, sausages, grapes, celery, carrots, peppers and kiwi fruit.  They gorged themselves on popcorn, ate the sausages and grapes, most of the peppers and some of the carrots.  Son 2 was a thug.  He tried to hog all the popcorn, pushing Son 1 away from the bowl. He tipped all the food off the plate onto the floor.  He took pieces of popcorn and threw them down the stairs, laughing madly.  He did a mega poo and I changed him, putting him back in the lounge with just his nappy on while I found him some fresh clothes.  I came back upstairs and he’d taken his nappy off and was running up and down naked, waving it above his head.   I made them a tortilla for tea, my usual guilt-trip of “why am I wasting time cooking when i should be playing with them?” made worse by me thinking they wouldn’t eat because of their picnic.  They wolfed it. We sang “I’ve Got You Two,” from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.  Then they wolfed jelly. And fromage frais.  Well, Son 1 ate the jelly and fromage frais. Son 2 mixed it together and used it to re-point the high chair.

Contrasts

1.   Baby School

2.   Last Day Of  The Holidays

3.   Two Households

I’m doing longer books with Son 2 aged 19m.  Happy I’m a Hippo has been a big hit, although he has a “sod the story, let’s see that crocodile page again” grabby approach which is not quite sitting sedately, listening to the Voice He Loves Most.   The Snail and the Whale has also been tolerated, his short-attention span countered by the staged arrival of the speed boats and fire engine.  Plenty of potential there for parrot squawks, his latest animal sound.  And open-mouthing for fish. He has a pretty good “updair” for upstairs though, and he also has a clear, but corrupted version of “shark.”  Digger, Dump, roll-roll, dar (for car) and dan (for van.)  Crocodile is still Nap Nap, but, just today “Dile.”  He’s definitely trying. This morning we did Itsy Bitsy House which he loved.  Twice. And again this evening.

I am back at The Office and Son 1 aged 4y 6m and Son 2 are Not Happy.  Wonder Nanny being the celestial creature that she is, arranged two mega-activity days for them.  Yesterday they went to a Big Attraction. When Wonder Nanny announced it, Son 1 whooped and gurgled with Clanger-like joy.  Today they went to a garden and met up with some friends. Gals, as Son 1 calls them.  Still not his favourite things, but it sounds like they all had a great time.  I have a glass with a windfall camellia flower,  two brown leaves and a bit of grass in it.  “I brought you some flowers, Mummy.”

I came home to two lively, happy, healthy, gorgeous children.  Son 2 burst into tears and ran away… Son 1 slalomed past me and dived into a carrier containing a toy I’d bought him in TK Maxx.  Son 2 has taken to cuddlng me as part of his bedtime routine.  At a particular place in his ritual, he stops, put his arms round my neck and snugs into me.  They are glorious, joyful, characters who bubble with life, love and laughter.  Everything about them this evening seemed fast and vivid.  Late this afternoon I saw a mother who’s just had devastating news about her beautiful two-year-old’s health.  Unthinkable, unbelievable, unimaginable news.  Someone please tell me how I can help them.  It’s now 11pm, and Son 1 has just woken up, sitting watching me from the darkness at the top of the stairs.  I waved.  “Cuddle,” he said.  I took him up on the offer.

 

Dragging

1.  Foresight

2.  Hindsight

3.  Second Sight

I told Son 1 aged 4y 6m that, to mark the end of the holidays, we could have a Big Trip this weekend.  He chose the Fun Park, and he chose today.  Nanna, who on Sunday didn’t take Communion because she didn’t think could make it from the pew at the back of The Church, said she’d be fine with the huge amount of walking.  If we took the Big Pram for her to use as a zimmer frame.   I did a mega packed lunch, including coffee for me.  First, I don’t like the food or the cafe… and second I am trying to cut back. It took FOREVER.  Cost-benefit analysis.  Saved £20. But two bored boys allbut unravelled the carpets and peeled off the wallpaper.  Son 1 has a very sore and red left eye.  Worrying, as the Old Friend we saw on Tuesday was just over an evil bout of conjunctivitis. 

At the Fun Park, Son 2 aged 19m thought he’d entered Paradise.  Ponies and piglets.  “Dig! Dig! Dig!” at the climb-on diggers in the sandpit. Lambs and rabbits and chickens and goats.  Son 1 was insistent on going down to the Haunted House.  Soft Play in the dark.  Nanna sat outside while we played.  The Ball Pool, knee-high and low-lit, was being dragged by two men in Fun Park uniforms. Sort of dive, body plough, surface.  “Are you looking for someone?” I asked.  “A mobile phone,” one said. “Can’t you ring it?” “We don’t get signals here.”  We left them to go and play Scooby Do on the stairs in the dark.  

Lunch, a bit of a run round, some sliding with Son 2, and then it started to rain.  We played inside again, in a toddler area - ride on tractors, and  in another Ball Pool, where I played a game with both Son 1 and Son 2, lifting them up and letting them fall (slightly.)  And then upside down.  Son 2’s Ball Pool confidence grew and grew, until he was relaxed lying on top without moving while he waited his turn. And then there was a little castle which ran the length of one wall.  Son 2 was fabulously independent.  Climbing in, taking himself up and down steps, out-of-sight along walkways, vanishing until just a little red and white striped sock appeared, and then another, as he lowered himself down steps at the end.    Then back to the Haunted House and the Ball Pool there.  Son 2 sat, happy, letting himself sink till only his face was visible. Wiggling. “Dear little soul,” I thought. “He’s so good at these now.”  He leaned back and stuck up a little baby foot.  A bare baby foot.  No sign of the little red and white striped socks.   The wiggling had clearly been Son 2 removing them under the surface.  This time it was me dragging the Ball Pool. And it’s not easy.  By the time I found the socks, Son 1 had taken his off. They were exhausted when we finally left.  We got back in time though for the Pharmacist at Tesco.  Son 1 has a stye, not conjunctivitis.  We have ointment. And a proclaimation: “You’re not putting that stuff in my eye!”

Perfect

1. Such A Perfect Day

2.  I’m Glad I Spent It With You

3. We Go Home

in July 2007, seven months pregnant, I gave up a walk I used to do twice a week… through The Town, past All The Different Coloured Houses Sitting By The Sea, and either up the Headland to the swimming pool, or over the hump to the Rockpool Beach.  The walk was a big part of life for me, the Big Pram, and Son 1, now aged 4y 6m.  Fat and knackered, I started driving. Son 2, now aged 19m arrived, and moved into the Big Pram.  And Son 1was always exhausted from his hyper-Mummy activities and could never walk further than about a mile without wanting to sleep.  Today, the sky blue, the sunshine bright, the water turquoise, we took a picnic, the beach suits, the swimming things, and the Big Pram, and went shopping for a Wet Suit for Son 1.   Before he’d gone 50 yards he was clinging to our neighbours’ railings refusing to move.  Too tired.  Needed a carry.  Wanted to go in The Pram.  Wanted to go home.  Couldn’t possibly make it all the way to the Discount Store.  He made it to the Discount Store, and we got him his wetsuit.  Then a Fab lolly, to be eaten behind The Pram, so Son 2 (nothing suitable for him on the Van) wouldn’t know.   Son 2 has excellent receptive language, tossed off his shoulder straps and levered himself round the big hood to lean back and check out what Son 1 was eating.   Two Mini milks, bought at the Spar shop near the Different Coloured Houses.   And then to the Rockpool Beach, which was covered in a thick layer of stinky seaweed. Who cares.  Son 1 did it. Walked all the way. We are Back. 

They were both exhausted after day upon day of trips out, so my plan was to spread out the mat, have our picnic, and then have a slow walk back again.  Nope.  Son 1 was straight in the sunsuit and off up the rocks.   Son 2, crying to get out of the Pram, was soon in his wetsuit swimming costume, sunsuit top and Legionnaire’s hat.   He scooped up sand and gravel and threw it in the sea. 10,000 times. Son played with a sandcastle someone left at the tideline, and then bounced back to play with Son 2.  Find a piece of seaweed and use it as a lasso, sending sand and flicky green muck over everything. I drank coffee from my flask while I stood over them.  Son 2 sat in the water, threw stones, patted it and splashed, laughing.   It was heavenly.  The water was greeny-blue, cormorants were diving a little way out from the shoreline, the sun was scorching hot.  Eventually, even in the blazing sunshine, Son 2 got cold.  We had lunch, the three of us sitting on our mat, Son 2 pestering mildly for Son 1’s Ben 10 drinks bottle, Son 1 drinking Son 2’s Frubes.  We sang “Someone to Care For.”  Son 2 threw sand in the bagels.

I got them dressed and loaded up the Pram.  It had been hard work hauling the Pram over sand made up of tiny stones… so on the way out I decided to pull it over the seaweed.  It was much easier over the seaweed lying on the beach… which was dry, yet on a flat surface.  But then I hit a great river of seaweed on rock.  No drainage.  Stinking, sludgey, slimey, each foot sinking 8  inches into bogwater with every step.  The Pram nearly capsized on a rock.  i heaved it up the concrete slope to the top of the cliff and tried to get the pondscum out from between my toes with a baby wipe.   Then I put on my Salvatore Ferragmo pumps (a relic from the Olden Days) for the walk back.  Son 1 did it, again. Not a complaint, not a suggestion that he should be carried.  Just strolled along playing Lightning McQueen, walk along the top of walls, goblins-in-jail with railings and chat to  Son 2 whenever he looked like having a doze.     But again, he did it.  Two and a half miles, with 2 hours’ play inbetween.  He was a amazing.  Both boys were a joy to be with today.  No stresses, no hurrying, just a very relaxing afternoon on the Beach. We left the house just before 11.. we didn’t get back till after 1630.  We only went out for a little shop and a picnic lunch…

A School Day

1.  Domestic Science

2.  Team Game

3.  Lost Property

My usual night-time visitor.  I will never stopped being amazed by the sheer volume of fathomless, trusting, unconditional love that pours forth from both Son 1 aged 4y 6m and Son 2 aged 19m.  Son 1 snuck in the bed in the dark, eyebrowed for England - unconscious and vigorous stroking of my eyebrows and eyelashes to relax himself and get back to sleep – and then burrowed round the bed after me, wherever I went.     At 0530 I tiptoed downstairs, starting on packed lunches, washing and morning snacks.  Son 1 followed after, clearly still exhausted, and I made him a bed form sofa cushions on the kitchen floor.   I had to wake Son 2 up at 0730, after I’d had my shower, after I’d done my make up. 

A fabulous morning. Son 1 was philosophical about going back to Nursery, which was also a good thing.  Got dressed, found himself a nursery toy, packed his bag, had a bit of snack.  All without protest. We got there in plenty of time, which was also a good thing. 

I had a sprint round town at lunchtime… changed the children’s library books, bought school shorts for Son 1 and did an M and S run.  It made me late leaving, so I rang Wonder Nanny to apologise and warn her I’d be late back with Son 1.  Then when I picked him up from the After School Club, his teaching assistant said “The Office rang. They say can you check the message on your mobile before you leave The Big Town.”  I would have checked the message on my mobile.  Only it was in my briefcase. Which I’d left in The Office. We had to go all the way back.  And we were very very late indeed for Son 2 and Wonder Nanny.  Son 2 stood in the bay window watching, smiling and waving as I walked up the street towards the house.

Artists

1. Abstract

2. Beachscapes

3. Still Life

Charging out of the house to The Rockpool Beach to see the Wednesday Friends.  Well, that was the idea.  Son 1 aged 4y 7m was watching telly, I was making a picnic and Son 2 aged 19m was in his highchair eating his pancake.  He started to cry. And cling. And flop.  ”Son 2, would you like to go to bed?”  He nodded vigorously.   Son 2 never wants to sleep when I am around.  We lay down on the bed together.  Little arms round my neck.  A face wedged against my cheek. Fists in my hair. Adorable. When he was finally asleep, I went back downstairs.  Son 1, who at 7am had polished off half a can of rice pudding, was in the kitchen demanding a pancake.  I warmed up Son 2’s and gave that to him with a maple syrup dip.  It vanished.  “Can I paint my trains?”  Thomas Wooden Railway paint-your-own carriages.  A TK Maxx find.  We got out the trains and the red, yellow and blue paint.  He mixed red and blue to make purple. ”It works!”  And then blue and yellow for green, and red and yellow for orange.  “Does it always make green when you  mix blue and yellow?”  “Yes.”  “Why?”  “It’s to do with the range of frequencies of reflected light in the visible part of the spectrum darling.” “What, Mummy?” ”I don’t know, it just does.”  He mixed and stared, fascinated and delighted as his new colours emerged.   ”It’s very clever.”  He’s right. It is.  And the purple, green and orange Wooden Trains look great too.

Son 1’s new wetsuit fits, and he likes it. Key moment in life.  The Day He Wore A Wetsuit To The Beach for the first time.  It was much colder than I expected, so I put Son 2 in his swimming costume wetsuit and a sunsuit.  Son 1 ran off with Best Friend, his brother and the Three Year Old Friend.  Son 2 clung but got progressively more bold and wandered off to play in rockpools.  I followed him, knowing Son 1 would soon materialise.  The pack of boys leapt from rock to rock.  The Lady From The Beach Cafe came down with her camera and some photos. Unexpectedly, she is also an artist, and the photos were pictures of her work. Beach scenes with little figures in them.  Could she take pictures of the children to use when she does her beach scenes?  She finds it hard these days asking people.  We have known the Lady From the Beach Cafe for nearly four years. She works seven days a week from Spring till Autumn.  We knew she has Adventures in winter, but we didn’t know she was a trained and talented artist.  We said yes.  “I can’t do any painting till October.  And I’ll probably make it a sunny day.  And put them with different parents.” “Why, aren’t we photogenic enough?” I asked. 

Son 1 and Best Friend shrieked. They were standing on a rock and the incoming tide had cut them off.  Best Friend’s mother went to rescue them.  Best Friend couldn’t have got through the ten inches of water without soaking his trousers.  Son 1 could have waded through but wouldn’t.  And wouldn’t go to Best Friend’s Mum.  Wanted me.  So Son 2 and I tottered over to help him across.  The tide raced in at an almost menacing rate, and we moved up the beach several times. Eventually we decamped to the lower promenade, where Son 2 tried stealing all the Beach Cafe’s Toys For Sale. To distract him from the Lady’s large beach ball, I fished in the beach bag for ours, an ancient CBeebies comic freebie. I turned back and he was hanging over the edge of the 15 foot drop to the beach below, trying to throw stones down.  “Ball!” he said, tottering back for it.  War ensued as the bigger children removed it from him. Back home they watched Boogie Beebies while I made cauliflower and pasta in cheese sauce with leek, onion and garlic. We had veg box asparagus with it.  Wolfed.  “More,” commanded Son 2.  Son 1 ate his cauli cheese and had seconds of asparagus.  I felt like A Good Mother.

Milk And Fibre

1.  Comprehending

2.  Coconuts

3.  Clarifying

Son 2 aged 19m wept, tantrumed and screamed as Son 1 aged 4y 7m and I left the house this morning.  In Wonder Nanny’s arms, he gazed through the window at us as we got in the car.  It’s borne in on me that the poor little mite has no way of understanding why Mummy and Son 1 are going off together and leaving him.   Memo.  Lots of books about school/nursery from now on.   Stick with him the whole weekend.    He started his tantrum about 20 minutes before we left, when I did my usual slow, clear and repetitive “Mummy and Son 1 are going to say goodbye.”  So Being Positive, another Sign Of Excellent Receptive Language.

Son 1 and I went to Tesco for a Big Shop after I picked him up from Nursery.  He was amazingly well-behaved.   We spotted marked-down coconuts in the yellow-sticker trays.  “My whole life I have always wanted a coconut,” he said, sitting in the 15 kg max weight seat and stripping some of the fibre off the shell.  “Mummy how do we open it?”  ” I don’t know, I can’t remember.  I thought you wanted to make a hole in it and drink the milk. ” “Yes I do, but what shall we use?”  “I don’t know, we’ll have to wait till we get home and see what we’ve got.  We used to have hours of fun trying to get into coconuts when I was small.”  “What did you do to get in?”  “Don’t know, my dad used to do it. Smashed them to smithereens.”  “How did he smash them?”  “Can’t remember. I think he used to just throw them on the floor, very hard.”  Son 1 peered down over the side of the shopping trolley.    ”Don’t even think about it,” I growled.

He behaved impeccably, didn’t pester, didn’t whine, got down from the trolley and trotted around happily holding his coconut. “They have these in Aloha Scooby Doo.”  So back home I showed him the paddling pool I’d bought from TK Maxx.  He can’t wait.  But the weather has turned, and a loud lightning/driving rain thunderstorm moved slowly over us this evening.  “I don’t mind playing in it in the rain.”  I got into a coconut hole with a metal skewer.  Wonder Nanny stuck a straw in so Son 1 could, like Shaggy and Scooby drink the milk.  “I don’t like it.”   Son 1 brought Son 2 a book about fish back from Nursery.  Son 2 is obsessed with it.   He has a word for Shark, and Boat, and Bus, and Please, and Banana, and Car, and Down, and Upstairs and Outside, and Bubble.  Still not quite recognisable to anyone except those who adore him… but we think he is a Miraculous, Magical Marvel.

Stuck

1.  Outbreak

2.  Outside

3.  Outcast

Son 2 aged 19m has had a pimple on his chest for the last four days.  A red, acne-style beacon, sitting there, shining, glowing. “If there were any more of those, I’d think he had chickenpox” I’d vaguely thought.  Son 2 has had odd spots before, none of which have turned out to be anything other than odd spots.  Yesterday, Son 2 was scratching behind his ear like a flea-bitten dog.  This morning, Son 2 had: spots behind his ears, spots in his ears, spots on his chest, spots on his head, spots on his back, spots on his upper arms, spots on his baby thighs and a big, horrid one right on his willy.    I texted Wonder Nanny, to tell her that the person with the NNEB training was in charge of putting calamine lotion on the wrigglest child in the world.  She rang back. On Friday, with still, just that lone blister, she’d stripped him naked and checked him all over, so sure was she then that he had chickenpox.

Son 2 slept.  We got the paddling pool out.   Son 1 aged 4yr 7m checked with Next Door to see if they’d managed to borrow a pump. Nope. But Next Door did know how to get into a coconut, so Son 1 scampered round, and sat out in the yard with Next Door Neighbour and a hammer.  They smashed it.  He brought it round our side, testing it. “I don’t like it. It’s like the milk.”  He went inside, I stayed outside to try to blow the pool up.  I managed, but it’s already got a hole in it.  From where i folded it.  After 15 minutes I went back into the house.  It was strangely quiet.  “Son 1!”  No answer.  “Son 1! Where are you?”  “Mummy I’m here,” came a strange, faraway voice.  Upstairs?  I went to the bottom of the first floor stairs. “Mummy!  Mummy!”  He sounded scared, which made me scared. “Where are you!”  “Out here!”  I peered downstairs.  A littleface peered in at the front door.  He’d gone out the front door and shut it. ”How long have you been out there?”  “Fifty years.”  Stuck.  Which, coincidentally, is a word Son 2 has started using only today.   Falling between the legs of the upturned toddler chair.  “Stug!  Stug!” 

After lunch, we went down to the Discount Store in search of a puncture repair kit. Stopping off for Nappies.  The Discount Store had sold out.  We headed back, past The Church, where it was Family Tea Time service day.  ”We can’t go,” I told Son 1. “Son 2 will give the other children chickenpox.” “I want to go,” said Son 1.  He scampered up the steps while I battled with the shopping and The Big Pram.  The Vicar and His Wife came out. “It’s good to see you. We don’t know how many others there’ll be.” Code for: No-one Else Is Here. As we went in, a few more families headed in through each door.  Enough for it not to be embarrassing.  The theme was Fish.  Right up Son 2’s alley.  Son 1 fished for magnetic fish in a (puncture free) paddling pool.  Son 2 made Hand Fish.  I drew round his hand, cut it out and then he earnestly squidged gold glitter paint on it.  Then we did Casting Your Net Over The Other Side.  And then tea. Fish Fingers.   Son 2 tipped a beaker of squash down his front, soaking his jumper and vest.  ”Oh dear,” said the Vicar’s Wife.  “Have you got any other clothes with you?”  “Just his coat,” I said. “I’ll change him when I do his nappy.”  “Oh you can change him here, no one will mind,” she said.  They will if they see The Plague Of The Boils, I thought, and retreated to the privacy of the tiny loo.

Where’s Spot?

1.  Spot The Difference

2.  Spot The Dog

3.  Hitting The Spot

I have a Lovely Chair.  Brown leather, lilo-like back, big round arms, and a matching stool.  It was chosen, way BC, after a lot of research, from John Lewis, Oxford Street.  Flipping through the big leather swatches on the furniture floor with the helpful salesman.  Ordered.  Made for us. Delivered.   The Man envies me my Lovely Chair, and wants to get another.  Wiped out by our gold-plated childcare, we never will.   This morning I left Son 1 aged 4y 7m and Son 2 aged 19m watching The Wiggles while I showered,  dressed, and did my hair and make up.  I was nearly finished, when a voice bellowed “Mummy!  Son 2’s done a wee!”  Son 2, who is seriously and sickenly spotty,  had removed his trousers and nappy, and was sitting bare-bottomed on my Lovely Chair, watching telly.  In a deep lake of wee.   The leather in the Lovely Chair is so good that none of it had soaked away.  So when I moved the cushion it all ran and spilled.    

Son 2’s spots are just awful.  There are hundreds of them.  I had to go to The Office, and rang home at lunchtime.  He was fine, said Wonder Nanny, who’d taken him out to her Mum’s to play with the cats. I picked up Son 1 so late I barely made it there before closedown.  “Did I stay till the end for a special treat?” he asked.  We were back embarrassingly late.  “Son’s had a really good day,” said Wonder Nanny. “No scratching, and laughing all day long.”  She left. Son 2 burst into tears and scratched his ears off.  A toy dalmatian pup, free with the Disney film, has emerged from the toy pile on its own. Son 1 played with it. We hunted out its mate. I took off Son 2’s trousers to change him, but he escaped and waddled, bare-legged into the hall. ”Son 2! I need to change that pooey nappy!”  The nappy landed on the changing mat with a heavy splat.  He really is getting good at taking his nappy off.  And he already knew how to throw.  

His groin is horrible, with blisters on his willy and in all his little baby creases.  They didn’t seem to bother him till I slathered them in calamine lotion and then he cried real tears.  We went upstairs and did Where’s Spot as one of our books.  I put a ton of bicarb in the bath, on the advice of a colleague from The Office.  Poor Son 2.  Spots all over his back with hardly any bare skin in between.  All over his front.  In his hair, in his ears, behind his ears. Poor miserable little sausage.  He cried and cried when I got him out of the bath, objected loudly  to the calamine and was then worn out and inconsolable.  Even though I was incredibly late getting them to bed, I was relaxed and patient all the way through.  Possibly linked to my swapping my usual bathtime cup of tea for a very large glass of Sauvignon Blanc.  A Marvellous Mummy Am I.

A Ray

1.  I Told You I Was Trouble

2.  Trying To Fix You

3.  Sunshine On A Rainy Day

Son 2 aged 19m’s skin is awful.  The blisters are angry, red and wet.  Except the big ones behind his ear and on his willy, which are red round the bottom with a huge, wet, white blob on the top.  There are so many red blotchy ones in his nappy creases that they all run together in an inflamed red line.  They’re all over his head and today, they’ve just started popping out on his face.  Serve me right for being so precious about the scar on his lip.  Now he’s got a boil on his eyebrow and a crop of them on his cheek.  His nappy area is so bad that this morning I let him roam nappy free. He was in the kitchen playing with some toys, I was upstairs with the ironing. ”Wee wee!” I heard him call.  I went down.  He had pooed and weed in the big plastic toybox, smeared poo all over the sides, trod wee all around the kitchen and had brown smudges of poo on his legs.  Half an hour later he did another one, and this time smeared my posh pyjamas. I gave up and put us both in the shower. After I’d finished, he sat there with the shower trained on the spots on his back, staring ahead vacantly. 

I took him down to the Lounge to calamine him up.  He batted my hands away. Son 1 aged 4y 7m was interested in the cotton wool balls.  “You could paint Son 2’s spots if we found you a brush,” I said absently.  He vanished. Wonder Nanny and I continued with the task in hand.  Really hard.  Son 2 does not like being calamined. He is a fast, sure, controlled mover and we are no match for him.  Son 1 returned with a paintbrush.  I felt the bristles. “No you can’t use that on his spots. It’s too rough. I’ll go and find you a make up brush.” ” I like this one,” said Son 1. “It’s blue. “ When I came back down, Son 2 was standing naked in the sunshine on the windowseat, dabbing his own spots with a great wadge of cotton wool, while Wonder Nanny and Son 1 coloured in the rest of him.

I had booked leave today, and Son 1 wanted to go to the Aquarium. We arrived and had lunch. Son 2 was grouchy, whining and clingy. He’s eating very little at the moment, but grabbing sweet things whenever he can. There may be trouble ahead.  We went round, Son 1 chirping excitedly, Son 2 pointing and demanding to be lifted up. ”Dzar!” he can say, in a clear word meant to be Shark.  And, the triumph: “Ray!”  “Ray!” at the big rays. Clear, correct, and repeated at the top of his little boy voice, often.  Inspired, when I got home I wrote out all the words he can say.  He’s got a vocabulary of about 50 words, which I just didn’t realise.  All this time I’ve been Not Worrying Because Second Children Talk Later… when in fact he’s been building up his speech quite nicely.

Well Done, Mummy

1.  Box

2.  Tea

3.  Rain

Son 1 aged 4y 7m wanted a Big Box to make a den from.  One of his friends has one. So I lugged a huge dishwasher box home from The Office on Monday, and we made it into a house this morning.  A stable door, a window with shutters, and a skylight were my contributions. Son 1 has written his name on it and made a picture to hang up wonkily inside.  Son 2 aged 19m has drawn on the sides in felt tip pen.  “Boh!” he said, pointing. “Boh!” They were supposed to be getting on with playing while I made pancakes for breakfast.  It worked, kind of.   I struggle with pancake making. I burn or undercook, I never get the oil right, I’m rubbish at flipping them.  Wonder Nanny knocks out perfect examples every time.  She doesn’t use oil. “It’s a non-stick pan.”  I never understood that logic, but this morning I went with it. No oil.  Perfect pancakes.  They gobbled them up. 

Son 2 is still in hell with chickenpox. He woke up this morning boiling hot, scratching and howling.  I gave him milk, put him in a bicarb bath and let the shower run on his back.   One set of Wednesday friends didn’t come today, but the Mother was ill, so I’m hoping that as the reason.  We walked into town to meet the other. There was a book about a character with Son 2’s (unusual) name in Oxfam, so I bought it.  And Son 1 had been promised a Pirate Lego set for being good while Son 2 got all the Mummy Time. “Boog!” said Son 2.  We had coffee at one end of town, and then another coffee at the other.  I spent most of the afternoon putting the Pirate Lego set together. That’ll be why the box said 6 – 12 then. I got fed up with how much time I was spending on Pages 1 – 37 instructions, with two other sections to follow. Son 1 said “Well done Mummy.  You’re doing a great job.  Thank you very much for buying me my pirates.”  The pat on the head did the trick, and I persevered.  Again, I started grumbling.  I wanted to spend time with Son 1 and Son 2, not fish poxy two-bit Lego brick things out of piles of other poxy two-bit brick things. ”Well done Mummy,” said Son 1.  “Thank you for helping me.”  My heart sang.  There was a knock on the door.  The Wednesday Mummy, taking pity on me because The Man’s Business Trip goes On and On, had brought round some home-made sauce for us.  “Tee!” pointed Son 2 at the pan as the pasta boiled. 

Books and Bath and Bed was therefore earlier and more successful than other days this week. I am still starting off with a glass of wine. Son 2 and I did his books. I wanted Tiddler. He insisted on “Oceans,” which is pictures of dolphins and sharks and whales and seahorses and jellyfish etc. In the bath I washed his hair to get today’s calamine out before I slathered him again. He screamed.   Surely this is the worst his spots can get. He has great flaming lines of them down his back and his groin is a mess. “Wee wee,” he said, sitting in the bicarb-ed bath.  Wee wee is wee, but it is also willy. Translation: “My willy hurts.”  And then he pointed up at the shower head and said:  “Rain.”

The Lies I Have Told

The Lies I Have Told – posted on May 2 2009 at 9:37 pm by serenedays

1.  The First No

2.  Big Weld

3.  Ballet

4.  Superbug

Son 2 is Latin in his language acquisition.  His word for  ”yes” is “peeeez”, and he had no word for no, either shaking his head or pushing away with his hand.  This morning though, when I offered him some more milk, there was a clear, confident, grown up “no.” And then he went back to head-shaking and batting.  He looks awful.  Some chickenpox spot have scabbed; he’s picked some of the scabs off.  Great flaming red craters, each one with the potential to pock mark.  He at last ate something this morning.  He drank milk and ate hummous, grapes and banana.  He was clingy, tetchy, whining and tired. “All right,” I said. “We’ll put you back to bed.”  Then he threw up all over himself and the hall carpet. A great, chicken-soupy puddle.  Then over the kitchen floor.  I stripped him, put The Wiggles on upstairs and hunted for J cloths.  

They both came down within minutes.  Son 1 aged 4y 7m wanted his pancake.  It was straight out of the pan, cooling on a plate, but then I had to clear up after Son 2. ”Darling I can’t touch it while I’m clearing this up. If you want it, put your own lemon and maple syrup on. Just get your chair and get the lemon from the fridge.”  Clunk, as a little green Early Learning Centre chair was plonked against the freezer. Son 2 pulled baby wipes from the packed and stirred them into the water in the mop bucket.  Son 1 opened the fridge door, gazed in and sighed.  “Oh the lies I have told, the lives I have ruined.”     I looked up.  “Where’s that from?” “‘Robots.’” “Oh. Is it what the baddie says?” “No.  Big Weld says it when he meets the people.”  Of course he does.

Ankle deep in vomit, dirty washing, dirty floors, washing up and with a sick, clingy, crying baby,  I rang a Wednesday Mother.  “Are you better?  Can you have Son 1 this morning?” Yes she could. “Oh good, can you come and get him?”  Son 2 and I had a shower and I put him to bed.  He slept for three hours.  Son 1 was dropped back, scampering through the hall. “Son 2! Son 2!”  Still asleep.  Eventually I rang Wonder Nanny.  “Should I get him up?” “He’s never slept for three hours, even for me. His body clearly needs it. Just leave him.” He woke up within minutes, and wouldn’t eat lunch.  We went outside and played with the paddling pool.  I eventually found the puncture.  Son 1, naked,  pulled on one of the inflatable rings, wedged it round his hips just above his willy and pirouetted. “I’m a ballerina and this is my tutu!”  I took pictures for The Man.  

We went into The Town to find more calamine cream for Son 2. Superdrug didn’t have any.  We went into Marks. Son 2 threw up in the pram. I cleared him up in the ladies’ loo and we came home, Son 1 clambering on the Big Pram abover Son 2. Son 2 threw up in the lounge. I saved the soft furnishings by turning him round so he did it all over me.  I gave him white rice for his tea.  He threw up all over the kitchen. I put him to bed.  The Godmother, out for drinks in The Town, dropped off calamine cream from the Big Town and J cloths.

Apple And Ginger

1.  Revisited

2.  Reunion

3.  Respite

The Man came home at 10pm last night.  He went in the Big Bed, I went down with Son 2 aged 19m.  At 3am he woke, crying.  I went to him, he was hot, bothered and gasping for water.  I gave him water. He gulped and gulped.  I gave him Calpol and he slurped it down. I decided to change his nappy, and lay him down on the changing mat.  He threw up spectacularly, Reflux Revisited.  I put him in the shower, The Man came down.  “Is this wee?” he asked, dabbing at the pool on the changing mat. ”No he’s been sick.”  Son 2 eyed him, barely awake, and then buried his head in my shoulder.  We gave him more water.  He threw that up too.  Son 1 aged 4y 7m came in. “You were supposed to wake me up to see Daddy!” “We both tried but we couldn’t. You wanted to stay asleep.” He went upstairs with The Man, I held Son 2 upright in the armchair till he went to sleep, and then got into the double bed with him. 

By morning I had the bug too.  I was miserable and unable to eat, The Man was instantly in charge of all food and drink-making.    Son 1 was excited and ecstatic that he was back; “Where are we going, where shall we go?”   Very unhappy that we couldn’t go anywhere because Mummy and Son 2 were poorly.  During last summer’s nightmare Walk With Gastroenteritis, I read that stewed apple settles the stomach.  The Man peeled and microwaved an apple for Son 2.  He scoffed it. And then helped himself to a great whack of Son 1’s cottage pie lunch.  And ginger biscuits for pudding.  It all stayed down.

In the afternoon they played outside with the paddling pool, and then Son 2 broke down and started crying for me again. I put him down for his second sleep in his cot, and at 3.30 I went back to bed.  This was an Amazing Thing.  I don’t think I’ve had a daytime sleep since I was on maternity leave with Son 1.  I slept for an hour, till  Son 1 came up to tell me that he’d made some (cardboard) ice cream.  The dishwasher box has become his ice cream house.  He was painting it, in creative heaven,  in the kitchen, with The Man making tea and trying to be patient.  Son 2 woke up, and clung and cried.  But he packed away sausage and peas, and it stayed down.  At bedtime he wanted book after book, again, a Good Thing after so many days when he couldn’t be bothered.

Tags: chickenpox, dishwasher box, gastroenteritis, paddling pool, sick child, stewed apple, vomiting

Polish

1.  A Coating

2.  Paintwork

3.  Varnish

0030.  Crying from downstairs. Wailing. I was barely out of bed before: “Mummeeeee!”  Son 1 aged 4y 7m, at the bottom of the stairs, two small splats of sick on the carpet. ”I want a shower!” “You’re all right, let’s get you to the loo.”  He cried.  I mopped him up and he flopped on the floor.  I sent him up to The Man and cleared up the landing carpet.  Then I went into his room to check the bed.  Which was fine.  There was a massive splat on the floor though, with splash marks up the wall.  I cleared that up.  I went upstairs to get Son 1 out of the Big Bed – hard if he was ill again. “Has someone been sick?” asked The Man, blearily.  Son 1 didn’t want to move, so I hoisted him up to carry him back downstairs.  He was sick over me.  We cleaned him up, cleaned me up, cleaned his teeth and went to bed in his room. 

All three of us Gastro Bug victims started the day with stewed apple and banana.    Son 2 aged 19m was weak, fed up and was happy only when he was either sitting on my knee or being held against my shoulder.  Son 1 was on better form, but clearly still wasn’t that well.  The Man wanted to check The Boat, so we put Son 2 in the Big Pram, and Son 1 in the buggy and pushed them through The Town.  The Boat is a sturdy little fishing tub, but is looking sorry for itself.  Rusting and flaking, needs a lot of paint, a mooring rope fraying…  The Man switched on the engine and the pump.  Son 1 and Son 2 pulled off bits of paint and splinters and threw them overboard.  If we’d have left them long enough they’d have chucked the whole boat in the river, one flake at a time.

Son 1 wanted Pizza Express, so we gave it a go.  He ate most of a child’s margarita pizza, Son 2 ate two slices.  They ate dough balls. Son 2 ate asparagus from my pizza.  Son 1 had ice cream.  It was ok – apart from Son 2 climbing out of his highchair with broken straps and clambering across on to my knee.  We got out without incident.  Son 2 was dropping with tiredness, and cried and cried nearly all the way home. When we got back I left him in The Pram and painted my toenails.   This is an Excellent Thing.  BC I would never have had bare toenails.   Even at 7 months pregnant, The Man was painting them for me.  And post-Caesarian, my first Recovery Milestone was when I slapped on the nail polish.  But in my new incarnation as Working Mother With 2 Small Children, I just couldn’t do it.  Now I have new TK Maxx open-toed sandals, and orange toenails.  I am Back.

A Safe Place

1.  Lost Passport

2.  Hair Loss

3.  Lost Bottle

The children’s passports were in a Safe Place.  At Easter, I moved them from the Safe Place and put them Somewhere Else.  Deep in the night, I realised that I had absolutely no idea where Somewhere Else is.  I came downstairs and hunted without success.  We need the passports on Saturday.  In the morning I confessed to The Man.   In front of the boys, little was said, but we looked and looked. The Man went to work.  A Wednesday Friend’s sister-in-law is gravely ill.  We went to the other’s for lunch.    Son 1 aged 4y 7m disappeared with Best Friend.  Son 2 aged 19m came downstairs with Best Friend’’s Mother and me.  The air was coloured by the missing passports.  Best Friend’s Mother says she always puts important things in Safe Places and then can’t find them.  Very normal. Taking them from Safe Places and putting them Somewhere Else is a new approach.    A phone call during our visit from a colleague at The Office.  With Good News.  Then a text from a colleague at The Office, also with Good News.  They were all having a Good Time.  Son 2, usually interested in Best Friend’s Mother’s dog, howled and cried whenever it went near him. In the end, he clambered up on me. Son 2, I mean, not the dog.

After our visit we went to the hairdresser’s.  It was Son 2’s first proper hair cut.  His baby hair was long, wispy, thin, blond, tufty over the ears, a kiss curl at the back, his scalp caked white with calamine cream over raised scabs, and, this morning’s final touch, a thick landing strip of maple syrup hardened on top.  They sat in neighbouring cars, Son 1 watching Kipper, Son 2 watching Fireman Sam.   Son 2 was interested at first, but then just wanted to get out.  The hairdresser saved me his kiss curl, and thinks it will probably grow back.  “Look Son 1,” I said. “Our baby is gone.  Now we have a little boy.” And then, so Son 1 didn’t feel neglected: “And you’re now a big boy, don’t you look smart.” His hairdresser picked up the cue. “How old are you now Son 1?” He pointed at me to answer. “He’s four now. Did you think he was so big he must be five?” “Only four?” the wise woman gasped. “You’ve sat so still I thought you were seven.” Later, in the bath, as I recounted this to The Man, Son 1 confided “All my life I have wanted to be seven.”

I hunted before they went to bed, I hunted after.  The shelving is looking much tidier, and bags of books have been liberated for Oxfam.  The Man was trying to help, and getting out packets of photos from a cupboard.  He gazed fondly at a pile of black-and-whites. ”Look, don’t I look like Son 2 there.” “Look, don’t I look like Son 1 in that one?”   And then suddenly I moved some children’s books and there were two passports, on a shelf. I have no memory at all of putting them there.  There was a bottle of champagne in the fridge waiting for an occasion.  It isn’t there now.

Laws

1.  Sod’s Law

2.  Law Courts

3.  The First Rule Of Parenting

Both boys decided to have a lie in this morning.  On holiday, when we had nothing to do except Find The Family in the cafe at 11, whenever… 6am.  On Saturday, flying back, clear out of the villa by 1030… we had to wake them up.  This morning, needing to get Son 1 aged 4y 7m to Nursery… needing to get me to the Big Town by 9am… zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.   I had breakfast, showered, sorted holiday washing, did my hair and make up, made snacks… still nothing.  I eventually got Son 1 up with the promise of Ice Age 2 in the lounge.  And Son 2 aged 20m finally stirred when I marched into his room braying Good Morning and pulling down the blanket and blackout blind.

We got out in plenty of time for Nursery.  All very pleased to see Son 1, and took a delighted interest in the holiday photos we’d printed off.   Then I went off to Court for Jury Service.  Rather baffled about whether I can say anything about it at all.  We never got into court, there was lots of waiting around and then we were all sent home.  Is that ok?  And  hilarious male-female split while we were all loafing around waiting for anyone to want us.  All the men sat singly aloof, reading papers, out of sight of the women.  Who sat on two tables, drinking coffees, trashing the lunch menu, comparing jobs, where we all lived and how many children we had, and what they want to do when they leave school.

I picked up Son 1 a bit early, which was nice, and we headed home.   Son 2 had had a quiet day with Wonder Nanny.  She moved house while we were away, which is all part of her spectacular marvellousness.  A Very Good Thing.  Too complicated to think about if she’d needed time off when I can’t get out of Jury Service and The Man is away…    One of our neighbours is an elderly nun who can’t hear very well.  Which means in 8 years I’ve had very few conversations with her. And they’ve all been started by me. Sister X stopped me yesterday to tell me how lovely Wonder Nanny is with the children and what a very sweet girl she is. When Son 1 and I came back today I watched Son 2 in the back garden for a while.  He was playing with the water in the sand pit.  Wonder Nanny, sitting on the steps watching, said something to him and he waddled over to her.  Then he waddled back again, with a Shane Warne-style strip of suntan lotion down his nose.  He went back to her, and again, returned to the sandpit, this time with a stripe under his lip to protect his scar.  Outside, I protested it wasn’t fair.  “He never stands still for sun lotion.  He’s like a bat in a barrel when I try!”  Wonder Nanny smiled. ”They never behave for their parents.”

 

An Extra Day

1.  Like A Jungle, Sometimes

2.  Smash And Grab

3.  Collateral Damage

Today was just a bonus.  I thought I’d be on Jury Service, miserably ordered out of my children’s lives by the Iron Heel of David Blunkett’s determination that Middle Class People Must Stop Dodging It.  But with one wave of a magic wand (yes oh yes I believe in fairies) I was on the beach, taking pictures of the boys, swigging from my credit-crunch coffee flask and awaiting the Wednesday Friends.  The Sister-In-Law has lived to fight another day.  Son 1 aged 4y 7m ran off with Best Friend (aged 4y 6m,) Second Child aged 3 and half and Best Friend’s little brother, aged nearly 3. Son 2 aged 20m dug sand, watched a playgroup, besotted,  and tried to wander off On The Road, again and again.   After lunch they moved into the Garden By The Beach. We discussed the ethics of letting four small boys dive in and out of infant ornamental grass in the presence of 20 council gardeners putting out the bedding. And decided it served the council right for laying out a formal garden for the over-60s in land that could have been a perfectly lovely playground.  We pretended we didn’t know that three of them had escaped into a vast thicket of 7ft gunnera.  We couldn’t see them, or the gardener who said sternly: “Lads, I don’t mind you being in there, but don’t pull that up, it’s there for a reason.”  They’re allowed in the gunnera, we thought.  

At 2pm we headed home.  The parking fairy put us close to the house.  Son 2 fell asleep in the car of about 5 minutes and refused to go back to sleep. I put A Shark’s Tale on for an exhausted Son 1, and fish-mad Son 2 decided to he’d rather watch that than cling to me.  Son 2’s Godmother called round, and we drank tea as she test-drove her new presentation.  Son 2 appeared, and coyly flirted and giggled, and “hallo”-d her from the Dishwasher Box House. He then tantrummed when she left. I put him on a chair at a sink full of warm water and bubbles while I made Eggy Pie – tortilla - for tea.  I called Son 1 down to break the eggs. As soon as he saw Son 1 smash and plop the first one, Son 2 slid down from his chair and up on Son 1’s.  Gimme Gimme Gimme.  I patiently said no, blocked off his access to the egg box and let Son 1 get on with the job of breaking another four eggs into the jug.  Son 2 got down from the chair and played on the floor.  Five minutes later I looked down.  The little b**£$%^!# was patting and paddling in a broken egg on the floor, egg shell everywhere.   In the four seconds he’d had available, he’d whipped an egg out of the box and either dropped it or taken it down to the floor with him. Neither Son 1 nor I saw a thing. 

I cleared up the egg, and let Son 2 up on the chair again. The recipe includes two tablespoons of parmesan in the egg mix.  I put a spoonful in  a tub and let him pour it into Son 1’s jug.  “More,” he demanded. I obliged. “More.” I put some more in his tub. He poured it in. “More.” And cried when I wouldn’t give him any.  “You’ve put courgette in this,” said Son 1, peering in the frying pan. “Only a bit,”  I said. “Because I like courgette, but I know you don’t like it.”  Subtext. Because courgette was in the veg box and you won’t notice it when it’s all mixed up with the peas and potato. Between us all, we made a Damn Fine Eggy Pie. Son 1 cut and served it. “I think from now on we should always help you make tea,” he said.  I agreed it had been fun.  He helped himself to a vast portion, and then, very slowly,  dissected it to remove every molecule of courgette.

Beating Time

1.  Watching The Clock

2.  Losing The Way

3.  Finding The Time

I always try never to wish my boys’ childhoods away, but when they are grown I will not miss day after day after day of mad, face-heating, lip-biting, traffic-cursing, watch-glancing panic trying to get Son 1 aged 4y 8m out of Daycare/Nursery/Tea Club by closing.    He was sitting on a  little plastic chair, knock-kneed, clutching his schoolbag, his swimming bag and his blazer, watching telly while a couple of teachers stood chatting in their coats.  However. He had a big Well Done sticker on his jumper, and a certificate proclaiming him “Star Of The Week.” For Being A Good Friend, A Good Worker and A Good Boy.

I’d bought him an ELC golf set at lunchtime, because he won both his races in his swimming gala yesterday.  25m butterfly and backstroke.   Oh all right then, they do half the pool, four at a time, on noodles helped by teachers. But he did win, and he of course has his present for Trying Hard rather than Being Clever.   The ELC was giving away balloons, so the backseat toy tally on the way home was two plastic golf clubs, two plastic balls and two green balloons.  Wonder Nanny was helping out her Other Family, looking after their boys while the parents were at a wedding.  I was driving to theirs to pick up Son 2 aged 20m.  I’ve never been, and had arranged to ring Wonder Nanny to get directions on our way over.  I fished in my bag for my phone.  Couldn’t find it. Stopped at a garage. Took the bag, the front seat, and the car to pieces.  No phone. In another panic, I slid the car seat back. There was a loud explosion and a wail from the back seat.  I’d reversed over an Early Learning Centre balloon.   

I drove all the way home. Rang Wonder Nanny from the house phone. Checked the house answer phone. Rang the mobile, no reply.  Went out to the double-parked car, where Son 1 had fallen asleep.   Rang the mobile.  Heard the mobile. Inside an envelope in my bag. Into car. Out to Other Family’s.  When Son 2 saw me he laughed and laughed and clapped his hands. That’s what I needed.  A round of applause just for turning up.  On the trip back, Son 1 spotted a playground, and from then on, all the way back whined and whinged to go there. I have bought a new childcare book. I used all its techniques at teatime, and although it went on forever, and although Son 1 had three lollies for pudding… it was a lot easier than normal and I didn’t need a glass of wine. 

Last night, desperate to get out to Book Club, I told Son 1 “I’m going now, but tomorrow, you can have as many books as you like, and I will read them all.”  Subtext. He’ll fall asleep in the third one. 12 books.  I didn’t get downstairs again till twenty to ten…

Space-Time

1.  Gravity

2.  Thermodynamics

3.  Applied Maths

One of those days where there was so much cooking, cleaning, tidying, washing, washing up, clearing up and sorting out that again, I marvelled that people stay at home with children.  Why wouldn’t you go at to work when you never see them because you’re pegging out/folding up/hoovering round/etcetc.  A friend who Stays At Home did, admittedly, help me with this idea. “We don’t try to do it all in one morning like you do.”  Ah.   So.  Son 1 aged 4y 8m and Son 2 aged 20m are out in the little back yard by the kitchen window.  Theory: They can Play Outside While I Get On.  Son 1 had his new golf clubs and balls. I nearly said ”And don’t take that drain cover off or the golf balls will fall down and you’ll lose them.”  No, I thought.  Don’t draw attention to the fact that the drain cover can very easily be removed.  I washed potatoes.  Son 1 came running in with a shriek of “Mummeeee! My golf balls!” ”They’ve fallen down the drain, haven’t they?”  He swallowed a sob and nodded.  Outside, Son 2 sat, holding the grid, happily poking his fingers through the holes.  “How are we going to get them out?”  wailed Son 1. With Mummy’s arm up to her shoulder fishing them out of yesterday’s milk which I’d just tipped down the sink. 

They mostly did all right looking after themselves.  I gave them big buckets of warm water with great  mountains of Fairy bubbles piled up on top.  Son 1 refused to wear his wetsuit. My new Childcare Book says let them learn that if they don’t wear a coat, they get cold.  So once again, he was starkers.  He got cold.  He curled up into a ball and wedged himself into the warm water in the bucket.  Son 2, who now couldn’t get to the water or bubbles, bashed him on the back with his jug. “More. More. More.” The Childcare Book says once they have mastered a skill, let them do it.  It will make them feel Capable and in Control.  Son 1 dries and dresses himself twice a week at Nursery after swimming. “Here’s your robe, and your clothes are inside,” I said to Son 1, syringing Ibuprofen into Son 2, who’d split his lip open on the handle of the bucket when it fell over. Son 1 just stood, naked, goose-bumped, shivering, and getting bluer and more see-through with every passing five minutes.  Ask Don’t Tell, it says.  “Why aren’t you getting dressed?” “I like the feeling of your skin when you dress me.”  Who do you think dressed him? 

He wouldn’t eat his stew at lunchtime.  “Eat five spoonfuls please.” “I can only eat three.”  “Four then.” “I can’t eat four. Only three.”  The Childcare Book says don’t fight.  Ever.  I got on with my lunch.  Son 1 ate three spoonfuls, and crossly picked his plate up to take it to the sink. I looked behind me. He’d put it on a chair and was eating more.  “Are you having secret spoonfuls?”  He laughed. ”Yes.” “Is that four?” “Yes. ” He put another spoonful in. “Is that five?”  “Yes.”  He ate another. ”Can I have a Fab?”  “Have you just stopped and eaten more because you knew what I’d say if you asked for a lolly?” Another laugh. “I could see the ‘no’ coming up from your toes.”-

The Freezing Fiesta

1.  Grey Day

2.  Blue Tongue

3.  Red Sauce

Each year, the Village where some Wednesday Friends live has a Spring Bank Holiday Do. Each year it is wiped out by the weather. If this year was a not a success, the Do would be scrapped, and the Village would be, as the Wednesday Mother put it, f++**d, as the proceeds pay for the playgroup and the OAP outings and the Hall.  And so, at 12 noon, I pushed Son 2 aged 20m in the Big Pram through sopping wet, calf-high grass and cowpats the size of carpet tiles.  Son 1 aged 4y 8m trailed alongside, complaining that he needed wellies as his trainers were already soaked. All of us were in waterproofs, battered by a sharp Northerly wind, an oppressive, overcast sky and cold, hard, rain.   

We found Best Friend, Younger Brother, the Dog and the Wednesday Mother. We sat on the matting in a Small Top. (Supposed to be a Big Top. But…er.. it wasn’t.) Son 2 cried and clung because he didn’t want to be close to the Dog. Son 1, BF and YB ran riot on the staging.  A unicycle display began – including the man I saw surreally unicycling past the house well over a year ago. http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/wp-admin/post.php?action=edit&post=34 We saw a family whose father is away with The Man on his Business Trip.  We bought popcorn. Son 1 rode on a mini carousel. Son 2 cried because it was free-hanging so he couldn’t go on it. We found another with a baseboard and Son 2 clung to a pony, carefully taking my hands off to prove he was Big Enough to ride alone.  Son 1 had blue candy floss. Oh La La the blue tongue and teeth.  Son 1 went up a high bouncy castle slide, came down once, went back up and then sat at the top crying. The owner’s daughter had to go and help him down the stairs. And I got my pound back.

Son 2 cried and clung, and I bought him chips. He ignored them, preferring to dip his finger into the tomato sauce and eat that.  He was frozen, so I stripped off his mac and put a hoodie and a thicker coat on him, and went back into the Small Top.  Son 1 had already found our other Wednesday Friends. We watched some acrobats twirl around upside down in long sashes up in the roof.  Outside, the boys’ old (male) Nursery Nurse was making balloons for children. Son 1 joined the gang to watch, Son 2 sat in his Pram. The music thumped. Son 2 fell asleep. 

The 2nd Wednesday Mum bought me a mug of Spiced Chai, and we sat chatting while Son 1 disappeared inside a teepee with the Nursery Nurse and a gang of children. Son 2 was soundo. The other Wednesday Mother joined us. Son 1 emerged with a balloon sword. Five boys ran round, sword-fighting, inflatable hammering and allbut darting under the wheels of a steam engine.  I can’t remember the last time the 5 of them were together.  When they interfered with the natural willow-woven made-from-recycled-material sculptures once too often, we decided to head back. 

At home I thanked Son 1 for a lovely day. “Thank you for a lovely day as well, Mummy.”

Speed

1.  Puppets

2.  Helter Skelter

3.  Waterfalls

Wonder Nanny arriving at 0830 was a Good Thing.  I love my boys and I want to be with them, but after three long hard days in sole charge I was very glad to have help. Son 2 aged 20m and I did puppet books this morning.  We have a monkey finger puppet in a jungle book, nursery rhyme finger puppets which give me the excuse to read an ELC book to him, a Finger Circus book for us to draw faces on our fingers and wiggle through the pages… and three pirate finger puppets which are Son 2’s favourite and gave me a great lead into Peter Pan. We are going to see the show in Kensington Gardens at the weekend, so I am trying to teach Son 2 the story to stop us getting slung out at the first cannonshot. “Hook!” he can say, pointing a stubby finger at Our Hero.  He has been well-trained by Son 1 aged 4y 8m.

I wasn’t needed in court this afternoon, so Wonder Nanny and I took the boys swimming.  Wonder Nanny goes with Son 2 while I’m at work, so he was very happy to swim with her while Son 1 and I played. We went round the River Run, we played on surf boards. We went up on the Flume.  Son 1 still goes down on his own, and I, like the Gruffalo,  follow after.  On our fourth time down, I decided to stuff the sedate, responsible Mother bit and see how fast I could go.  I pushed off, lay flat and shot down like a missile. Near the bottom, I blasted into Son 1, an elephant propelled into a little monkey. He screamed and we corkscrewed into the splashpool.  He was unhurt, but Very Cross. Back at the top of the ladder, the Lifeguard was sheepish.  “He just stopped near the bottom!” “Oh he’s all right,” I said. ”It’s my fault. I always sit up and go slowly, but just that once I thought ’sod it, how fast does this thing go.’  I’ll go back to being slow,”  “No you go for it,” said the Lifeguard. “He’s all the way down now so you won’t hit him.”  I went for it. Wheeeeeeeeeee.

Wonder Nanny and I swapped boys.  Son 2 can float in his armbands, and can kick himself along.  But he doesn’t see why he should.  Every time I prised him off me, finger by finger, he just hung in the water till I was near enough to grab.  He does though like playing in fountains and bubbles, so he was interested in that.  He kept pointing at the changing rooms. “There.”  “Do you want to get out?” Mad nodding.  Return home, tea, books, bath, bed. And the internet light on the computer is working too.  Hooray hooray,  A Very Good Thing.

One More Adventure

1.  Hell Hath No Fury Like A Mummy Forced Onto A Jury 

2.  Big

3.  The Naughty Queen

Both boys slept past 8am.  Not just a Good Thing, an Unheard Of Thing. On every other Wednesday in their lives, an Astonishingly Wonderful Thing.  Today, however, I was still on Jury Service, due in court at 1015, and feeling spectacularly Awful because Son 2 aged 20m was going to someone who, to him, is a near-stranger.  My whole life is run so that I have Wednesdays with my children.   I’ve had every Wednesday of his life with Son 2. I did, I admit, miss half a day of a Wednesday with Son 1 aged 4y 8m – now, why was that?  Anything important I was doing?  Oh yes, giving birth to Son 2.   And try finding someone suitable to look after two small boys for one day only in Half Term week. It was fine. He sobbed miserably when I went, but ate an enormous lunch, and refused to go to sleep all day.  It’s Over. Another Good Thing.  I  know this is a Positive Blog, but just in case any politicos crawl over Mumsnet in search of the Zeitgeist: Do Not Jackboot Mothers Away From Their Toddlers For Jury Service.  It pisses them off.  I posted my vote today, and gentlemen, the score is now even.

Back home for tea. The boys had my leftover rice, kidney beans and sauce from a jar.  “Chair,” said Son 2, insisting on eating it standing on a dining room chair.   We moved Son 1 out of his highchair when Son 2 was about 7 or 8 months old. He would never have dreamed of sitting on anything else until we gently suggested he might like to let his little brother have a turn.   Son 2 is turning into a regular refusnik.  Highchairs are for babies. Bibs go on the floor. Doidy cups are for babies. And give me that big fork, this soppy one with a bear on it is also going on the floor. We don’t actually have enough chairs to let him sit on a big one.  We’ve only got four, and I can’t really put Nanna in the highchair when she comes round.     I may have to involve  Son 1 in a little reverse psychology.

At bedtime, I told Son 1 I was very tired, and needed Daddy back from his Adventures to Do His Share.   “Daddy’s had too many adventures, hasn’t he?”  I agreed. ”I will write a notice for the door. It will say, Daddy, we command you.  Only One More Adventure and then No More Adventures. I will write it and put it on the door and he will see it when he comes home.”  We are reading That Bear Belongs To Emily Brown.  Son 1, although recognising that the Naughty Queen is the Baddie,  is very taken with the idea of Commanding people to do things.

Journeys

1.  Travelling Hopefully

2.  Going Underground

3.  The Wild

Court finished at lunchtime on Friday (memo to self. Make sure boys go into the Law. These people are not over-working.) so I packed all afternoon.  Set off at 6 and drove at a fair crack.  We are so rural it takes more than four hours at 70mph to reach the M25.  Younger Sister and Godfather 2 stayed up.  I tried to put Son 1 aged 4y 8m and Son 2 aged 20m to bed when we got there but they outvoted me. ”Cat,” said Son 2, repeatedly, whirling round in circles to make himself drunk like he does when he’s excited. ”You see these teddy bears which are cats’ toys,” said Son 1. “I expect they’re for us now.”   They stayed up till midnight.   

On Saturday we went with Younger Sister to their local wildlife park.  We fed goats and chinchillas.  Son 1 gave a lamb a bottle of milk. Hot hot hot. On Sunday Son 1, Son 2 and I got on the train, went into London, crossed it on the Tube (hot hot hot) and met The Man, fresh off the Gatwick Express at Victoria.  Then we went to Kensington Gardens and watched Peter Pan.  Son 1 of course thought it was fantastic. Son 2 sat through the whole two-and-a-half hours with barely a fidget. The child who is hated by a planeload of holidaymakers. “Isn’t he good,” said the lady in front. “Mine could never have been that good at that age.”  We think the fairies swapped him.  His favourite characters were Nanna “Woof woof,” and the Crocodile  ”Snap snap.” When Wendy was carried off from Marooners’ Rock on a kite tail he let out a show-stopping baby chortle.  “It’s not funny,” hissed Son 1.  I do love this story but I am with Son 2 on that bit.  On the way out I said “Son 1 please stay with us. You know what will happen if you get lost in Kensington Gardens.”  “Mummy it’s not real life,” he said, scornfully.  I saw ya, you little beggar, staring transfixed and whispering ”I believe in fairies” to bring back Tinkerbell.

We had planned to do London Zoo on the Monday, but it was too dang hot to brave on a working day, and there is a massive zoo about 10 miles from Younger Sister’s, so we spent the day there.  We did the Big Five… hippos, lions, giraffes, elephants and cheetahs. Went on a steam train, ate ice creams… and got hot hot hot.   At Younger Sister’s we took family photos, and the children again stayed up for dinner.  On Tuesday we drove to see Aged Aunt and Eldest Brother. Aged Aunt looked brilliantly well, their garden was great, the boys were Perfect Children.  And then we drove back. On the hottest day of the year. Fortunately we had wiped Son 1 and Son 2 out and they slept for most of the Very Long Indeed trip.

Experience

1.  Sleep Solutions

2.  Devolution

3.  Evolution

Son 2 aged 20m slept in forever. Something to do with getting to bed at 1030 last night after our Journey.  Over these last five days we have really cracked the early waking. It’s incredibly simple. You just don’t put them to bed till 11pm.  And they lie in.  I’m not entirely sure how that’ll roll along when I’m back in The Office, but at least I know the principle is sound. Son 1 aged 4y 8m was getting a bit frisky when we vetoed all his ideas for entertainment in case he waked Son 2… but eventually settled for a screening of Free Willy (£3 from Tesco, got it last night when we stopped off for milk.)  “Thank you Mummy for buying that lovely story for me,” he said, after they sprung Willy and the credits rolled.

We went to the Rockpool Beach.  Heaven.  Hot hot hot. The tide coming in all the time, so we had to keep packing up camp and creeping to a strip about 2 yards wide finally left at high tide. Son 1 and Best Friend at one point cleared everything up for me and carried it over. Stunned, I grovelled, gratefully.  Son 2 toddled off with them to paddle and pull seaweed and peer in rockpools. We had lunch. I put a roasting, fainting Son 2 in the Big Pram and wheeled him along some shady pavements, and he went to sleep. Son 1 and Best Friend were waiting at the top of the cliff. “We were worried mad about you Mummy, we couldn’t see you anywhere,” said Son 1. What he meant was he’d eaten his lunch and I’d told him he could have an ice cream afterwards.  So he and his posse of friends were waiting. He chose bubble gum flavoured ice cream, which until today I had no idea existed. 

And then I got changed and went Swimming In The Sea. Best Friend and I played a game getting in. “You’re winning, because you’re in up to your tummy and I haven’t got my bottom in yet.” “Oh Lordy, lummy, lummy, Lordy… look at you up to your chest and I haven’t got my tummy in.” Then he was chin high and I realised he would drown if I swam off, but another Wednesday Mum had spotted the problem and stayed to keep guard.  Swimming In The Sea is fab.  If you never have or simply don’t… then just Get In There.  There is something we-all-flippered-our-way-out-of-the-swamp about it.  I swam out for about 100m in an emerald, pond-flat sea and nothing mattered and everything made sense.  I swam back and the reflections of the buildings on the cliff top were almost still in the water.   Son 1 sat, as he always does, at the water’s edge, watching anxiously.  I’ll just do another 20 minutes, I thought, till I saw Son 2 up with a Wednesday Mum, staring out to sea.

Hook A Duck

1.  Quack

2.  Oink

3.  Bullseye

A grim weather forecast for The Trade Show.  Showers, some heavy and prolonged. 30 – 70mm of rain.  Take wellies and jumpers, said the weatherwoman.  I ummed and ah-ed over whether Son 1 aged 4y 8m and Son 2 aged 20m should go. In the end I couldn’t let a weather forecast get in the way of a Great Adventure.  Wonder Nanny and I got the car packed up and off we zoomed. On the way we discussed our action plan. Son 2 was still making pig noises.  The Trade Show is Big On Pigs. But the pigs are miles away from the Office Stand.  Wonder Nanny has never been To The Pigs.   if it wasn’t raining when we got there, we decided, I would take them all over to The Pigs.  Son 1 began a long, loud, annoying protest.  He wanted to Hook A Duck.  We ran into grindingly slow Trade Show traffic.  Son 1 banged on and on about Hooking A Duck.  He sang a song about Hooking Ducks. ”Do you think he wants to Hook A Duck?” I asked Wonder Nanny, “I did hear it mentioned,” she said.

We yomped over to The Pigs. We saw some little cows and calfs first, being walked around a little ring by children in white coats.  A cow walked up to Son 2 and mooed like a lion.  He buried his head in my shoulder.  We found The Pigs and Son 2 was happy as… er… a pig in muck.  We went from pen to pen looking for the oinkiest pigs, the squeakiest pigs, the biggest pigs and the prettiest pigs.  Son 2 oinked at them all, and pointed to the next pen, again and again.  There was, Babe-like, a pig ring. “That one’s doing a poo,”  said Son 1.  It’s never too late to learn a new thing every day.  Pigs have MASSIVE testicles. 

Packa-macked and rain covered, the boys and Wonder Nanny headed off. I stayed on The Stand. We met for lunch. Son 2 was asleep in the buggy.  Son 2 never sleeps for me in the buggy.  Bands blared in the background, people bumped the pushchair, musicians and dancers wandered back and forth.  He didn’t stir.  Son 1 had won a bow and arrow, and a sword on Hook A Duck. After lunch they went off to the Play Tent. I hadn’t finished by the time they got back, so they waited in a rest area.  When I arrived,  some Office colleagues were teaching Son 1 to shoot his arrows at some doors.  Son 2 was swinging around with Son 1’s new sword, also to cheers and laughter from my colleagues. We got home very late, Son 2 clinging and Son 1 screaming with fatigue.  And now they will both rest demurely all day tomorrow to make life easy for me.

Very Him

1. The Mushroom

2. A New Country

3. Strawberries

“Mummy wake up. I want to paint Nanna’s present.” 0600.  I ignored Son 1 aged 4y 8m. “I want to paint Nanna’s present.  Now.” I didn’t open my eyes. “You’renotsupposedtopaintit,” I mumbled. Itjuststandsinthegardenandchangescolourwiththeweather.” He dropped his full weight on my stomach. “Pack it in! Go away and find Daddy!  Now!”  Nanna’s present is an enormous faux-stone mushroom.  It weighs a tonne, and a colleague carried it from the Trade Show to the car last night. Only when I heaved it into the house did I realise it must have nearly killed him.  The mushroom is in two parts. The stalk, and the cap, which is shaped like a squashed cartoon fireman’s helmet and face.  Son 1 chose it.  It is Very Him.

We kind of planned to take The Boat out on its 2009 maiden voyage, but we didn’t like the forecast. Again. So we drove to the Peacock Playground to meet some Wednesday Friends.  ”And why have we got Nelson in the back?”  asked The Man. He has been away too long.  Son 1, in full Captain Hook.  He chased the Brothers around the playground, and they chased him.  Son 2 aged 20m was Very Tired and very clingy.  A peacock came up to peck for picnic leftovers and Son 2 was terrified.  I crawled through the Big Tunnel with him, three times.  I liked crawling through The Tunnel, just like I like whizzing down the Swimming Pool Flume and going on Merry-Go-Rounds.  All part of exploring and enjoying this Kiddie Country place that I never even registered for 40 years.

We traipsed round the garden, with Son 2 howling in plank-boy outrage every time we tried to put him in the Big Pram. Son 1 and The Brothers played Pooh Sticks where the path crossed the stream.  Only I don’t remember Pooh and Piglet ripping up the riverbank plants to play.  We moved them on.  We left at 3, and then hared over to see Son 2’s Godmother, who was having Bubbles and Strawberry Scones. Son 1, Son 2 and The Man headed out into the garden, where Son 2 sat on the drainguards and posted pebbles through the grids.   Son 2 gathered fans; Son 1 couldn’t keep away from Son 2’s teenage Godbrother and Godsister.  Back home they ate salmon and new potatoes and carrots.  We were late for teatime again, and the boys were late for bed.  “I love you, darling, I’ll come and see you before I go to bed,” I said, as usual, to Son 1 as I was leaving him.  “I love you Mummy. I’ll come and see you when you’re in bed,” he smiled. “Well make sure you don’t wake me up,” I said.

How Does A Dinosaur Say Goodnight?

1.  Waking Up

2.  Speaking Volumes

3.  Tucking In Tails

Teenaged-style lie-ins this morning, from three out of four of us.  Guess which one was up at 6am defrosting rolls for lunches?  Son 2 aged 20 woke at 0730 during my shower.  Son 1 aged 4y 8m, trespassing in The Big Bed, was motionless throughout. He came round when The Man put the telly on… and got him into his Nursery uniform. Son 2 was lovely during his books.  Staring at the pile, choosing which one he wanted.  Usborne Animal Hide And Seek. Twice. Then Diggers.  He had strawberries and apple rice cakes in his tub. “More,” he demanded when he’d finished his strawberries. I didn’t get up, and he ate the rest of his rice cakes instead.

And me. Boat, bed, bus, bread, bath, book, ball, bounce, banana, blueberry, bye bye, baby. Car, cot, cat, chips, crisps, chocolate. Down, down there, dada, door.  Go, grape, hello. ice cream, ice. juice, Mummy. No, nose. oh-oh, peas, please, phone, roller, roll, round, raisin,  rain, ray, shoe,  shark, Son 1, stick, stuck, sweet, toe, tractor, up,  van, water,yes  Moo, baa, woof, snap snap, quack, hoo hoo, sssss, squawk, oink, clip clop, cluck cluck.  The ones I can remember.  He really is a clever little sausage.

I bought The Man a bag from TK MAx for his Business Trip, but it fell apart, so today I had to take it back. While I waited in the queue I spotted a pack of two How Does A Dinosaur books for £4.  Got to really.  For their birthdays, of course.  In September. After The Office, I had another dash across The Big Town to get to Nursery before it closed.  Son 1 seemed very happy and said he’d had a good day.  He fell asleep in the car on the way back.  Son 2 was on fine form, chortling away when I arrived and refusing to head for his bath.  I read the new books to them.  Son 1 was the only one who noticed it was a bit different to the one we usually do, How Does A Dinosaur Say Good night.  We now have How Does a Dinosaur Tidy His Room, and How Does a Dinosaur Play With His Friends.   I am keeping my eyes peeled for How Does  A Dinosaur Earn Enough Money So He Can Buy His Mummy A House And She Doesn’t Have To Work Again.

Origins

1.  Splashback

2.  Flashback

3.  Backtrack

Son 2 aged 20m came in the bath with me this morning.  This was a Good Thing. From when he was tiny, Son 2 lay on his feeding pillow watching me in the shower.  Then he sat up and watched me i in the shower. Then he crawled towards the bath.  Then he pulled himself up.  And then he used to play in the water, every morning, while I showered and washed my hair.  Always. At some point recently he wouldn’t come in with me any more.  I can’t remember when. Son 1 aged 4y 8m had started watching DVDs downstairs instead of Ben 10-style CItv upstairs… and Son 2 was interested in some of them.  Or he was playing with toys.  I’ve given him the choice, and off he’s gone.  This morning we read 5 stories, and he decided to come in with me.  Played with his new watering cans, didn’t want to get out. Nice to have him back.

I went for coffee with a Colleague on maternity leave.  An eight month old little girl in the pushchair with us.  I held her, and realised I simply couldn’t remember either of the boys at that age.  So I’ve been back a year in the Blog.  http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2008/06/09/before-7am/ On June 9 2008 I’d just had an awful night with Son 2 screaming for me, so bad that I’d left him alone in the small hours and gone downstairs to make a cup of tea.  The following day I took him to a cranial osteopath.  Now he sleeps through the night, every night.  He can cry when I put him down, but never for more than 5 minutes. And today he went to sleep without crying when I left.  It all passes.

 Son 1 is mad about a Nick Sharrett book called “You Choose.”  It came from Nursery in his Bookstart box, and we start off choosing where we are going to go, what sort of house we will live in, who our family and friends will be, our furniture, clothes, food, transport, jobs, hobbies and bed.  Well, I choose, and Son 1 says “I’m coming with you.” Tonight we chose a tree house in a forest near a village.  Then we did Pumpkin Soup, A Pipkin of Pepper and Delicious. Then I asked: “Did you get the book for me?”  Oxfam, again, had a book in the window about a child with Son 2’s (unusual) name.  http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2009/04/29/well-done-mummy/ Son 1 and I had it from the library when I was pregnant.  It may have been where I first got the name idea.   I’d asked Wonder Nanny to get it.  “Yes.”  “Did you read it?” “Yes.”  What are the chances of Oxfam, a few hundred yards from our house, putting two children’s books in the window, both featuring the same very unusual boy’s name?   There is glue holding this world together.

A Quiet Time With My Eyebrow

1.   An Early Run 

2.   Eyebrows

3.   Banana Cake

4.   Yes

By the time I got up to bed last night, Son 1 aged 4y 8m was in the Big Bed with The Man.  The Man trooped downstairs to Son 1’s bed, and I spent the night with a little octopus clinging and stroking my eyebrow. I woke at 0530. A bright, dry morning, perfect for someone who needs to get going on running again. I was a bit depressed reading last year’s blog entry when I was out running more often.  Can’t remember when I last went out. Whenever it was, I left my kit slung over a radiator, so I tiptoed over, grabbed it, grabbed my contact lenses, and fairy-trod downstairs.  I went out of the house as fast as I could. I did five sets of three-minutes running and three-minutes walking – it’s been so long I don’t want to get injured – and felt hugely better for it.  I really can’t be disciplined about my eating, I love food too much. But I do think I can possibly manage to exercise.

We went to the Rockpool beach with the Wednesday Friends. The weather was great – a real bonus as the forecast was grim.  Son 1 played with his friends, rock-climbing and pirates. Son 2 aged 20m was hard work – tired and clingy. Back just after lunch, and I tried unsuccessfully to get Son 2 to go to sleep.  “Do you want a snooze, or do you want to get up?” I asked him, in the darkened bedroom.  “Up,” he said.  So downstairs and I put CBeebies on. Son 1 sat on my lap – I couldn’t get Son 2 to join us.  Son 1 reached back and stroked my eyebrow.  This, as I’ve mentioned before, is a legacy from his breast-feeding days, when he used to play with my eyelashes and eyebrow during feeding.  It’s still his comfort thing, and it’s always when he’s tired.  He Eyebrows me, mainly, and sometimes The Man and Wonder Nanny.  I’ve also see him try Son 2’s, and have now seen him sitting with his fingers on his own eyebrow.  Not that keen on that one.  Don’t want him ending up rubbing them off.   Anyway. “Are you tired?” I asked him as we sat in my chair watching telly and my eyebrow came under attack.  “No.” “Then why are you Eyebrowing?”  “I just want a quiet time with my eyebrow.”   

Son 1 then decided he wanted to make a cake. I don’t really do cakes.  Mix butter, sugar and flour together and then cook them. In special tins. Add food colouring.  Seems odd.  However.  We have a banana glut (Wonder Nanny and I both bought some on the same day, then the Organic Veg Man brought some) and a Banana Cake recipe from Wonder Nanny. So that is what we made. I got the baking box out. The boys found an opened packet of choc chips and stuffed their faces with them.  Then they tried starting on the Tesco Value cooking chocolate.  I snatched it from Son 2 just as he’d torn his way inside.  We had piled ingredients in the food processor when I realised that every drop of bicarbonated soda had gone into baths for Son 2 during his chickenpox.  We did however have cream of Tartar, and the tub said it was a raising agent, so we chucked that in instead.  The boys took the food processor bowl and spoons and licked it out. Until Son 2 put the coins from his moneybox in the mix, so I confiscated it.  And we were very pleased with the cake. 

Son 2 can say “yes.” He wanted to talk on the phone, so I rang Nanna.  He tried nodding at something she said, and I told him she couldn’t see him and he’d have to say “yes.” So he did.  Perfectly. He has also just started saying something like “fish” instead of his ages-old preference of opening and closing his mouth. In the bathroom tonight “towel.”  And, accompanied by the action of pulling them all out of the box “tissue.”  This is of course a scientific study of language acquisition, and not a bragging mother.

Sing Sing

1. It’s Raining, It’s Pouring

2. And Bumped His Head

3.  Up In The Morning

Up at a dawn to do some Office work because we wanted to take the children out tonight.  Then Son 1 aged 4y 8m woke up, full of excitement because it’s school sports day.  Less so when he realised he couldn’t wear his shiny new PE kit to school and had to wait.  When I dropped him off it was raining. “Ring at 11 to see if it’s still on,” they said.  I remembered at 1230.  Off. They’re trying again next week.

The Man came into The Big Town for some Business stuff and we had lunch. Very nice to see him.  He collected Son 1, which meant I was let off the usual Friday tear-across-Town to get him in time.  Back home The Town is having a Singing Festival. We thought it would nice to take the boys, listen to some Singing, wine for us, ice cream for them, put them to be late and get a lie in tomorrow morning. Easy.  So we listened to some Singers. Chatted to lots of people we know.  Had a glass of wine. They had orange juice and put money in the charity buckets. Ran around with the other children.  Son 2 aged 21 months climbed up on a plastic chair and held on to the back, just like he does with the ones at home. The heavy ones.  He pushed this one right over and fell, 3+ feet, flat on his face.  And screamed. 

His forehead was bashed in. I gave him Ibuprofen, he calmed down and we packed up and headed home. We put them to bed; we ate a takeaway; we went to bed.  I’ll go in with Son 2, I thought, so I can check he’s ok during the night.  I got in the double bed with him. I looked at his head.  Red and grey and big and bumpy.  I rang the Minor Injuries Unit. No answer. I rang the doctor’s out-of-hours service. Take him to A and E, they said. And so there we were, midnight on Friday/Saturday, me, Son 2, several groups of loud drunks, two very fat women and an old woman with long, dyed-black hair and tons of make up. Waiting Time Four Hours flashed by on a ticker screen.  Swearing. Police. Hospital security. Son 2 wanted to get down on to the floor, but I was sitting by the infection-control MRSA/c.diff noticeboard and didn’t want him to catch anything.  He grizzled. I let him, figuring nothing motivates officialdom like a screeching infant.  The receptionist apologised. She’d reminded the nurse we were here, but there was a difficult patient… After 45 minutes the nurse saw us, and we were put into a children’s waiting room. Son 2 came alive at the trucks, cars, fire engines and diggers. ”Someone’s got a nasty bump,” said an ambulance man, dropping off a baby with croup. A very young, very pretty, smiling doctor appeared. She shone lights in Son 2’s eyes, looked in his ears, watched him play and examined his bump. He was fine, she said, but he clearly had a bad fall and I was right to bring him in. She gave me a list of things to look for, and said keep him quiet and give him Calpol and Neurofen, because he would have a headache. We got home at 0230.

Maiden Voyage 2009

1.  All Aboard

2.  Swimming With A Seal

3.  The First Round

The better forecast of the two days, so we decided to get on The Boat.  The Man warned that all The Boat was good for was travelling, because he’s ripped the cabin out so there’s nothing inside. We aimed at a barbecue.  We were up late, the boys were fractious, The MAn and I were snappy. We could probably all have done with a quiet day in. But a sunny day was on offer… so we invited two friends and their three year old. Last time we went on The Boat, Son 2 aged 21 m had to be carried down to the Yacht Club. Today I asked him, in his sun hat and lifejacket, if he wanted to be carried or walk. “Wor,” he said, and off he went.   The Boat was in a terrible state. Fibre glass strands and bird dung everywhere.. little bits of splinter-sized wood chippings, pieces of plastic and steel.   We swept up and fed the boys fruit while we waited for The Man and Other Dad to arrive in the dinghy.

Just a middle aged couple and their large dog were on The Beach By The Lighthouse when we turned up. Son 1 and 3 year old were in raptures, Son 2 splashed, sat and dug.  The Man barbied sausages. The big boys played pirates in the caves. Other boats turned up, other dinghies ended up on the beach. It was  heaven.  Incredibly hot.  I swam in the sea.  Absolutely freezing. Coldest yet. I swam out to The Boat, the waves slopping me in the face if I mis-timed them. Turquoise water, golden sand, not another soul in the sea.  Except one shiny, sleek-headed seal, about 50 yards away, watching me in a horribly human way. I wasn’t sure about Swimming With Seals. They are very large, their teeth are big, their breath is rank and I didn’t fancy being goosed from below by a fast-moving two-tonne sea beast. 

Son 2 was getting less and less able to cope, and more and more clingy. The MAn took us back to The Boat, where son 2 refused to go to sleep.  There were portholes to look through… and bits to pull off the walls.  Back at the Yacht Club, more friends were having a drink. I cannot resist the longer evenings, so although I knew Son 2 would make us suffer… I thought we might get away with it.  Son 1 sat on a bar stool with a two-pound coin and asked for two orange juices with straws.  The children ran round. Smack. Son 1 pushed Son 2 over. His nose started to bleed.  Two drinks later, we brought them home, like Good Parents.

Flu

1.  Off Colour

2.  Off Day

3.  Off Switch

The Man left ridiculously early on a Business Trip.  I was up at 6am, to tidy up, get the lunches, sort out the clothes, chop chop busy busy work work bang bang. The boys slept and slept.  Oh for them to lie in their comas on a day when I can sleep in as well. I showered and did my hair and make up. Still no sign of life.  I woke Son 2 aged 21 m and did his reading with him.  I woke Son 1 aged 4y 8m. He flopped on to the double bed in Son 2’s room.  Son 1 has a cough, his throat sounds sore and he was clearly exhausted. Wonder Nanny arrived and we got him in his uniform. We said our goodbyes and off I drove. I looked at him in the rearview mirror. He was flopped in his car seat, his head propped by the side rest, his eyes glazed and staring.  I spun round and took him home. 

I too am blatted by the lurgy, and had a wretched day at The Office.  Being positive, I saw a colleague on maternity leave who’s returned one of Son 1’s potties for Son 2 to try.  But throughout the day I got more fluey, and I really shouldn’t be driving.  Just little things go, like my ability to judge speed and distance. After work I took about 4 goes to reverse park the car outside the house. I looked up and Wonder Nanny, Son 1 and Son 2 were sitting in the window clapping and laughing. Wonder Nanny said they’d been fine, they’d both had a sleep, she’d kept them calpol-d up and they’d had a quiet day. She left. 

And they sprouted horns.  I was feeling dog rough.  i put Son 2 in his cot, sang him his lullabies, did my usual Night Night with my hand on him, left to go into Son 1 and hell was unleashed. He cried and screamed. “Mummeee! Mummmmeee! Mummmeee!” It went on and on and on. One of those Oh-God-I-Should-Have-Gone-To-Him-Earlier-But-I-Can’t-Now-Because-He’ll-Just-Scream-Forever-Next-Time horrors.  All through Son 1’s stories. When it finally stopped, I tiptoed in to check him. And he was still awake, lying exhausted on the pillow. As soon as he saw me he started again. I gave him milk, held him, put him down, stroked him, kissed him, said Good Night and left. “Mummmeeee!”  I got down from Son 1 at 20 to 8.  By 8 he was already downstairs again, crawling around under the washing.  “Come child, you have delighted us enough,” I said, serenely.  All right then.  Cold-ridden, tired, pissed off, I snapped. “Bugger off Son 1, this is Mummy Time.” He burst into tears and scampered upstairs. I ate, worked and rang a colleague from The Office. And again, down came a little ghostie. ”I couldn’t hear you and I was worried sick about you.” I put a fleece on him, gave him a hot chocolate and let him sit there and watch the mundanity of my late evening world of housework.  “Can I wee in the potty?” he asked.  “No,” I said, 17 times. “Why?” “Because I can’t be bothered to clean it out.”  He went for a wee. He did it in the potty. He tried to empty it himself.  I cleared up the wee from the loo seat, the side of the loo, the loo floor and washed the potty out.

Bugger Off

1.  Cold Remedy

2.  Cold Symptoms

3.  Cold Water

Feeling very rough today, so I didn’t go into The Office. I had a pile of work to do at home, and planned to get a kip in the afternoon while Wonder Nanny took the boys out.   Son 2 aged 21m woke, and we did his books session. Son 1 aged 4y 8m joined us. i put the boys in front of the telly a few minutes before Wonder Nanny was due, and went upstairs for a Tea Tree bath. Not enough hot water.  Strange, because we usually only have hot water problems if we’ve had a set of back-to-back showers. 

Wonder Nanny had arranged to go to a playground to see her Nanny friend with the two little boys she looks after. She made a picnic and off the three of them went. For the first time ever, I was glad to see them go. I worked through the morning, and then walked into The Town for a break. Big mistake. I wasn’t up to it and didn’t really  recover. I had lunch and went to bed. I was woken at 3.45pm by a little face beside me: “Hello sweetie, are you all right?”

Wonder Nanny gave the boys their tea and left. And again, they went loopy.  I couldn’t really cope. I tried washing a beaker for Son 2’s bedtime milk. No hot water.  This meant Completely No Hot Water. I rang The Man, who, as this is a Positive Blog, I shall described as Not Very Much Help. i rang a plumber who can’t come till Thursday morning.  I boiled a kettle.  In my 70s childhood our council house had no central heating and no hot water. Boiling a kettle always marked the start of wash time.  Mind you, even then we had an immersion heater.  I have no idea where ours is, and The Man can’t remember.  I washed the boys one at a time in the bathroom sink, Son 2 first.  By the time I came to dry Son 1, I’d had enough.  No hot water, flu-stricken, single mother, and two rowdy, noisy, out-of-control boys.  Son 1 bounced and swirled as I tried to dry him. “Son 1 will you – ” “- Bugger off!” he said, laughing madly, his eyes dancing. He detected my I think I’ll ignore this thought. “Bugger off, bugger off, bugger off!”  “I don’t know where you’ve got that disgusting language,” I said. “Bugger off, bugger off, bugger off,” he said, pointing both fingers at me.  ”Mummy, do you want me to Bugger Off?”  he giggled.  No. But I do want you to shut the f*** up.  I think that thought stayed in my head. I suppose I will find out at bath time tomorrow.

Fluffy And Coupon And Walbert

1.  Son 1.5

2.  Sinking

3.  It Seems Like Only Yesterday

Still not doing very well with the fluey cold. I woke this morning with Son 1 aged 4y 8m in bed beside me, tiptoed downstairs for coffee, and suddenly it seemed a very long and hard day ahead. Yesterday was the due date for the one we lost, and even though the following month I was pregnant with Son 2, I still wonder about that child.  The LMP date for him (I will always think of him as a boy) was Sept 11, which is Son 2’s birthday. The only person who will ever know or care about this stuff is me.   Son 2 aged 21m woke, on fine form.  “What would you like in your (snack) tub?” “Gape.”  “What else?” “Boobee.”  We read and stuck stickers upstairs. Son 1 aged 4y 8m pootled down. “I think I should have my fish when I am four, and then I can have more fish when I am five.” “You can have your fish when you’re five.” “I can’t wait that long!” Son 1 says his fish will be called Fluffy and Coupon and Walbert.  I might have to get them early just because he’s chosen such great names.

One Wednesday mother was working. We went to a playground.  The other Wednesday Mum had made sandwiches for all the boys, left on a table top in a takeaway container. A seagull pecked through the lid.  It rained. We gave up, and went back to the other family’s house.  I drove down, and as we arrived we were told that Mother had had to break into her house because she’d left the chain on the front door and gone out the back.   Son 1 and Son 2 had a good play with the three and a half year old.  My paracetamol cocktail wore off, and I started flaking out.  We came back, went into The Town because Son 1 wanted Apple Pie and Custard for tea, and then I made tortilla and buttered spinach.  Son 2 tried licking the butter off the spinach before giving in and scoffing the lot.  We are still boiling kettles for washtime, and yet again, it was very hard. Both of them machine-gunning me at top volume for attention at once, and me with zero energy craving stillness. I think the hot water is the Final Straw. They’re upset by the hole blasted in their routine, The Man being away, and me being incapable because of my bug. Bedtime was awful, and I wasn’t very nice. Being Postive, both The Plumber and The Man will be here tomorrow.

I have had an email from The Boy Who Broke My Heart When I Was 19. I logged in yesterday and there he was.  “I’m betting it’s you. You may not welcome this contact in which case tell me where to go, or ignore, else how are you?”  I replied and said don’t worry, it was fine, how was he?  He’s emailed today with a bit more detail about him.  I’m sure this is the plot of a book.  Our heroine, in relationship for 22 years, married for 18 of them, has children incredibly late, and while struggling with her work-life balance, her besotted small sons, her often-absent husband, swine flu and a major domestic crisis, is suddenly contacted by someone from half a lifetime away.  I’m also sure They All Live Happily Ever After.

A Servant

1.  Happy Father’s Day

2.  A Family Day Out

3.  The Servant

Man I was wiped out after yesterday, celebrating Nanna’s Grand Old Age from 0830 till gone 11pm. I forgot to say, she loved the cartoon fireman mushroom Son 1 aged 4y 8m chose for her. Kitch. A language shared by the elderly and under-fives.  We really thought we were in for a lie-in, but Son 2 aged 21 m was up and roaring at 6am.  The Man went.  At 0730, when I went down to see them, sitting together on the big chair watching The Wiggles, I said “Happy Father’s Day.”  He’d forgotten. “I’d have made you get up if I’d realised.”  A silent and invisible licked finger wrote a “1″ in the air. 

The Office was at a huge environmental event. Cycle trails, hearty walking,  pond-dipping, willow-weaving, that sort of thing.  I’d said I’d go, and The Man said it was the sort of Family Thing he didn’t mind doing for Father’s Day.  Son 1 packed his golf kit, and wee headed on out. Son 2 fell asleep straightaway, Son 1 hung on until a few minutes before we arrived. We chatted to my colleagues, and went to look around. We got as far as Face Painting And Smoothie Making.  Son 1 was a pirate,. The moustache, caterpillar eyebrow and eyepatch we have seen many times before. But the fake cheek slash was a new touch. Wax-based, red blood running from it, like something off the Casualty set.   We set off round the trail and the boys were murderous.  We split into teams and played “Spot the butterflies.” They came alive. The behaviour switched, instantly. The Man and Son 1 beat me and Son 2 10 – 4.  Ah. Not hungry, tired, or hot, then. Just bored.

There were bees as well as butterflies, and dragonflies, and crickets. Foxgloves, cowslips, a lily pond. All in a scorching day, the sun baking down on the trail.  We took an hour to get to the first mile marker, and an hour back again.  Son 1 spent well over an hour in the Wildlife People’s tent, making a Father’s Day card with a butterfly on it and colouring face marks with felt tip. Son 2 tipped up all the sticker shapes, and I took him away. He had an owl mask. “Owl. Owl.”  Which meant: ” I would like to stand back on that chair and colour my owl like Son 1.”  Eventually I tempted him away with “Would you like some cake?” and we went for ice cream. The Man and Son 1 were a full half hour behind us, because the face mask had to be coloured perfectly. “Didn’t you try to get him away?” “About a thousand times.”  They played golf, and Son 1 had a quick game of pirates with a big boy in the playground.   As we left, Son 1 said “Can I have a servant?” “You’ve got a servant,” I said. “Daddy is your servant, he’s just not very good at it and I keep having to do it instead.”  “No,” insisted Son 1. “A servant. Something we buy. From the shop.”  “You mean a souvenir?”  “Yes.”  “No you can’t. You had too much yesterday.” = 2 Wiggles Activity packs, and a Disney Golf set. Back home I googled the Wiggles.  Bad News.  Liking Anthony is not original.  Good News. I do not need to be concerned about the “Spending Some Quiet Time With Dorothy,” Do-Not-Disturb signs left on the back of the theatre seats.

Forces

1.  Roar Power

2.  Pushing Ahead

3. Raw Power

Every night, when I’ve turned off the light in the kitchen, I’ve been roared at. The first time it happened, The Man was away.  I froze and stared at the light fitting, wondering what I’d done to it to make it go so wrong.  http://smileandwaveboys.wordpress.com/2009/04/14/changing-things/  Since then, at the end of each day, I have jumped out of my skin and hoped it wasn’t a sign of an electrical fault which would burn the house down.  Eventually I worked out that the noise wasn’t coming from the light, but from the filled-in fireplace where the toys are kept. Aha. A light sensitive toy, I thought. Beyond that I was baffled.  I’d eyed the ridiculously loud fire truck suspiciously but hadn’t had time to check. Although it did keep making me jump very late at night.  This morning I managed to tidy and clear out some toys.  I put a missing tiger shape back into a wooden ELC jigsaw.  Get the shape right and the puzzle makes the right animal noise. It roared at me.  Well, now you know how those work.

Son 1 aged 4y 9m did a poo without his booster seat. “I don’t need it any more.”  Hooray hooray.  I’m very Lazy Parent over Son 1’s milestones. I waited till he was two and half before toilet training, because I couldn’t be bothered earlier. Then we did it in a week, with him learning very quickily that every wee in the potty got him a chocolate button.  We still take the old McLaren buggy out with us if we walk somewhere and think he won’t be able to walk back. I read a thread on Mumsnet discussing how old your children were when you stopped using pushchairs.  some people guiltily confessed to still having older children in them… and Son 1 was older then any of them.  I think that was about three months ago.  Son 2 aged 21m is exactly opposite and will never relax his plank-boy body long enough to strap him in the Big Pram. Unless Son 1 wants to get in, of course, in which case he won’t get out. 

The Rockpool Beach. Blue sky, light wispy cloud, but a gusting easterly wind.  Son 2 was a joy, Son 1 was trickier, but played well with Three Year Old Friend. Best Friend and Little Brother are on  holiday. We collected shells – I found a cowrie, which The Other Mother told me to keep for luck. There was a four inch black sea slug in a rock pool.  Plus a couple of fish and shrimp. I went for a swim in the sea, but it was low tide, and the waves were higher than my head when I was standing hip-deep.  I didn’t have to do my usual inching-in routine because I’d been smacked into, buffeted, knocked off balance and sprayed within a few steps. I swam out a few strokes, swimming up and over the top of the waves, and then semi-surfed back on them, but it was just too random to enjoy. Waves were breaking over my head, and I was in sunglasses (yes I know) and contact lenses.  And I was getting pounded onto rocks and seaweed in less than two feet of water.  I can’t have been in more than 10 minutes but I was breathless when I got out. It was amazing experiencing the power in the sea, and I just didn’t feel the cold…  But I can’t help thinking, having just read back what I’ve written, that it might have been…er.. a little bit dangerous.  

Two Tribes

1.  Party 1 

2.  Party 2

3.  Party 3

A two party day. On the calendar, it looks so achievable. The Nursery Party was at 1030, in the village hall favoured by Nursery Mums.  The Town party was at 2pm, in the church hall favoured by some Town Mums.  Party 1 had a cross children’s entertainer. A member of the Magic Circle, professional, funny, but bossy and hostile, obsessed with his line. “Don’t come in front of it. Don’t put your hands on it. Don’t move the line.” As far as I could tell he needed the children behind the line because, occasionally, he pulled his hat down over his eyes and moved around blind.  Er.. strike the hat pulling kiddo – this is a 4th birthday party and they’ve just feasted on sugar. He told Son 1 off for playing with the whoopee cushion Son 2 aged 21 m won in pass the parcel during his magic show. Imagine how well that went down with the mother who thinks her child should colour over the lines to show he’s not constrained by groupthink.  

Party 2’s entertainer was camper, warmer, with a better hair cut and had the saving grace that he clearly liked children. Before the show Son 1 fell over so badly he ripped half a toenail off on his right foot and grazed his knees and shins.  Before I got there, the Entertainer, heaving in equipment and out of costume, had stopped and bent down to see if he was ok.  Did I mention we were early for the party? Charged around like loons, two children off their trolleys from Party 1, The Man giving a commentary unstilted by drawing breath on the perils of over-scheduling, and me still struggling because Someone Lost All The Sellotape on the day we had two parties. Pushing Son 1, oldest child on Mumsnet still in a Pram, up the road, miserable because I’m Always Late For Everything, we arrived at 1420 to find the start time was 1500. Hooray. At the end, I had everyone turning the hall upside down looking for Son 2’s shoes.  I’d taken them off and put them on a radiator. Gone. Nowhere. One of the children must have tidied them up in an unrealising grown up’s bag. Yes I know they didn’t fit, but they were the only ones we had.  Back home we found the shoes.  I’d taken them off at the first party. He’d gone to The Town one in bare feet. 

After the children were in bed, The Man and I sat out back at the patio table, talking, drinking wine and dunking bread in microwaved camembert.  A neighbour has a pack of three pre-teen girls who were outside till late, clearly having some sort of sleepover.  “How many children do you think they’ve got staying?” I asked. “Just one I think,” said The Man. “It just sounds like a lot more.”  Next Door But One, who went on a Business Trip with The MAn, was putting down slug pellets and bantering back and forth with The Man.  Michael Jackson songs wafted over from somewhere else.  The light held forever.  We might do that again.

Perfect Parenting

1.  Good Food

2.  Good News

3.  Good Thing

Lunch With Nanna.  She’d invited us out. Son 1 aged 4y 9m picked Pizza Express. We went along with the idea. Son 1 ate no breakfast or tea on Friday.. and nothing but cake, crisps, chocolate crispies, chews, lollies and biscuits yesterday.  We figured he would probably go for their cheese and tomato pizza and dough balls. Not exactly Annabel Karmel-compliant, but at least a nod to the three major food groups. On the way to The Square we stopped off to get sandals for Son 2 aged 21m.   ”Choos.” He was delighted. He showed them to Nanna as soon as he saw her. Poor Son 1. Clarks could do nothing with his 11E slender feet.   The boys were ok during lunch. Son 1 cleared his plate, but didn’t quite stay sitting at the table, and ate quite a bit of his garlic butter with his fingers. Son 2 climbed out of his highchair (broken strap) three-quarters of the way through.  But considering what they’re capable of, a success. On the way back we saw Glamorous 22 year old Graduate. “Choos,” said Son 2.

And then at 1545 I wheeled them out again to go the Family Service at The Church. Son 1, who likes the crafts,  had decided he wanted to go.   Today we made  bricks and building and drawing houses.  A few more people there than previously.  Son 2 made a brick and a house. Son 1 coloured an orange house with a pink roof.  He then refused to go to the front of the church for the service because he wanted to make a house too. So Son 2 and I did The Wise Man Built His House Upon The Rock. And then into the Church Hall for tea.  “I made vegetarian cottage pie last time and you didn’t come,” said the chef, doling out sausage and mash and beans for the boys. Sorry, I said.  Son 1, after his lunchtime triumph, ate mash and had seconds of beans. I don’t think the sausages met his standards.    Another mother there had worked with The Man 15 years ago. 15 years ago The Man used his pet name for me in all his conversations.  She still thinks that’s my name, and that’s what she calls me. I wonder when he stopped using it. 

When the boys were in bed I went for a run.  8pm and a warm, close evening with great light.  I’ve never noticed the amount of roses in front gardens along The Terrace before. I’m still running-and-walking while I get back into it, but as usual, I’m very glad I went.  There and back I was dive-bombed by a seagull, clearly protecting a nest or fledgings. And on the final straight, the seagulls were clacking at top volume near The Hotel With The River View.  A small grey chick was perched unsteadily on the sloping slate roof.  I ran on.  A cat sat outside a house on The Terrace, staring at the gulls.  Today’s positive lesson? At least when I make a mistake parenting, no-one tries to eat the children.

Honey I Wrecked The Kids

1.  Jamming Till The Break Of Dawn

2.  Hotter Than July

3.  Rhythms In The Park

Too Darn Hot. The Man padded up and down the stairs in the night, a great, uncomfortable bear with a sore back, sore ankle and a bad case of overheating. Son 1 aged 4y 9m arrived in The Big Bed at 3am. “My room is too hot.”  His room was too hot. I’d closed the door to shut out the light to try to keep the little beggar in bed first thing in the morning.  I heard Son 2 aged 21m roaring “Mummeee!” The Man’s in there, I thought, he can get him up. Then grizzling: “I’s dhuk!” “I’s dhuk!” Oh God, I thought, scrabbling up. Where’s he got himself stuck… has he fallen in his cot… is he ok… He was in the Double Bed. The Man had him in a cuddled half-Nelson to keep stop him snaking off in his sleeping bag. “Dhuk!” “Dhuk!”  

We went to the Rockpool Beach to meet a Wednesday Mother and her three and a half year old.  Incredibly hot.  The tide was on its way in, so we only had a strip of rock and sand… which we more or less filled with two pushchairs and a beach mat.  Son 2 played with water, Son 1 was crotchety, I looked for cowries and found three.      The Wednesday Mum has a spirited child, and is enjoying my new childcare book,  “Honey I Wrecked The Kids,” so much she plans to get her own.  Drop The Rope is our new motto (for when you are in a tug-of-war power struggle with a child…) 

Son 1’s Nursery was holding a Pirate Afternoon, and he wanted to go. So. We went for ice creams, stopped off at The House for his Captain Hook costume, and drove over to The Big Town.  We dropped him off and Son 2 and I went to play in The Park. I had visions of us having Wonder Nanny-style hours of play together.  He wanted to watch teenagers playing tennis.  He grasped the principles at once, saying loud ”Uh-oh”s every time they fluffed a shot or hit the net.  He picked up feathers (Feh Feh,) pointed at dogs, had a little swing and played on the slide ladder. He wouldn’t go on the slide. “Hot.” “It isn’t hot darling, feel it.” Wouldn’t touch it. “Hot.”  Clearly a hot slide issue on another day, at another playground. I had some iced water in a flask and I poured him some.  Not interested in the water. Very interested in pressing the buttons on the top of the flask and pouring it out. Two hours later we picked up an exhausted Son 1 and went home.  The boys watched Ice Age 2 while The Man and I made stir fry.  “Mummy!” called Son 1. “Son 2’s drawing on your chair.” I sprang up the stairs. “What with?” “Pen.” Does anyone know how to get biro out of leather?   They came down for tea.  I’d cleaned the kitchen floor in the morning before we left.  Son 2 ate his rice with his fingers. He got one grain in his mouth for every 17 he dropped on the floor.    AFter, they played in the back yard. Son 2 took off the drain covers and dropped balls down the pipe. When they were finally asleep, I went for a hot, humid run.

Flashing And Frightening

1.  A Storm In The Night

2.  A Storm In The Morning

3.  Sunshine

Mighty thunderstorm in the night. Great big crashing cracks of thunder, sudden bright-as-daylight flashes of lightning. No Von Trapp children skidded into bed with me. I peeked in the bedrooms to check on Son 1 aged 4y 9m and Son 2 aged 21m, tiptoeing carefully, not making a peep with the doors. KER-RACK BOOM. Someone lifted up the roof of the house and let it slam back down again. The children didn’t stir. The storm went on and on. The rain drummed down. i had to close the windows, open against the stultifying heat, to stop us all being washed away.  The storm passed. I went to sleep. Son 1 arrived, at 4am. I took him back to his bed.

Son 1 insisted on taking his Dinosaur Bone to Nursery.  “Ok,” I said. “For a start Miss Lovely won’t let you have it. It’s too big. If she does let you have it, you will hear people all day long telling you it’s not a dinosaur bone, it’s a twig – ” ” – It’s NOT a twig. You can smash it on anything and it doesn’t break. It’s a bone, a leg bone -” “- and when you tell them that they will try and break it and they will succeed. It will be smashed to smithereens. And Mummy will be right and you will be wrong.” “I don’t want to listen to you anymore.”

The Dinosaur Bone went in the car boot. “It stays there. We will ask Miss Lovely if you can bring it in.” Son 1 wouldn’t even come in while I checked. “We have an issue. Son 1 found a Dinosaur Bone on the beach. Son 1 has always wanted to find a Dinosaur Bone. I have said it is Too Big For Nursery. I have said everyone here will say it is a stick, because it looks like a very ornate stick which has been worn down by the sea.   I have said it will get broken. ” A small, expectant face had appeared at my elbow, gazing up at Miss Lovely. ”I’d love to see it,” she said.  Back to the car I trogged. Back to the Nursery. “Oh that looks like a bone from a very scarey dinosaur.” “It’s a leg bone,” said Son 1, his eyes shining. “I can see that. Do you think it’s from a Tyrannosaurus Rex?” “Yes!”

I was back from The Office Very Late. Son 1 was just about in bed. “How was the bone?” “All right. No-one said it was a twig.”    Traitors.

First Day

1.  Clearing Off

2.  Cleaning Out

3.  Cheering Up

The First Day Of The Holidays,  Man took the boys to the Yacht Club last night. Give them a run around on the lawn, exhaust them and then we would get a lie in this morning, hooray.  Lie in my a***.  Son 1 aged 4y 9m was up and in the middle of the double bed before 6am. Eyebrowing madly http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2009/06/10/a-quiet-time-with-my-eyebrow/. I was grumpy. I’d worked late, was whacked out and wanted to sleep. He wanted to get up. An exhausting day loomed ahead, with fatigue bringing out the worst in us both… me fractious, him fizzing.  The Man took him downstairs to put the telly on.

The Parking Fairy gave me a space outside the house last night. So The Man decided to clean out my car.  My car is a source of deep shame.  It is so cruddy… sand, feathers, sticks, mud, smoothies on the upholstery, sundry berries, sweet wrappings, pieces of fruit peel, broken toys from party bags, more sand, more mud, dust, grime, smear, stains and crumbs. And most of the outside is covered in seagull poo, kiln-fired solid by the scorching heatwave.  Son 1 was keen to help, and so soon The Man had Henry the vacuum cleaner, and Son 1 had the upholstery wipes. And very industrious they both were. Then Son 2 aged 21m spotted them. “And me!  And me!”  I put him in the driver’s seat, knowing he couldn’t escape from there with me in the front and Son 1 in the back. The Man cleaned the boot.  I used glass wipes on the windows. Son 2 effortlessly commando-crawled into the back. He got the upholstery wipes and, concentrating very hard, cleaned the windows with them.  He liked the soapy smears.  Son 1 rubbed at smoothie stains.  I  did the windscreen. The wipes came up black as if I smoked.  Son 2 rubbed and rubbed. And then pulled all the wipes out of the packet. Son 1 said he wanted a drink and went back into the house. “Food!” said Son 2. Inside, I realised it was 1230. They have lunch at 12. Son 1 had pulled a chair up to the fridge and had removed a haul of two Petit Filous and two Frubes.

Neither of them would eat their lunch. I was fractious. “You eat at Nursery, and you eat for Wonder Nanny, so why don’t you eat for me?” I stomped. “You give us too much,” said Son 1.  He was right. But I didn’t let on, and went off in a sulk. The Man and I decided to go for a drive to get them to sleep and have some peace. It sort of worked.  We drove to the Beach Cafe and bought takeaway coffees, and then drove up to the Headland to drink them. Son 2’s eyes snapped open, and he stared at the boy in the next car who was eating an ice cream.  The man in the driving seat was leaning back, eyes closed, mouth open.  The woman next to him was reading. Comrades-in-parenting. And also knackered.

I Capture The Castle

1.  Tower

2.  Towel

3.  Trowel

I ended up in the Double Bed in Son 2 aged 21m’s room last night. With Son 2 and Son 1 aged 4y 9m. Didn’t work. Son 1 kept trying to reach across Son 2 to eyebrow me. Son 2 didn’t want him anywhere near him. Son 2 kept snaking off under the pillows, crying when he went too fast and bumped the top of his head on the wall.  Son 1 didn’t want him in the middle. In the end I put Son 2 back in the cot and passed out.   We stuck a Wiggles DVD on when they woke, but that didn’t work either.  Son 1 wanted to play with his Tower Of Doom.  I tugged it out from the corner of the room. Son 1 presented me with a dead fly he’d found on it.  We decided to clean it out.  Son 1 pelted off to get the duster.  A four year old in Bob The Builder pyjamas dusting off the battlements with a green feather tickling-stick was weirdly camp.  Son 2 earnestly rubbed with baby wipes.  Imagine. If I’d had girls there’d be a dolls house with matching pink furniture instead of a castle whose residents include a dragon with three heads and a lion with two. 

Son 1 was shrieking loud enough to peel the wallpaper off so I took both boys swimming. The only place that’ll have us is a Hotel Pool – we need more adults everywhere else – too deep for either child to stand.  Which makes it tricky. We had a good time, but Son 1 craves attention and a partner in his games, and Son 2, butch, bullish, braveheart that he is,  isn’t as confident as Son 1 was at the same age.  He can float along on his armbands but sees no reason why he should, and always sends a little fat hand out for my swimming costume.  He got tired, quickly, and pointed at his Tigger robe, draped over a handrail. “Towel. Towel.”  We span it out another 20 minutes.

After lunch we planted out our sunflower plants into big pots ready for our race. Nightmare. Son 2 took out handfuls of compost out of pots and spreading it over our astroturf. http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2008/06/11/boiling/ The Man got precious about the astroturf. “Weeds will grow in it.” Son 1 tried fending off Son 2, with predictable results.   It rained. Hard. We eventually got six pots, one each, one for Wonder Nanny and a sparee.  Son 2 looked longingly at the compost in the finished pots and went for a fistful.  I fended him off. With predictable results.  We have new pots, we have six foot 17p bamboo canes, we have our only sunny spot. We are off.

The Mighty One

1.  Fish Food

2.  Swimming Like Fish

3.  Schools

Son 1 aged 4y 9m can never pass a leaflet stand without helping himself.  He has been studying a favourite for weeks; a flyer for a holiday park near The Happening Town with a mega swimming pool. The forecast today was ropey, so I decided we’d go. We stopped off at Wonder Nanny’s new house to pick up her bikini.  The boys have been, I haven’t.  “Fish,” said Son 2 aged 21m. “Darling we’re not going in the garden, we’re just having a quick look round and then we’re going swimming,” I said. “Fish,” said Son 2. “Not today, Son 2,” said Wonder Nanny. “I’m just showing Mummy the house.”  Son 2 picked up a tub of fish food and headed for the back door.  “Fish.” We went out to look at the fishpong.  There are about 10 small goldfish, and one larger lighter one.  The boys sprinkled fish food.  “Where’s the Mighty One?” said Son 1. “I can’t see it,” said Wonder Nanny. “Fiance must have fed the fish, they’re not hungry, are they?” “That leaf on the bottom at the back looks like a dead frog,” I said. ”Where’s the big one?” said Son 1. “I don’t know,” said Wonder Nanny. “I suppose a cat could have got it.” Pause. “You know that does look like a bit like a frog.” I peered. “Ah.  I think that might be the remnants of the Mighty One.”  No wonder they weren’t hungry.  

I’ve taken this week off thinking it wouldn’t too busy because most schools haven’t broken up.  But the Holiday Park Swimming Pool was elbow-bumpingly busy. The boys loved it – there was a great baby/toddler area and Son 2 loved the little slide… there were bubbles.. there were three huge slides.  Son 1 was only allowed on one, with me, and we had to queue for ages each of the three times we went down.  A gent in front of us had his late father’s face and birth and death dates tattoo-ed on his shoulder blade. The pool was well worth it, but the rest of it was like being whizzed back in time. Vauxhall Holiday Park, Great Yarmouth, 1973. Shamba Holiday Camp, Dorset, even earlier. If Sugar Baby Love had belted out of the speakers I would have suspected a head injury.   I felt strangely comfortable.  “Was that great, or what?” said Son 1, swinging his noodle as we left.     

Best Friend came round when we got back, armed with a sword, a handgun and a pistol. “Sorry,” said his mother. He had his taster session at his new school this afternoon. Pang.  Best Friend lives on the doorstep of the Tiny Outstanding Village School I had my eye on for Son 1.  I didn’t apply in the end, thinking we wouldn’t have a chance of getting him in.  So Son 1’s staying on for Reception at his current place 12 miles away.  It’s a fantastic place.  But they’re so good together. As soon as Best Friend came round, they piled into the dressing up box and emerged as pirates.  They played, utterly absorbed, with Son 1’s huge pirate toy collection till tea, then piled down, giggling, snorting, making farting noises, calling each other Poo Poo Head and having sword fights with the dipping vegetables.  Best Fried ate great piles, Son 1 picked like a supermodel. After tea they went out in the garden with bows and arrows. After a great many threats they got the hang of not firing at Son 2.

Cuffs And Kerchiefs

1.  Pirates

2.  Lunch a deux

3.  The Cot

Back in with Son 2 aged 21m as I’m still not sleeping. Wakened by “Mummmeeee.” I peered round the pile of pillows I’d put between me and the cot to stop him seeing me. He peered back. “Boo,” he said.  I picked him up. “Wa-wa,” he said, pointing to the  glass on the bedside table.  I gave him a gulp, and laid him down beside me in the double bed. “Up,” he said.  Son 1 aged 4y 9m was already downstairs watching telly with The Man.  Son 1 has been busting for me to play pirates with him.  Pang.  I played it with him on Sunday but cannot remember the last time we played together before then.  He had the treasure, the monsters and the Tower Of Doom. My pirates were going to attack the castle. I put together an airforce of four Peter Pans and Tinkerbell, ready to attack his three-headed dragon. I took my eye off the Playmobil pirates for an instant and they’d been scalped, their earrings stolen. “Earrings are treasure,” I was told. Son 1 is Very Particular about how the Playmobil pirates are dressed – they can never vary from how they came out of their boxes. I’d put them together any old how.  Every now and then, during the battle, Son 1 stopped and looked at my efforts, shaking his head. “That is just so wrong.”  Afterwards, he and Wonder Nanny dressed them properly. She of course knows every set of cuffs and kerchiefs.

The Man and I left the boys with Wonder Nanny and went for lunch.  For us, a Good Thing.  We decided to move Son 2 into Son 1’s bedroom so I can read in bed if I can’t sleep.   We want them in together, and this week is a good time because I’m off and can sort/get up if things don’t work out.  

When we got back Wonder Nanny left for a doctor’s appointment.  The boys and I watched Ice Age.     ”Son 1, would you like to have Son 2 ’s cot in with you?” “Yes! Yes! Let’s move it now!” “Son 2, would you like us to put your cot in Son 1’s room so you can sleep with him?” “No.”  Wails from Son 1. Clearly, Son 2 hadn’t understood.  “Would you like to sleep with Son 1?” “No.”   I gave it one more shot. “Shall we put your cot next to Son 1’s bed?” “No.”  And yet it moved.  I really don’t think Son 2 was happy, but Son 1 was delighted.   I lay Son 2 down in the cot.  In the same position, in the same place Son 1 used to sleep, till he was about 2y 9m, when we moved him into his bed to get the cot clear for the arrival of Son 2.  Another Pang, and I don’t think it was back trouble.

Dead Crabs And Dracula

1.  Terrible Teeth

2.  Terrible Claws

3.  Turned Out Toes

Moving The Cot into Son 1 aged 4y 9m’s room was kind of successful.  Son 2 aged 21m slept through and slept till 0730. Son 1 however was up in the Big Bed by about 0030. 

We went to the Rockpool Beach with the full set of Wednesday Friends. Son 1 refused his sunsuit and ran off with his Best Friend. They headed off, hundreds of yards down the beach and out over the rocks.  Best Friend’s Little Brother was playing with a Big Truck, Three Year Old Friend was playing in the sand. Son 2 aged 21m trogged down to the water’s edge.  He trogged back again and tugged at the food bag. “Food. Food.”  Four periwinkles rolled down the beach mat next to him.  He settled for  a drink “Joos. Joos” and toddled off to the rock pools again.  One Wednesday Mother went for a sea swim.  I put my costume on.  There was a howl and a scream from Best Friend.  We stood and peered.  His Mother went over. “There’s blood everywhere,” shouted Son 1.  Best Friend had fallen and bitten through his bottom lip.  Blood dripped all over his bare chest and tummy. “It’s like Dracula,” said Son 1.  HIs  Mother cleaned him up.  The imprints of his two big front teeth were clear in his fat bottom lip.

We ate lunch, the children rejecting The Man’s chicken sandwiches in favour of the smartie and jelly tot cakes I bought for tea on Monday.  A Book Club Mum arrived with her little girl. I heaved Son 1 and Son 2 over to the loo, and then took them down to the low tide-line to look for fish and crabs.  Our tally was two dead crabs, and one still alive which had only three legs. I couldn’t cope with that one and had to put it back in the sea. Son 2 carried his dead crab around proudly. “Bab. Bab.” He held out the bucket “Fish.”  We couldn’t find any fish. Best Friend, Little Brother and Mother left.  I cajoled the children back up the beach, although Son 1 still wanted to play. At the beach mat, Son 2 lay down on his back and looked at me. Son 1 curled up on the sand.  I put up the beach tent for them to play in and went for a quick swim in the sea.  Icy but fab. The water was turquoise, long seaweed fingers stroked at me as I swam out and back. I didn’t spend long in, and after I came back the others left. I put the boys in the car, drove home and they were both deeply asleep. The Man joined us for an ice cream at the Headland. The  boys woke up. Just as well I’d got them ice cream.

We got them both in bed and asleep at 7.30pm. I went out for a run. I’ve changed my route – I now run through The Town and over towards the Rockpool Beach, although I can’t quite get there in the 15 min out and back I’m currently trying. I’ve bought new trainers – Nikes, after I checked out a few cheaper ones.  In the shop, the assistant offered me a Nike Chip to put in my shoe.  It will then register with my Ipod, and play fast music when I run fast and slow music when i run slow.  I said no. Too humiliating if it never chooses fast music for me.

Secret Pictures

1.  Secret Screams

2.  Secret Pictures

3.  Secret Peace

Son 1 aged 4y 9m has escaped Night Terrors. Other Mums have sat there with their screaming, staring children, sleeping spookily bolt upright in bed as they yelled and yelled.  Not Son 1. Until we put Son 2 aged 21m in with him.  And lo.  Last night.  Shouts and screams, loud enough to wake The Terrace.  While sound asleep.  Son 2 – who can be woken by an eyeblink  – slept through it. 

Wonder Nanny has an eye problem, so we were on our own today.  The children were worn out, so we aimed at a Boat Trip, the idea being, as usual, that the chug of the Little Fishing Boat engine would White Noise the lads off to sleep. And The Man and I would get Peace And Quiet.  Son 1 didn’t want to go on The Boat.  Son 1 had seen Mr Maker doing secret pictures.  White wax crayons, biscuit cutters and ink.  He was busting.  We left Son 2 playing with water (”Wa Wa. Wa Wa.”) in the garden while we quickly made the secret pictures. I crayoned. Son 1 inked.  He loved the results.

Son 2 saw some choc rolls going into the picnic bag.  “Choc choc. Choc choc.” He pushed a little green chair across the kitchen, stood up and pulled the picnic bag off. It fell on his head, and knocked him off the chair. He landed on his bag on the floor with the picnic bag on top of him.  Both boys dived for lunch as soon as we got out on The Boat.  I’d forgotten the suntan lotion, which ruled out the beach as an option.  We chugged along the river instead. Son 2 eventually went to sleep. Son 1 didn’t. He painted in the cabin. The Man and I drank coffee. ”Is there any hot chocolate for children?” asked Son 1. Good point. We’ll get some.  The river is wide and peaceful, greenly wooded on each side below great expanses of sky.  Like swimming in the sea, it helps.

Hits

1.  Roast Beef

2.  Short Sharp Shock

3.  Red Red Wine

One of my mad, over-scheduled days. Son 1 aged 4y 9m, Son 2 aged 21m, Wonder Nanny and I were heading up to the Fun Park… and then we were having six friends round for dinner.  Tra la la.  I went for a run while the boys had breakfast.  We left before 11, stopping off at The Farm Shop to get the meat – a sirloin joint. ( I am an idle vegetarian cook.  Take one slab of good meat, put in oven for one hour plus, bingo, guests grateful and impressed.)  Son 2 was asleep, Son 1 wanted to get out. A peacock was parading its tail, so we let him. 

We got to the Fun Park in time for lunch. Both boys picked, but ate mighty pieces of cake. Soft Play Zone, then Scooby Doo house. Then a horse show in the rain.  The Fun Park train stood waiting in front of us as it finished, with the rain lashing down. We got in it. In the seats behind us was a family – very young dad, three year old ish boy, seven year old ish boy, young mum, very new (13 weeks) baby.  We chatted. Son 1 and Son 2 blagged cake from them.  Then the three year old boy bit the dad and the dad slapped him, hard and loud. The boy wailed.  ”Don’t bite me. Give us a kiss. I love you,” said the dad. ”What did he just do to that boy?” asked Son 1.  It was sudden, it was shocking, it was sickening.  I don’t think it was legal.  And the only thing I did was Stop Talking To Them.

We got back home at about 5, and The Man had manoeuvred a whopping sheet of plywood out of his shed and down into the kitchen-diner.  Son 1 looked at it. “Will there be crackers?” Which tells you when we last did a dinner party. http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2008/12/30/whales-and-snails/  We got the boys to bed “You can come down once.  If you come down once, you get a pirate book tomorrow. If you come down more than once, there will be no book. That’s the deal.”  Couple One arrived while I was down at the shops getting horse radish.  It has been so long since we did dinner that I timed the main course and the starter to be ready at the same time. Ar.  Didn’t matter. Clever menu.  Prawns, then Beef, new potatoes  and salads.  I had sun dried tomatoes and salads.  Couple Two arrived, then Couple Three, bringing an iPod with an Eighties Mix on it. We spent a happy evening guessing the songs.  We had a great time. Apart from me putting two bottles of red wine in the freezer.

Invitations

1.  Red Blooded Male

2.  Mummy’s Boy

3.  Big Brother

Son 1 aged 4y 9m came screaming up the stairs at 0030.  “Mummeee. I’ve got a nose bleed.”  Blood everywhere.  All over his face, his chin, his pyjama top.  “Oklemmeclearitup…”  He flopped down on the Big Bed, a great slimey smudge of blood all over our White Company duvet cover.  The Man said nothing, and padded off downstairs like a sleepwalking bear.  Son 1 snugged up against me and passed out instantly, leaving a red slug trail across the pillow, and a blazing poppy-like stain on my silk TK Maxx nightie.

We were unambitious today.  The boys were knackered… Son 1 could not behave.  Son 2 aged 22m played in the garden in his swimsuit and then pulled at it, and came and cuddled me. ”Would you like to go to bed with Mummy?” “Yes.”   He didn’t want his sleeping bag, he wanted to sleep in the Double Bed, under the quilt, in just his pyjamas. We had a heavenly cuddle. Sometimes there are lovely advantages in the way it takes Son 2 forever to go to sleep. When he’d dropped off, I sorted out the bloody carnage that was Son 1’s bed.   A blood-soaked tissue taken from the box on the side of his bed gave me a pang.  The little treasure had tried to sort himself out before coming upstairs wailing.   

I walked Son 1 to The Discount Store, and he complained all the way, the little lardy lump. He wanted a carry, he wanted the Big Pram, his legs hurt.  Later in the afternoon we all went through The Town, Son 2 on the reins “Walk! Walk!” and Son 1 in The Big Pram. It Happens To All Mothers, I told myself.  A wail from Son 1. He’d been playing with a Gormiti and dropped it down a drain without a cover. The Man fished it out.  When we got back there was a text from one of the supper party couples.  Out having drinks by the Waterside.  ”Are they cooking?” I texted back. “No but they are pouring.”  Invitations cannot be turned down.  Bad Manners.

Invitations

1.  600 miles

2.  2330 hours

3.  140 characters

An incredibly long day – a colleague from The Office and I planned a round trip to the Teeming Metropolis for an important meeting… I went to bed at 2230 last night – early for me.  Then at midnight there was a Very Loud bump.  Son 1 aged 4y 9m had fallen out of bed and was sobbing hysterically, loud enough to wake Son 2 aged 22m, who you’ll remember is now in the same room . I got Son 1 back to sleep without waking Son 2… and then Son 2 woke up screaming “Mummmeee.”  I had to get up at 0539 to set out on our Trip. 

We had a good day – a good trip up there, the meeting was worth going to and we met some interesting people.  I drove in and out, which was brilliant for me because I very rarely drive in London.  Average speed 12mph, how hard can that be? We had a system of turning left every time we saw a large C appear on the road and we seemed to do all right.  And what’s an Emissions Zone?  We left late and drove back as the sun set, inventing pictures from the clouds in Son 1’s honour.  We got back at 2330.  The Man had left for a Business Trip and a friend was minding the boys.

400 blogs. I usually don’t notice the posting numbers, but I have today.  I like my blog.  It cheers me up, and I like looking for things to write about.    One of the twenty-somethings from The Office has shown me how to use Twitter. I might put bits on that too.  Although I really don’t have very much life left as it is, so time may kill that idea. Plus the fact that I’ll never get anything into short sentences.

Drip, Drip, Drip

1.  Blood

2.  Sweat

3.  Tears

Son 1 aged 4y 9m woke drowsily last night at midnight when I went to give him a goodnight kiss, and then followed me up to the Big Bed.  This morning I woke up and gazed across at his cherubic sleeping features… his long eyelashes still on his cheeks… masses of dried blood in his nostrils and on his lip and chin… and a great, dried stain of blood circled out from his nose on the changed-on-Sunday  sheet. He clearly still had bloody snot/snotty blood up his nose just from the sound his breathing was making, but I had Son 2 aged 22m yelling “Mummeeee” from downstairs so I just left him.  Does anyone know anything about  nosebleeds?  I think I’ll give him one more before I take him to the doctor.

All did not go to plan today.  Massively tired after yesterday’s excursion.  The car was booked in for an MOT and service. I turned the house upside down looking for my driving licence for the courtesy car. In the end I rang the garage: “Oh just come over, we’ll ring the DVLA.”  I did though remember to take my running kit to The Office. I’ve been getting good at going out again, and I’ve been enjoying it, and I didn’t want to let my fitness drop while The Man is away. Which means running at lunchtime. So, at 1330, I changed into bras, tee-shirt, shorts, socks… and then realised I had two left running shoes.  One from my old pair – which I’d used in the garden at the weekend – and one from the new pair. 

I worked like the clappers all afternoon so I could finish in time to collect the car before the garage shut, and let Wonder Nanny go home at her normal time.  At just the right moment to go there was a torrential rainstorm. Great cracks of thunder, whiteout lightning, hoofing it down. I waited and waited and waited. The sky was black, the air was dark, the traffic had stopped and there was water pooling and swirling in the car park.  I went for it.  It was 200 yards to my car.  I could not have got more wet if someone had stood emptying skiploads of water over me.  I took off my three-inch heels in the car and tipped out the water on the ground outside.  The rain was bouncing off the puddles like ricocheting bullets.  My mac was soaked, my skirt was soaked, my shirt was soaked.  My hair looked like I’d just come up from a dive.  The storm passed as I drove to the garage. As soon as I got out of the car there was another downpour.  I am, I suppose, lucky in many other ways.

After The Rain

1,  Stealth

2.  Sea King

3.  Merlin

I was very pleased to get to bed without Son 1 aged 4y 9m padding upstairs behind my heels, and glad also to get through the night without being wakened by a little pale visitor clambering into the Big Bed.  I woke to the usual siren sound of “Mummeee, Mummeee” from downstairs. And was eyeball to eyeball with a little pale visitor.  No idea when he turned up.  He obviously didn’t wake me when he got in, and I didn’t wake him when I got up. 

The Rockpool Beach was just a strip of sand with great rolling waves reaching well up it.  “It’s going out,” said the Wednesday Mums.  They weren’t staying, they each had other things to do. I decided we’d hang around and see how we got on. I put Son 2 in his sunsuit and plastered him in Factor 50.  How British. Yesterday it rained on me so hard I could barely breathe… this afternoon I was gazing out to sea wondering how could I could go for a dip with two children on land.  Son 1 went in the sea up to his hips in his trousers.  i yelled at him and got him in his sunsuit.  The tide pelts in on that beach, and it raced out.   The three of us played at the water’s edge.  We had some lunch. Son 1 wanted to go home – he’d got cold but wouldn’t let me change him.  I span it out.  We took him to the loo and on the way back looked in rockpools for cowries. We found two.  Three children came up to us to show us the crab they’d caught.  They wanted ice cream; the cafe was shut. Son 2 understood the drift of the conversation, and went nuts “Ice Deam! Ice Deam!”  Embarrassed, I told their mother :”His brother was organic and sugar-free till he was two, but his favourite words are sweets, choc-choc, ice deam, bik bik and cake.” “Wait for the third,” said the mother. ”She was three at the weekend, and we gave her a DS. ”

Son 1 clambered in the Big Pram, fidgeted around to get comfortable and tipped it over sideways onto some rocks. The Big Pram is as sturdy as a small tank.  Maybe I should admit he really is too big for it.   We cleared up and went up the cliff to the car. The Navy flew by, very low, in a helicopter. We waved. They waved back.  Very exciting. I have for years told Son 1 that we have to wave at helicopters because they are waving at us, and now I have been proved right.  Back home we got a space outside the house.  I put the children in, unloaded the car, put Finding Nemo on upstairs “Fish! Fish!” and Nanna came round.   I made tortilla for tea. Son 2 demolished his in minutes, Son 1 sucked the butter from his hot baguette and said he’d finished.

Hello, Goodbye

1. Before Time

2.  Lunch Time

3.  Home Time

Not yet light. I am awakened by fierce eyebrowing.  Son 1 aged 4y 9m hanging round my neck, compulsive stroking my eyebrow and fingering my closed eyelids and eyelashes. Vaguely conscious, I rolled over to check he wasn’t on the edge of the bed.  I was on the edge of the bed. He couldn’t get in. He was standing ,slumped over me, cuddling, with determined little fingers going for my eyebrows. I heaved him up and over and he was instantly asleep. I’m not even sure he was entirely awake.  Next thing I knew, there was a loud stage whisper in my ear. ”Mummeeee.   Mummmmeee.  It’s five, four, seven.”  Son 1 cannot tell the time, but he can read a digital clock.  “Go back to sleep.  We don’t get up until it’s at least six something.”  And I wasn’t going to be the one to tell him how soon that was going to be.

One of the men at The Office left today.  He’s going to work Far Far Away.  He’s very young and very special, and we are incredibly sorry to see him go.  There was a pub visit at lunchtime, which is sadly surprising for  us. ”Are we going to a proper pub?” said a male colleague. “We always end up at girl pubs.”  Indeed we were.  Seven men, two women.  Many pints of bitter.  They were all fast, funny and weirdly disparate.  Vegetarianism: “I will eat fish but I have to know it’s sustainable and caught using cruelty free methods which don’t wreck the marine environment,” said a Dark Green Colleague. “I’m vegetarian so I can have a tumble drier,” I said, using one of my latest (not necessarily true) lines. “You’ve got children so you’ve already wrecked your carbon footprint,” said the Dark Green Colleague.  “I’ve recycled someone else’s, so I win,” said The Colleague Who Adopted.

Back home, Granny and Grandad – who arrived yesterday – were in the lounge with Wonder Nanny, Son 1 and Son 2 aged 22m.  Granny and Granddad are staying at The Hotel With THe River View.  They’d been down to The Museum, where the boys coloured copiously.  They had apparently been perfectly behaved all day. Granny and Granddad cannot believe how well they’ve come on. I started putting them to bed, and The Man arrived back from his Business Trip.  Son 1 shrieked at the sound of his key in the door.  Son 2 stood on the landing and jumped up and down for joy.

Visitors

1.  Then And Now

2.  Now

3.  Now And Then

There was a problem at The Office and I needed to ring an out-of-hours helpline to get it sorted.  My mobile rang.  It was The Boy Who Broke My Heart. http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2009/06/17/fluffy-and-coupon-and-walbert/ ”Serenedays?” he said, gruffly. “It’s TBWBYH” “What, as in TBYBMH, TBYBMH?”  ”Yes. I’m the Duty Manager for The Office supplier. ” “That’s hilarious,” I said. “Is it?” he said.  It was extremely strange. Son 2 aged 22m chattered around at my feet. “Is that your little one?” he asked, as we tried to sort the problem.  “Yes, and there’s another one rattling around somewhere,” I said.  Not a peep for 25 years, then an email exchange, and now here we are, in each other’s mobiles.  Serve me right for not writing back the second time.   And imagine if we hadn’t already pinged emails…   

Back in 2009,  Granny and Granddad turned up and we walked the boys to The Square for pizza.  Son 2 walked nearly all the way, and then fell asleep in The Big Pram. I didn’t take the Buggy for Son 1 aged 4y 9m - feeling, from my Mumsnet-gained knowledge of what everyone else does, that he probably is Too Big For Pushchairs.  We had lunch, Son 1 ate well, Son 2, who woke up half way through, didn’t.  I had a glass of wine and a coffee, an achievement which always counts as a Good Thing.  Getting Son 1 back was tortuous. We should have taken the Buggy.

Granny and Granddad went back to The Hotel, we watched telly. Then Son 1 decided he wanted to cycle down to see them on his trike.  “And me, And me!” cried Son 2.  So Son 1 pedalled down, and I pushed Son 2 on his plastic scootalong car. Backbreaking. Son 2 loved it though. He scooted and steered, and smiled, smiled, smiled. At the hotel we had wine and they had pineapple juice.  We flopped in plastic chairs on the smokers’ terrace; they zinged about leaving toys for the waiters to fall over.  BC, The Man and I used to go and sit in the smoking sections of pubs and cafes to get away from other people’s children.  And now we have all been moved outside.

Good Sports

1.  Stamina

2.  Focus

3.  Energy

Son 2 aged 22m howled at 4 something am.  Which of course he hasn’t done since well well before we put him in with Son 1 aged 4y 9m.  “Mum-meeee.  Mum-mee.”  We left him.  I think he woke again.  And we…er… left him.  I think I even heard a “Sssshhh,” from Son 1.  Who pad-padded up at 0730.  There wasn’t a peep from Son 2. I never enjoy it when he sleeps late.  I dread there being a reason for it other than a lie-in. Especially after leaving him twice in the night.

Son 1 wanted to paint, so I set him up on a newspaper on the kitchen table. “And me, And me,” demanded  Son 2. They were gorgeous, sitting there side by side, Son 1 painting picture after picture, Son 2 using only the painting water to washout his pieces of paper. He tipped the water over.  He pulled the newspaper over his head. ”Boo,” he said. Granny and Granddad came round, Son 1 squash-balled off the walls, and despite the forecast of severe showers, we went out. Halfway through the Town we passed The Church.  There were service flags, uniforms, civic chains.  A band. We waited. We were rained on. We watched The Parade, Son 2 with his heavenly expression of total interest and concentration.   We followed.  “I want to hear the music,” said Son 1.

Back home we roasted a chicken, and I tried to make a tiny amount of vegetables go round four adults and two small boys. I cannot count the number of times I have had a mountain of veg box bags to go through. Today I had about four carrots, some broad beans, 125g of out-of-date asparagus and half a head of rather old greens. We got away with it. I am Nigel Slater. After the meal Son 1 decided that the ribbon from the one helium filled balloon leftover from Nanna’s birthday was the finishing tape for sports day. To start with, he and Son 2 had running races. Then, as the excitement cranked up way beyond acceptable levels for 6pm, I told him to have a slithering-like-a-snake race.  We did a sideways race, a backwards race, a crawling race, a hopping race and snapping race.  Son 2 joined in for the egg-and-spoon race, run with wooden balls from a skittle set and old silver spoons. Again, that brilliant expression of concentration, and then unbridled joy when he got his egg across the line. Son 1 used the string shopping bag as the sack in a sack race. He was of course the only competitor in most of these races, which meant that he won them all.  He loved it.

Coming Back

1.  Palava

2.  Pyjamas

3.  Perfidy

I am back online, hooray hooray. Got knocked out in a rainstorm. Palava. Now sorted.  In summary: The Man went on Business Trip; Granny and Granddad here; Wednesday Friend is now 5, which means a rack of 5th birthdays coming up;  The Man back from Business Trip; Nanna babysat while Granny, Granddad, The Man and I went out for a meal at Nice Restaurant.

And here I am.  Not even a particularly Good Day to come back on. I left early, and did a Big Shop so got back late. Hardly saw the boys.  I doubled parked to unload the shopping.  A little figure aged 22m, in pyjamas was standing in the 2nd floor window, the blackout blind pulled down behind him, looking down at me.   I waved.  He looked and looked. I heaved the shopping out on to the pavement, I heaved the first bags into the house. Son 1 aged 4y 10m pelted downstairs, also in pyjamas. “Mummee, Mummee.”  The Man came down with Son 2. “I need to park the car,” I said. “You have him and I’ll park the car,” he said, dumping Son 2 into my arms. ”They’ve both had their baths and Son 1’s cleaned his teeth but Son 2 hasn’t.” At least that’s what I thought he said. 

“Son 1, come here and I’ll clean your teeth.” “They’re clean. You need to do Son 2’s.”  I sat Son 2 on my knee and carefully cleaned his teeth.  He has a cut lip.  The Man came back. “Why are you cleaning his teeth?” He said. “I’ve done them. It’s Son 1 who needs doing.” Son 1 cackled in delight. “I got you!”  It was Book Club night for me and Son 1.  He has as many books as he likes. He chose his entire Disney set. I got away with 11, because we’ve lost The Incredibles.