Always Midnight

1.  A Way

2.  Away

3.  Waylaid

Bleeding hell.  Six weeks away from the Blog.  3000 comments to clear out of the moderation queue.  What can I tell you?  Nanna’s health suddenly went.  The Man was away on Business Trips. The Office went into warp drive….  From a world where I always had half an hour at the end of the day to tap away recording my life and thoughts, suddenly it was always midnight and I was still washing up.    Being positive.  Wonder Nanny wanted more work, but Son 1 aged 6y 8m and Son 2 aged 3y 9m are a bit bigger, so I don’t know that we need extra days any more. But Nanna needs more help. And Wonder Nanny has a background in Eldercare.  So.   Softly softly.  Tiptoe tiptoe. We shall see if they suit each other.  But Wonder Nanny is so saintly they will name grottos after her, so I am hopeful we may have found a way.   

The Man came back today after a week Abroad, which coincided with The Office’s biggest Trade Show of the year.  And various visits to friends’ houses, and parties, and sleepovers. Son 1 and Son 2 have had late night after late night. They are psychotic with tiredness, and so am I.   They won a small shipment of replica guns on Hook A Duck, and Son 2 shot the back of the telly. I don’t think it was necessarily the soft plastic dart that did the damage, as much as his clambering down among the wires, fluff and dust to retrieve his ammo.  He knocked the ariel lead out and we haven’t had telly for days.   Forget bloody waterboarding, stick the suspects in a Good Home with little telly addicts screaming for a fix.  

So Son 2 and I didn’t go out today. He played pirates with the old faithful Peter Pan pirate ship. And we watched three Wiggles DVDs back to back – we can play films, but not watch TV.  The Wednesday Mums came round. “Chatter chatter chatter,” said Son 2. ”I don’t like it when they come round ‘cos I don’t get any attention.”  We tried to listen to something on the radio. Son 2 crooned and hollered at the top of his voice, and stopped when I cuddled him in his high chair. We all zoomed off on our various school runs. Back home, The Man’s van was parked on The Terrace. I stopped at the other end to let out Car Share Boy, and  Son 1and Son 2 got out and ran up towards The House while I hunted for a space.

Lulu

1.  Endurance

2.  Resilience

3.  Tenacity

Children get ill just to show you that you shouldn’t be whining at all if they’re well.  I have gone on and on about how Son 1 aged 6y 7m interrupts my sleep because he won’t stay in his own bed. Killing Me Softly Luxury. I’ve had about six hours’ sleep in total in the last three days.  Son 1’s burning temperature draws him to the Big Bed, with The Man tramping downstairs at the first whiff of a stirring child.   I try not to give Calpol or Ibuprofen at night so I can save the doses for the day. So the hot little form burns up besides me, crying and panting with cracked lips  Then there are the glasses of water to get, the hankies to find, the flannels to dab.   By 8am I was drowsily aware of The Man placing a mug of coffee beside me. My survival instinct decided to ignore it and tilt me back into sleep.  There was a loud whisper in my ear. Son 1. “Mummy! MUMMY!”  I opened my eyes. He gazed back at me from a distance of two inches. “Your coffee’s here.”

It poured and poured with rain. The Man went off to The Boat again. I spoke to Younger Sister. Nanna’s foot has swollen up, but they will come over this afternoon to cook tea and give me a break. Son 1’s temperature soared and swooped.  Son 2 aged 3 year 7 months stomped around, ignoring every attempt I made to dress him or clean his teeth: “Yeah yeah Mummy, whatever. Do your worst.”   Every bloody word I say, played back to me, again and again. Trade Stands He squirmed on to my knee and pointed as I stared, catatonic, at the Sunday paper. “Look Mummy. There’s Prince William.”   I will let you know when he finishes his first symphony.

The Man appeared, soaked, with some shopping. “Have you got Son 1’s prescription?” “You didn’t tell me to get it!” Disallowed. He was supposed to stop off on the way home. Back down the hill he went. I did the  boys soup again for lunch, and then afterwards sat on the Big Chair together and watched Zulu.  They loved it, although Son 2 was unable to grasp the word. “Is that Lulu?” pointing to Michael Caine. “Is that Lulu?” pointing to Jack Hawkins.  But there was an easy plot, and shooting and spearing and weapons and bangs, so they were both delighted. I was falling asleep in the chair, so I went for a snooze. Son 1 rounded me up after Nanna and Younger Sister arrived. Remember Remember  Tea was ok, with Son 1 managing a few boiled potatoes and some broccoli. Younger Sister took control of bathtime while I just lay on Son 1’s bed. I adore my children but they are draining my lifeforce.

Hot And Bothered

1.  Hot Spots

2.  A Warm Welcome

3.  Heat Treatment

Son 1 aged 6y 7m had a pretty grim night. Hot. Thirsty. Sore throat. He sat in my Big Chair at breakfast time, face pressed against the cold leather, cheeks red, eyelids heavy, staring at the telly while Son 2 aged 3y 7m ping-ponged round shouting loudly.  I ladled Calpol into him. Complication. We’d invited a Lovely School Friend to play.  So long ago that I was getting mortified at my inability to organise anything. I finally spoke to her Mum this morning and we arranged for her to come over at 11am.  At 1045, as Son 1 again complained about his sore thoat, I said: “Come over here and sit in the light so I can have a good look at your throat.”  Son 1 opened wide. Hell. His throat looked like raw mince. Everything soft and fleshy was bright red.  There were red dots over the back of the roof of his mouth. One tonsil was entirely coated in white fur. Seeing Red We looked out of the bay window and waved at Lovely School Friend and her mum who’d pulled up outside. Pink Hearts

Son 2 went wild with excitement. Son 1 just wanted to loll and watch telly.  Lovely School Friend glued herself to my side. I spent an hour with them, coaxing them into playing with the Duplo. Then they went off to play hide and seek. Then I put the DVD of the School Play on and they watched themselves and their mates on telly. I went down and made soup for lunch. Lovely School Friend ate a few mouthfuls. Son 2 ate the bread. Son 1 tried, but can hardly swallow.   Lovely School Friend’s Mum returned and we waved goodbye to our guest after another successful playdate. 

I rang NHS Direct. Get him a throat spray and some antiseptic lozenges, they said. I rang The Man, walking back from The Boat, and sent him to Boots. Nanna and Younger Sister came round for a salad tea.  We opened the bottle of Moet which has been in the fridge for months, waiting for the right occasion.  We toasted the Happy Couple.  “To me and The Man,” I said.  Son 1 ate the cucumber off the skin and left everything else.   We took him upstairs for a bath.  Afterwards, he lay in his bed, burning up, with a temperature of 39 and a killer headache. I gave him ibuprofen, left my second glass of champagne untouched  and waited half an hour.  He was still listless, his temperature 38.6. I rang NHS Direct again. They wanted him seen, and the out-of-hours doctor rang. “Bring him over now.” We went to the clinic at the Town Hospital. Tonsillitis, said the doctor. Here’s a prescription for antibiotics, but don’t start him on it now. Wait and see how he is in the morning. Ever Decreasing Circles

The Happy Couple

1.  Marriage

2.  Wedding

3.  Family

4.  Friends

Son 1 aged 6y 7m was off-colour this morning. Son 2 aged 3y 7m was zinging around, wildly off the behaviour scale – a combination of excitement that I was home, too much CItv and lack of sleep. The Man went off to go and sort The Boat out. The Man has been sorting The Boat out for more than a year now. I decided to indulge him; it makes him happy, and I was trading off family time now for better family time when he actually gets the bloody thing on the water. But my patience is wearing thin. I am tired, he is away a lot, and I want some help on days off. Ho hum. I turfed Son 1 off Pokemon so that I could watch the Royal Wedding. He complained. “Oh come on Son 1, you’ve got a day off School for this. What are you going to tell your teachers if they ask you about it? And anyway, I want to see what she’s wearing.” I sat in my big armchair and they both climbed on top of me.

Son 1 sat waving the plastic rifle he won last night at the telly. “Please stop doing that. I can’t see what’s going on.” “Those soldiers have got guns.” “They’re presenting arms to William, not waving shotguns about.”  There was lots of commentary about the last Royal Wedding thirty years ago.  I was at an Ian Dury concert at Hammersmith Palais on Royal Wedding Day in 1981. I love the fact that I was going to gigs 30 years ago and yet I have a three-year-old son.  Up yours everybody, Late Motherhood rocks and rocks and rocks. “Who’s that old man?” asked Son 1. “Prince Charles.” I looked, through his eyes, realising for the first time that Prince Charles is indeed an old man.  “Who’s that?” “Camilla, William’s stepmother.” “Did their Mummy die?” “Yes, in a car crash. It was horrible.  William and Harry were still at school and they lost their Mummy.” “Why did she die?” “Because she wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. There was one man in the car who put his seat belt on and he lived. That’s why you always have to wear a seatbelt in the car.” I can never resist a lecture. ”Where’s The Queen?” “There. In the yellow.” They suffered in the service, and I let them switch back to flashing Japanese cartoons. Until the end. ”Turn the wedding back on, I want to see the crowd when they come out of the Abbey.” We watched Kate and William walked back down the aisle.   Son 1 fidgeted. “It’s taking too long. They need a shorter church.”

We walked through the Town to The Square to meet The Man. En route, Younger Sister rang. She’d just arrived at Nanna’s after a six-hour cross-country drive.  The Man went off to sort some Business. Son 2 slept in the buggy. There were big walking bubbles in The Square, and I had a coffee while Son 1 had a go. He was supposed to have five minutes, but ended up with well over half an hour. He came out hot and exhausted. Nanna and Younger Sister arrived, having parked at the wrong end of The Square. Nanna’s arthritis means she can hardly move now, and inched her way across. It’s awful to watch.  Son 2 woke and had a go on the bouncer, harnessed in and jumping up and down, flying happily, with the ride attendant helping him do somersaults. The Man arrived. So did some Wednesday Friends, straight from a street party.  Son 1 slumped in the pushchair, hot and ill.  He had another go in the bubbles with Six Year Old WF and his five-year-old brother, but gave up, lying down in his bubble and refusing to move.  Son 2 had another bounce. We bought wine in a Square Cafe, and planned to crack open champagne when we got back to The House. But Family From Along The Terrace rang and invited us to tea at the Yacht Club. 

Nanna likes the Yacht Club, so we got her down there.  We were too early for the sailing supper so they rustled up sausage and chips for the children and meat-eaters, and quiche and salad for the vegetarians. Son 1 lay sick on the sofa. His throat is sore. I have a great respect for Son 1 and his sore throats – the last one turned into scarlet fever.  Son 2 and Younger Daughter ran round and round.  I gave Son 1 a slug of ibuprofen and he perked up, and ran round with the other children.   We scooped them up and out as the sailors came back.  I saw Nanna into the car, and carried the scooters home. I was greeted by a howling Son 1 and Son 2. The Man had broken the rifle in half. Son 1 had shot Son 2 in the face with it.

Fair’s Fair

1.  Shooting Star

2.  Shooting Pains

3.  Shooting Party

I worked ridiculously late last night. It’s these three-day weeks. There is a remorseless, unremitting beat to Office Life, and a Friday away means hours and hours on a Wednesday night.  And emails sent to colleagues late at night and in the small hours. I’m sure I make perfect sense.  This morning I needed to get out of The House pretty pronto too.  God, I didn’t miss the School Run during the Easter holidays.  Being positive, there’s only four weeks till half term. So. Son 1 aged 6y 7m and Car Share Boy in position, and off we went.  Car Share Boy delights me, morning after morning, with shot-by-shot commentaries on his computer gaming. I have been fascinated to learn that there are God Games, and Third Person Shooter games, and another kind neither of us can remember. This morning Son 1 interrogated him all the way there. As we got out of the car there were small boys in suits and little girls in bridesmaids’ dresses. “Are we supposed to wear our own clothes?” asked Son 1, loudly.  “No, it’s just the little ones,” I said, crossing my fingers, kissing him and leaving him at the School Gate.

I had an early morning meeting with a colleague on the way to The City. We sat outside in cold bright Spring sunshine. Then I charged over to The City. I used to be positive about the drive over, counting my blessings as I motored away the miles. But my brakes squeaked all the way, reminding me and reminding me that my car service is way overdue.  Yet another thing on the To Do list.  I am so, so overwhelmed, at home, at The Office, en famille.  Every now and then I get a little bit nervous that the best of all the years have gone by.  I thought I’d have piles of time to get back to pick up Son 1, but the afternoon raced by and then I was squeakily driving back, desperate to beat closing time at the After School Club. Mrs Briskly-Pleasant was leaving as I arrived. Only Nursery and Reception were in party clothes today. 

I’d promised Son 1 we’d go to the Fair, just him and me, to make up for some of the hassle he gets from Son 2 aged 3y 7m.  We had to wait for it to open, so we were Total Wipeout contestants in the children’s playground opposite.   I balanced on planks, inched my way along chain ropes, stepped across tree trunks and wobbled over bridges, in my trouser suit and L K Bennetts.  It was a heavenly evening. The Fair opened.  Son 1 Hooked A Turtle.  A prize every time. He chose a plastic sniper’s rifle. Son 1 and Son 2 are not allowed guns. Unless they win them.  He went on the super Play House – a glass maze, spinning drum, electric stair case and top floor soft play.  He Hooked A Turtle again. Supposedly for Son 2, but he chose a plastic handgun and decided to keep it.  He went on an inflatable slide and a bouncy castle. He gazed longingly at the dodgems.  It has been well over 30 years since I’ve been on dodgems.  But we did it. “We’re supposed to bash the other cars!” “I am bashing the other cars!” “Bash them harder!”  He had a go on darts, and hooked more turtles. He ate his own height in pink candy floss. By the time we left he had four plastic gun sets and a cuddly Bagpuss.

Feeding Time

1. Leaves

2. Pellets

3. Sugar

We heard Car Share Family when they knocked on the door this morning, but missed the Veg Box man, who left everything on the doorstep.  Son 1 aged 6y 7m went off to School. Son 2 aged 3y 7m decided that he wanted to go to the Bird Park.   We wanted to get there in time for the morning penguin feed, knowing we’d have to miss the afternoon one to pick up Son 1. But I had to do some Office work, clear up and clean up, hang washing out and get washing on, so it didn’t happen.   It was a glorious morning, and the Soft Play room was nearly empty.  I sent Son 2 to play while I had a coffee, and then we played in the Ball Pool with the air jets. Son 2 loved it, and laughed and laughed, with his little baby-toothed smile and dirty giggle.  Then we went on an obstacle course he designed.  Over and under the soft play barriers, up the ladder, across the netting, swinging on the ropes, sliding down the big blue slide. And crossing the rope bridge.  All in a little brown linen skirt, which I don’t recommend. Son 2 ran and laughed and rolled and scrambled and climbed and dived. He’s adorable and I love him.

We went out to look at the animals.  Checked out the red pandas and then went looking at the owls.  I read out the names for Son 2.  We liked the scarlet ibis and the white kingfisher. Two toucans fought, lamping each other with their beaks, clack, clack.  The otters weren’t out.  We peered at the snake, and coo-ed over the mummy rabbit and her three babies.  In the farm there were eight or nine pigs stretched out in the sun. We fed them goat food, but their snorting, snuffling snouts weren’t really the right shape for feeding through the fence, so we scattered the pellets on the floor. At the goats, as usual, the big ‘uns crowded out the babies.  I offered to feed the big ‘un while Son 2 fed the babies, but he wasn’t bovvered. He liked them all. He finished off with the biggest billy, with horns bigger than him. I stopped him feeding it the paper bag. 

We drove from the Bird Park to the School.  Son 2 slept. We collected Son 1 and the boys ran around the playground while we waited for Car Share Boy to finish his class. Son 2 fell over and yet again, smashed his forehead. That child will have cranial abrasions his whole life because he always gets the same place. I usually take food for after school, but because we were at the Bird Park the boys missed out. And misbehaved all the way home. Its always blood sugars. Low blood sugar = rubbish behaviour. High blood sugar = rubbish behaviour. Back at the House, Son 1 ate a full round of sandwiches and most of a tin of ravioli. And then they both went outside for a water fight with The Man. “Thanks for promising them a water fight,” he said, dripping wet.  “Next time you can do it.” “He who bought the water pistols plays with them,” I told him. “I don’t do guns.”

Easter Parade

1. Eggs

2. Lambs

3. Bunnies

The Man has been back one night and we are again bed-hopping en famille. The Man and I start off in the Big Bed. Son 1 aged 6y 7m comes up and gets inbetween us. Son 2 aged 3y 7m comes up. The Man goes downstairs to the Double Room with him. Son 1 follows me across the Big Bed, however hard I try to escape him. I got up last night to put his Easter Eggs under his bed. He woke this morning and pelted down to retrieve them, and then lay quietly beside me again. “Are there any eggs in the cupboards?” “No, I put them under your bed. I thought that was what you wanted. ” Silence. “Oh Son 1 I got up in the night to do that. Don’t start sulking.” A small voice. “I’m trying not to be too disappointed.”  I got up and hid the bloody eggs up and down the four-storey house. Son 1 went off happily to wake Son 2 aged 3y 7m. It was 0630.

They stuffed themselves with Haribos and somehow I got them out of The House and down to The Church. We were late. The Vicar’s Wife was running a little play session in Toy Corner, and Son 2 sat down happily to do some colouring. Son 1 piled up two kneelers and lolled limpidly in the pew. ”Where’s The Vicar?” “He’s hurt his leg. He can’t come.” The stand-in Vicar invited the childen up to the front for a story. He gave them all a hot cross bun. On his way back Son 1 took a bag of nativity toys to play with.  “P’yiow! P’yiow! P’yiow!” The Three Kings were fighting. Whispered imitation gunshots peppered the pauses in the prayers. “Will you stop doing that!” I hissed. “Why?” said Son 1, bashing a camel with a King. “Because it’s a Church and you’re supposed to be peaceful.”  The service was too long, and both boys lost it by the end. There was though, as usual, an egg hunt, and the second the choir had left, they pelted round grabbing fistfuls of cream eggs.

After Church we went home for a Birthday Present and then got straight in the car for an Easter party. It took me forever to find it, and then even longer to make Son 1 sit down and watch the children’s entertainer rather than run round and spot the egg hunt baskets. The sun beat down, and none of us had sun cream on. But a great party, and it was lovely to see Son 1 and Son 2 having the time of their life. Birthday Girl’s Dad dressed up as the Easter Bunny. I took pictures to show The Man how he can improve.  The boys had yet more eggs. At the end, I had both boys in the car before Son 1 decided he needed the loo. We went back, and I took him into an en suite inside the hosts’ house.  Granny was outside, making sure we found it ok. Son 1 sat on the loo seat and proclaimed, very loudly: “They’re much richer than us, aren’t they?”

Lost And Found

1.  Tweedledum And Tweedledee

2.  Curiouser And Curiouser

3.  The Red Queen’s Race

4.  Vanishing Cats

Son 1 aged 6y 7m longs for me to play Junior Monopoly with him.  He set the game up beautifully. And Son 2 aged 3y 7m trashed it.  Tramped and kicked his way through Son 1’s orderly piles and threw the board across the room so it split in two again. It is, as ever, a Mummy attention thing. Very Tired Son 2 cannot play Monopoly. Doesn’t understand it. Doesn’t want Mummy tied up playing it with Son 1. Son 1 loves it. Wants to grind me into bankruptcy.  Son 1 wants to watch Pokemon and Bakugan and every odd Japanese war game animation CITV thingie going. I think it’s all too old for Son 2.  When one is happy, the other is bored. Whichever one I try to sort out, the other kicks off. By 12 noon, ignoring Son 1’s howls of protests, I had lunches packed. We were going to the Zoo. 

Once we were in, I got my boys back. Son 1 dashing off to look for tortoises. Son 2 running after him. They chose where we went and I followed. They ran in and out of bushes, and along and around paths and paving. The Big Slide.  Several small, brown unspecial deer.  Then the Maze. On Satday They ran through one way while I pushed the buggy around the outside. They beat me.  They ran back the other way. I beat them. It just got a tiny bit nerve-wracking. “Son 2!” I yelled, worried that Son 1 had lost him, and wanting him to hear my voice. “Son 2!” The Maze hedges are easily head-high. At last two little figures pelted out. ”Where have you been?” “We went round and round in circles in the middle.  Can we do it again?” asked Son 1, cheeks red, panting, eyes shining.  Again, they beat me one way, I beat them on the way back.

We sat at the picnic tables for lunch. A seagull swooped down and snatched Son 1’s sandwich, and it stalked us, staring, until I clapped it off for the fourth time. There was an Alice In Wonderland Tea Party on the lawn, with the Mad Hatter face-painting and the Cheshire Cat running a tombola. Son 1 had three goes and won a Lemur cuddly toy. The Luck Of The Draw Son 2 had a go on a lolly lucky dip. He didn’t care about winning. Still on his sweet ban, he just wanted a lolly.  A White Rabbit walked by with a microphone. A duck race was about to start, in the stream by The Maze from the Bridge By The Otters to the Bridge By The Parrots.  Son 1 chose Duck 730. Son 2 Duck 67. Duck 730 won. Son 1 had a box of chocolates. “Can we share them Son 1? Can we share them?” Son 2 leapt up and down, cuddling the lemur. “I lub Son 1 when he wins things.”  

We sat in the sunshine on a grassy knoll by the Tea Party. The boys ate chocolates. ”I’m going to save some for Daddy.” We went down to the hairy pigs. There were three babies, and they were heavenly. We watched them for a while. ”Mummy can we play in the playground by the car park before we go?” asked Son 1. “Yes if you like.” We turned to go. “Let’s run through the bushes,” said Son 2. “Okay, and I’ll see you on the other side,” I said.  I pushed the buggy round.  No sign of them. I waited. Nothing. I walked back. Gone. I walked back again. Nope.  I scanned the immediate area. I listened. I walked to the Zoo playground.  No-one there. I walked the whole length of the Zoo back to the office by the entrance.  No boys. I pushed the buggy all the way back to the playground. No.  I’m going to have to own up, I thought. “Excuse me,” I stopped a zoo worker. “I’ve lost my children.”  She called a colleague who spoke into a radio. “You need to go to the office,” said the colleague. We walked together. “What are they wearing?” “Well the little one’s in a bright red fleece… just so I can see him when he runs off.”  At that moment we saw a little figure in red trotting along behind a limping older boy. We hurried across and I called them. Son 1 had fallen and had a big dent in his knee. I thought they’d wanted to go to the Zoo Playground and had been hunting there. Son 1 had been talking about the playground outside The Zoo, so had been looking for me near the entrance. My Family And Other Animals At the First Aid shed, there were plasters and lollipops. When we got back to The House, The Man was home and had made sausages for tea.  He had the best water guns that TK MAxx sells as presents, and they all tumbled outside for a water fight. Son 2 gave up, drenched but happy. “Daddy tipped water all over me and I freezing.”

When We Collide

1. Vegetable

2. Mineral

3. Animal

Son 2 aged 3y 7m is banned from cakes and sweets and biscuits and chocolates and pudding until next Wednesday. With good behaviour, he may get parole in time for The Egg Hunt Party on Sunday.  I have bought dried cranberries and grapes and blueberries and satsumas and plain yoghurts for Son 2, so that he still has yummies when Son 1 aged 6y 7m has pudding or sweets.  Yesterday teatime, Son 2 had cranberries and blueberries and a yoghurt and a satsuma. Running  Son 2 woke me up sometime in the dark. “I need a poo.”  Son 2 had done a poo. Big, sloppy and fruity.  1am. Serves Mummy right. Son 2 is limitless in his range of retaliatory strikes.

We decided to have a re-run of the disaster that was Wednesday, and we went to the Beach By The Barden.  It was perfect. The tide was way, way out. We spread the beach mat far down along the sea wall, next to the rock pools we love so much. A huge outcrop, usually well underwater, stuck out from hundreds of yards of brown, green and black shiny granite.  It was There, and Son 1 was Mallory. Bloody Rocks The three of us skidded and paddled and oo-ed and ouched over rock and seaweed and pebbles and shells. Well, Son 1 was ok. I was in bare feet, and Son 2’s flipflops are still buried much further along the beach.  “Son 1  you can climb to the top and then you have to come down and we have to go where we can see our mat.  I don’t want anyone taking our things.”  He went straight up like a cat up a tree. Son 2, inevitably, followed, but couldn’t get all the way. I lifted him as far as I was happy. I looked up at the two of them sitting happily. “I wish I’d brought my phone. I could take a picture of you.” “I know Mummy!” said Son 1. “We can climb down, get the phone, and then climb back up again.”  So we did. They stayed and played at the foot of the rock while I skidded and slipped back. 

We had an amazing hour + of rockpooling. Son 2, on his own, with his net, caught two shrimps at once. Son 1 nearly dropped dead from jealousy.  We harvested crabs of every size and colour. Hermit crabs pretending to be periwinkles, wobbling across the bottom of the rockpools.  Shrimps. We tried to catch fish. But we  were hampered by Son 2, small but scarey, who was hanging on to his double-shrimp advantage by lobbing boulders into the water whenever we saw anything good. Then, at last, Son 1 triumped. A starfish the size of a 2p. The first one our family has ever found on our own.  My First Starfish It started to rain, so we packed up. I bought Son 1 a mighty whirly whipping ice cream with two flakes in it. I bought Son 2 an empty cone.  Son 1 let him have some of his. Back home, The Family From Along The Terrace called. Did we want to go to the Sailing Club? God yes, I thought. Glass of wine. Grown up chat. Boys playing nicely with the girls. Meltdown. They played up at home, they played up there. “Son 2 if you tip that jigsaw box out we are GOING HOME!”  What happened next, I hear you wonder. Back home, I nagged and ranted and ranted and nagged. “Why do you ALWAYS behave for everyone except me?  I TOLD you I would have  a sword fight with you after I’d had a sit down and a chat. So WHY did you dance up and down shouting ‘I’m going crazy!’ Every time I come in from work! Every time I see you!  And you’re so GOOD for EVERYONE else!  Why why WHY do you save it for me?” Son 1 turned his beautiful blue eyes on me and said: “Because we need to get your attention, Mummy.”

The Hobgoblin Of Little Minds

1. Asparagus In April

2.  Spring Scene

3.  Wet Wednesday

There is a foolish consistency in the way I lose it and then feel wretched afterwards when Son 1 aged 6y 6m and Son 2 aged 3y 7m play up. A Wickid Christmas The only Good Thing that happened today was the fresh asparagus in the Veg Box. I ate the whole bunch with butter, after bedtime.  There, that’s got the good bit out of the way.  Let’s stand and survey the rubble of the rest of it. Hang on. There’s another positive thing. My toenails are painted. Because I took ages getting ready. Because Son 2 was so awful I didn’t want to be near him. It’s been ages since I had toe nail varnish on. I always thought bare toenails are a sign of a woman who’s given up. 

Another positive. The weather. Glorious sunny. A very low tide at The Beach By The Garden. At about midday, we made it onto the Beach with the Booming Business Wednesday Mum, who I haven’t seen for weeks.  The water was liquid metal, shimmering silver and gold, with slow, six inch waves rolling gently up the long shallow slope of the sand. Exhausting Options  I’d forgotten Son 1’s cut down wet suit. And had nothing to dress him in.  He stayed in his shorts and top. I got suntan lotion onto the boys. Son 1 went off with Best Friend, clutching fishing nets, followed by Little Brother and Son 2. Son 1, Best Friend and Little Brother went far, far off over the rocks towards the sea. Son 2 stood at the edge of the rocks watching them. He came backand tried curling up to sleep on the mat and towels. Maybe that explains the horrible, horrible scene we had this morning, which has resulted in his being banned from cakes, sweets, biscuits and chocolate for a week. Which includes Easter.

The big boys headed back over, and then played running in and out of the sea. So did Son 2. Son 1 and Best Friend went further and further in, but the beach slopes so gently I wasn’t bothered. I was bothered about Son 2 though, so I kept a wary eye on him from 100 yards away. I walked down to the sea. Then I realised Son 1 and Best Friend were in  chin deep, Son 1 in his normal clothes. And the beach slopes so gently that they were 100 yards away I called them back.  Son 2 ran happily in and out of the water. Son 1 heaved his sodden, sopping heavy cotton clothing back up the beach, helpfully sitting down on the sand to get the maximum weight of sand stuck to his bottom. I had nothing to change him into, so put him in a pair of Son 2’s pants and his Pirate robe.  Acres of bare white flesh was exposed to the sun but he wouldn’t let me put suncream on. And I couldn’t find Son 2’s flipflops. Pester Points Because Son 1 and Best Friend had buried them in the sand, and then couldn’t find them. I packed them all up and took them home to teach them Not To Bury Things In The Sand. I felt worn, weary, and physically sick inside at all the effort it takes to get them to behave. And I feel so wounded, because everyone else who comes into contact with them says they’re wonderful little boys. It’s all saved for me. They ignore everything I say. Over tea, Son 2 snatched at Son 1’s chocolate yoghurt to get the little sweetie balls and knocked it onto the floor in a great big creamy splatty heap. I’m thinking of working Wednesdays and paying someone else to look after them.

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.

Last Day Of Term

1.  The Odd One Out

2.  Baby Bonding

3.  Storm Force

Again, the scrum to get Son 1 aged 4y 2m to Nursery.  I’d meticulously left everything out last night.  We left home on time; we got there easily.  We had to park nearby, because I had to haul in the car seat for The MAn to do the pick up on his way back through.  As we walked along we saw more and more other mums dropping their children off.  There were party dresses, Thunderbirds outfits, Power Rangers, jeans, sweatshirts… and only one little boy in his uniform.  Oh Dear.  Son 1 was unbothered.  “Silly Mummy,” he said, clutching his Rudolf The Red-Nosed Reindeer cuddly toy.  Back in the car I found his Captain Hook hat, and went back into the Nursery to give it to him.  He was wearing a Santa Hat and carrying a sack race bag.  He would have loved to spent the day at Nursery in his Captain Hook outfit.  Silly Mummy.

Wonder Nanny had a funeral, so I ran round at work and then pelted out again to get home in time.  Mr Wonder Nanny was parked opposite the house with the engine running when I arrived.  I gave him a cheery wave.  I got some work done while Son 2 aged 15m was asleep, but after that there was no point. It was very nice to have some time with him.  We played farms, we got out books he pointed at, we did some washing.  He hugged his highchair and cried; I got the hint and gave him a snack.  We giggled and tickled and cuddled.  Son 1 and The Man arrived home, Son 1 in a too-small pirate outfit borrowed from the Dressing Up Rack.  He flopped down on the floor grumpily, knackered after the Nursery Christmas Party.  The Man had bought some Ben 10 Top Trumps as a present for Son 1, and soon he was sitting on the floor looking at them while Son 2 was picking cards and waddling off with them.

The Office Christmas Party.  At an attraction we visit sometimes with the boys. There is the tourists’ route, sign-posted, huge roads, a long way round.  And there is another route.  Unsignposted, narrow, winding and much much quicker.  Every time we go I take the short cut, and every time I get lost.  In daylight.  Tonight there was a severe weather warning. 4cm of rain expected, gail force winds.  Driving alone, I took the short cut.  In driving rain, pitch black, winds that buffeted the car.  No visibility despite windscreen washers on doublespeed.  Great deep pools of water across the road.  Branches down… at times I couldn’t see the sides of the road let alone which side I was meant to be driving on.  I got lost.  I didn’t know which way round I was.  I got there in the end – everyone had finished their starters.  It was fun.  As I left at the end I could hear a train coming towards the building.  It was the sound of the storm-force wind on the roof.  On the way back I went to the 24 hour Tesco and bought washing powder, soap, bleach and nappies.

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 20m 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 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.

Cliffhanger

1.  Them

2.  Vertigo

3.  True Grit

It was Early.  “Mummmeee.  Mummmmeee.”  Son 2 aged 22m. Standing in his cot.  “Boo.” He stunk. Son 1 aged 4y 10m slid out of bed as I picked up Son 2, and followed us into the Double Bedroom.  I lay Son 2 down on the Double Bed and got in. ”That gap is just the right size for me,” pronounced Son 1, squeezing himself between me and Son 2. They buzzed me like gnats.  I took Son 2 out of his sleeping bag; he wriggled off the bed and wandered off. He came back.  Son 1 went to get some toys.  He came back. The Man snored upstairs in The Big Bed. I tried sending them to see him. They came back. I went to the loo. They followed me.  I got up, and changed Son 2’s nappy.    

We are trying to make our five-level, up a cliff, concreted back garden a bit more child-friendly.  It’s lethal at the moment, blessed as we are with the vigorous, fearless and clueless climber that is Son 2. We have a patio table separated from a 20 foot drop onto a concrete yard by a rickety fence. We have flight upon flight of open concrete steps. We have loose flagging. We have rotten trellises. We have gravel, we have crumbling terrace walls. Low maintenance and perfect for the hugely-busy, child-free mostly-out couple we were when we moved here.  The Man pulled out weeds and woody clematis; I tried to keep the boys safe. Every time The Man put the secateurs down, they had them. I tried to clear the debris away from the concrete steps to make them safer; the boys followed me and tried to help.  Left to their own devices they made a snail fizz by banging on its shell with their trowels.     We marched them into the Town.

We went to a children’s craft session at The Art Gallery.  Our Neighbour The Dancer from down the Terrace greeted us. She is a volunteer, we discovered. And an artist. Two of her decorated fairground-style horses had prime exhibition space. The boys made felt hoodies. Cut out, stick on, pipe cleaners, animal prints, stickers.  Son 2 and I made a pig, but he wouldn’t wear it. Son 1 wouldn’t let me suggest what his was. It was like Boo’s monster costume in Monsters Inc. “Hers is purple,” said Son 1. His was blue. Back home we had tea on the patio. Sausage, potatoes and peas.  Further up the cliff, houses back on to us.  There is a bungalow where an ancient man used to live. When he died about five years ago it became a squat.  As we ate, the sound of loud drumming blasted across the air. “When are you going to stop?” shouted Son 1. “We are having our tea outside!  My Mummy is sitting down and having five minutes peace!  This is too loud!”  The Man and I sipped our Sauvignon Blanc.  We made a half-hearted effort to shush him. Next door but one got his lawn mower out underneath them. “When are you going to stop!”  bellowed Son 1. The drumming stopped.

A Good Impression

1. A Helping Hand 

2.  Holding Hands

3.  A Big Hand

I helped myself to a lie in. Just couldn’t get up.  Eventually we all got going, but Son 1 aged 4y 10m was being strident and shouty, demanding and mouthy, picking on Son 2 aged 22m, not tolerating him when he buzzed his games.  Absolutely normal behaviour for a 4 year old boy, but The Man and I are Very Tired.  I took them swimming in The Hotel pool.  Son 1 was great, swimming and splashing on the noodle.  He still wanted to bomb and splash, but it was too crowded. And he had make-pretend games he wanted to play… but I had to keep Son 2 from drowning. ”We need Daddy, don’t we?” said Son 1. I think I may have to agree with him.  Son 2, smiling and eyes dancing,  will jump off the side without fear. I let him go under without catching him once, but he looked so shocked as he came up, gleaming, blinking and coughing, that I didn’t do it again.  He’s not as confident in the water as Son 1 was at his age, but then I used to take Son 1 to swimming lessons every week, and just for a play swim on Sundays. He ended the session: “Cold!  Out! Towel!”

Back home The Man had been in a cupboard and found the old plaster-casting kit we had for Son 1.    We took a beautiful cast of his hand when he was 6m, on a very giggly Sunday morning, with me holding a comatose Son 1, Nanna holding the impression bag and The Man pouring the gunk in. i would love a cast of Son 2, but he never sleeps deeply enough.  Son 1 was desperate to do his hand.   We added the water, and I squodged the bag round Son 2’s hand. “Don’t move it, DON’T MOVE IT! I screeched. And then saw the frightened look in his eyes. “It’s ok, you’re doing fine,” I calmed down.  It set, and we peeled it off.  It looked good.  It needed to dry for two hours before we could cast from it. 

Son 2 and I went upstairs to put him down for a sleep.  We snuggled into the Double Bed.  He snugged me for a bit, then wandered off over to the other side of the bed. He fell asleep.  So did I. He woke a couple of times, and wriggled back towards me. He fell back to sleep. So did I. I woke up and saw his little face peering at me. “Up!”  We went downstairs. “Mummy come and see my hand!” Son 1 pelted out of the lounge. We went down to the kitchen.  The plaster cast of his hand is perfect.  Individual fingers… a complete little four-year-old hand with no Pompeii-like cracks or broken bits. It’s lovely. “Will you keep it forever?” said Son 1. Yes I will.

Guidance

1.  ”A” Roads

2.  Ring Roads

3.  Country Roads

 I didn’t see the boys today. Left for the Great Big City at 6am, just got back.  Lordy lordy.  So. Being positive. I got out of the house without waking either Son 1 aged 4y 10m or Son 2 aged 22m.  The Great Big City is a place I spent a lot of time BC. But The Office’s er… office…  has moved since those days, and I had no idea where I was going.  Enter The Man’s Sat Nav.  I put up with the cloying female voice telling me directing me along roads I know upside down and back to front. I stopped for coffee after three hours on the road. I switched it back on for directions into The Great Big City.  She had stopped talking. 

I’d put the postcode of the new Office in… and round and round I went.  Baffled, bored and a bit intimidated – don’t box junctions mean the same in Big Cities as they do in The Country? – I stopped and asked a post lady.  ”Just double back on yourself and you can’t miss it,” she said.  Oh yes I could. The Sat Nav kept re-calculating every time I took a turn it didn’t like.  And then, half an hour later, I found it, and trailed in, triumphant.

Six hours later, I set off for the drive back.  Jaysus we really do live miles from the rest of you.  It was a long haul, but at least it didn’t rain – big skies though, with big grey Turner-like clouds billowing up and up into the heavens.  I listened to the radio, and admired the glowing green of the countryside.  A sure sign it’s been p***ing it down for days.  the Parking Fairy gave me a space outside the house. The Man poured me a large glass of Sauvignon Blanc. Wonder Nanny’s notebook says Son 2 wasn’t feeling well today.  Missing his Mummy, I bet.

Scooby Doo

1.  Scrappy Doo

2.  Scooby Doo

3.  Scoopy Poo

Yesterday’s marathon gave me an afternoon off, and I took Son 1 aged 4y 10m to see Scooby Doo and the Pirates in The Big City.  I felt desperately guilty about Son 2 aged 22m… when I booked the tickets last October he was 13m old. Couldn’t walk, couldn’t talk, couldn’t do anything.  Now he thinks he’s 4, loves Scooby Doo and can point him out on a poster, loves Pirates (”Arrrr!” and “Hook!”) and would have been devastated if any of us had admitted he was being left behind. Instead we pretended that I was taking Son 1 to school, and Wonder Nanny engineered things so Son 2 was asleep when I swooped in and out to collect him.

Great show and a great time.  Just as I fell in love with Anthony during The Wiggles, there is now Something There That Wasn’t There Before with Shaggy.  He’s happy and kind,  he loves animals and dancing and he adores food. We were in the second row. Son 1 kept hiding under the chairs of the front row when the pirates came out.  He seems so big when we’re with Son 2, but on his own, in a theatre with 2000 people he seemed tiny. “I know who the pirate queen is Mummy, the  lady who likes chocolate in the first bit.” 

“Do you need the loo?” I asked before we left the theatre. “No,” he answered crossly, as he always does. Then, two miles into the 70-mile trip home “I need a poo!”  “Can you wait a bit?” “No! It’s coming!”  We stopped in a supermarket car park.  Lidl and the Co-op. Not a loo between them. We asked in a community centre. No, the loos couldn’t be opened.  It rained.  I fished in my hessian shopping bag.  A printed out email from The Office and a handful of napkins.  I perched Son 1 in a corner by a hedge. “Have a wee and then go on that.”  He obliged.  I picked up the Matter.  And that is how I came to be walking around a shopping centre with a rolled-up email filled with poo in one hand a four year old’s grasp in the other.  I found a lined bin and got rid of it.  Pre-children, pre-swine flu, I didn’t even know you could get small bottles of antiseptic hand gel. But as it happened, I had one in the car.   I cleaned my hands. “Wash your hands with this,” I handed the bottle to Son 1.  His small voice came from the back. “Oh. Missed.  It’s gone everywhere.”

Eight Seagulls

1.  Lines

2.  Arcs

3.  Dots

Lordy lordy lordy. 3  x 250ml glasses of wine. Scissor Sisters on TV. I have told The Man how special I think he is and he says I can buy him the Scissor Sisters for his brithday.  Younger Sister and Son 2 aged 22m’s Pagan Godfather went to see the Scissor Sisters in 1999. Or something.  They have no children and are so much more fashionable and richer than us. I keep pressing things which make the screen get bigger and smaller. :Like Alice. Only with less punctuation. The Man says there are a lot women Out There who will regret their tattoos.  I wish I had a tattoo.  It’s not Too Late. 

Ahem.  Took Son 1 aged 4y 10m and Son 2 for haircuts. Consecutive, not concurrent. Like prison sentences. Son 2 played with the Noah’s Ark till Son 1’s haircut was finished; then Son 2 played with it till Son 1 was finished.  They both now have a bit of a “Joan Of Arc” look about them. Nanna and The MAn are not pleased with Son 2’s look.  However. In the  hairdresser’s defence. Son 2 never stopped swinging round to look at Things. 

Went to the Discount Store; filled up on conditioner/shampoo/cleanser etc.  Blew up New Pirate Ship Ball Pool.  Took Son2 to bed. He was very interested, till he heard the click of the back door and snaked himself off the bed, down a flight of stairs and outside.  Nanna came. I made tea. Shepherd’s pie, meat and veggie.  Son 2 tried to cling to my leg.  Tea Time. Everyone wolfed their food. The Man and I went out while Nanna babysat. Usually we only have 2. Today, a neighbour dropped by while we were sitting outside The Bar.  We had 3. He left. I went to the bar to talk to the male nursery nurse Son 1 wants as his party leader next month.   He is free, only  he already has a booking which isnt dependent on time.  We want the Afternoon.  He and his girlfriend left.  We sat outside, The Man and I on a bench.  Between us and The River was a three-storey block of flats. On the roof were eight seagulls. The Man and I had a discussion about it. Was there really a Young One on the chimney, far left?  We agreed there were Eight.  We chatted.  We realised several seagulls were flying, loudly, above us and in front of us.  There were none on the roof any more.

How You Kill A Giraffe

1.  Warriors

2. Rangers

3. Hunters

Son 2 aged 22m has taken to early morning screaming again.  I have been comatose this week, so The Man has sorted him. This morning was my turn.  Slightly tipsy last night, I crashed in the double bed.  Son 1aged 4y 10m joined me at 4am.  Much eyebrowing.  No sleep.  And then Son 2 started hollering. “Mummeee!”  “Mummeee!” I went in, told him to stop making that noise, put his fan on, kissed him, said night night and left.  He was apoplectic.  He yelled, he shrieked, he roared, he shouted.  We drowsed.  “MUMMEEE!!! MUMMMMEEEE!!!!!”  It stopped, eventually.  A while later it began again, equally angry.  Again, I left him. When I got him up from his cot at 8am he wouldn’t look at me.

A sponsored walk today, with some Office colleagues, in a town 30 miles away.  The sort of event that In Five Years’ Time I could take the children to. This time, I left them at home with The Man.  I set out late and found my way to the start by Sat Nav.   A colleague and I powered around, really pushing the pace. It was pretty punishing; uphill around three and half sides of a square, and then a very short, steep downwards slope towards the finish.  But, brilliant countryside, amazing views, beautiful colours,  and another vast, grey, rolling sky. The rain stayed off and sunbeams made it through several times.    We had a great time.  And then at the end, in the garden of one of the organising fundraisers,  homemade muffins and coffee.  I also got a certificate for finishing. It has been many years since I got a certificate.

I got back late in the afternoon.  The boys were having veg and hummous, a very late lunch, in front of the telly. A friend and her three-year-old came round. Son 1 pogo-d around with excitement. The big boys got the bows and arrows out. “Not in here!” I barked. “Outside!” “And me!” chirruped Son 2.  We chatted on the patio while the boys played.  “We are going to shoot wild pigs,” announced Son 1. And then: “Does anyone want to cook this wild pig?” He mimed holding something. “I’ll cook it,” I said. “Can I have an arrow?” “You don’t need an arrow. We have already shooted it.” “I was going to put the arrow through the middle to roast the pig,” I said. “Then you can have this red one,” said Son 1. “I will go and kill a giraffe. Do you know how you kill a giraffe?  You climb up very high and put a knife up its nose.”   We Need To Talk About Son 1.

Dance Of The Hours

1.  A Thousand Cuts

2.  Thanks A Thousand

3.  A Thousand Times

Son 2 aged 22m didn’t wake up screaming till 0615.  This is a Good Thing. Lately it’s been unremitting before 0530.  The Man has tried.  I’ve just left him, his screams not quite drowned out by the klaxon of my guilt. I wonder what’s wrong. Wonder Nanny says he’s the same when he wakes up from his daytime naps. I wouldn’t know. He never sleeps in the daytime when he’s with me. Which all leads me to the Pang Pang Pang conclusion that he needs to see me more. Oh Lord.   At least we have Wonder Nanny so he doesn’t have to go to Nursery.  He stood at the door and cried after she left tonight. Pang Pang Pang.    

Cheer Up, Said George.  (Son 2 and I are doing The Smartest Giant In Town at the moment.)  The Man has taken some time off.  This is cause for the firing of cannons and a public holiday.  I have tried pointing out that even Junior Doctors are barred by law from working more than 48 hours a week but for some reason he thinks he’s exempt from the Working Time Directive.   And the boys’ Elegant Aunt has offered us her timeshare week. Hoorah hoorah.

I tried to get home from work a bit early to see a little more of Son 1 aged 4y 10m and Son 2.  Didn’t work.  When I cuddled Son 2, Son 1 went mad with jealousy, and relentlessly tried to bash him off me or force his way between us. When I cuddled Son 1, Son 2 let out intolerable ear-splitting shrieks and I ended up dumping him in his cot.  I left him there for five minutes, and then went back up. He was standing, in his dungarees, cute as a kitten, in the corner of his cot.   A big smile. “Mummeeeee!” “Are you going to stop shrieking?” “Yesssssssssssssss.”  And he made it till bedtime without a single screech.  And then, after I’d laid Son 1 down in his bed and closed their bedroom door, their day ended as it began. “MUMMMMEEEEEEE! MUMMMMEEEEE!!!!”

Diablo

1.    Graffiti

2.    White Noise

3.    Performance

Son 2 aged 22m has scribbled in biro on my lovely leather chair again. See here for previous episode.  http://smileandwaveboys.wordpress.com/2009/04/28/wheres-spot/He was in the lounge with Son 1 aged 4y 10m, watching telly while I did my hair and make up.  A Wednesday Mum rang, Son 1 answered and brought the phone upstairs. I chatted – her car’s broken down so they couldn’t come on today’s planned outing – and went downstairs with the phone and Son 1.  “Dor!” said Son 2, happily, pointed at his artwork.  Black. Circles. He’s pressed hard, And he’s done crosses on the arms as well. I was livid. I held him at arm’s length, yelling at him for being naughty, took him upstairs, dumped him in his cot and closed the door.  I went downstairs, out of breath from stomping up too quickly.   I sorted the washing out. I put the washing on.  I heard a high-pitched wail from upstairs. I cleared up a bit in the kitchen.  After 5 full minutes (I never leave him more than two in case he climbs out. But I was cross) I went back upstairs and opened the door.  He was standing in the corner of the cot, his arms folded.  He smiled. “Dat! Up Dere!”  He pointed out of the window.  If you’re bored, standing in the corner of the cot you can see the squatters’ bungalow up the cliff behind us (see here for previous episode http://smileandwaveboys.wordpress.com/2009/07/25/cliffhanger/) On the doorstep, in front of their red door, sat a black cat.  He says he won’t draw on Mummy’s chair again.  And Mummy says she won’t leave a 22m old alone in a room with a leather chair and a biro.

We were going out to a Play Day in the Big Town.   I packed up the car, including the boys, and remembered my phone. On my way back I saw a neighbour, someone we see to talk to about twice a week. She had some time off last week, and she and her long-term partner had a low-key wedding. I was thrilled , and told Son 1 as soon as I got back in “I just saw Neighbour!  She and Partner have got married!” “I knew that already,” said Son matter-of-factly. “How did you know that?” “I saw her with Wonder Nanny and she told us then.” “But it’s really exciting! Why didn’t you tell me?” “I forgot.”  Oh God.  He’s such a bloke already.

All the Play Day parking was gone by the time we got there, and men in yellow jackets were telling people to drive three miles out of Town and get the Park And Ride.  I parked at The Office, well over half a mile away.  Son 2 wanted to get out of the Big Pram, Son 1 wanted to get in. But we were seeing some friends we hadn’t seen for ages http://smileandwaveboys.wordpress.com/2008/12/03/the-christmas-tree/ so I wanted to hurry.  The Play Day was in the Town Park.  Or the Town Paddy Field, as it should now be known after countless days of rain.  The ground was sodden and sopping. We found our friends. The big boys were shy of each other at first, Son 2 just wanted to get out of the Pram, the 2 year old wasn’t really up for a play.   We found some bouncy castles and they bounced. They ran off to the playground area and played on balances and slides. Son loved the sea saw. We had lunch and headed to the Marquee to see acrobats we’d last seen at The Freezing Fiesta http://smileandwaveboys.wordpress.com/2009/05/26/the-freezing-fiesta/.  They were very good.  Handstands, acrobatics, diablos, girls with sashes doing aerial ballet up in the roof.  A band, a clown, and fire-jugglers.  The fire-jugglers let great balls of flame roar upwards. The clown, casually juggling three burning sticks on the stage where the band were playing yelled: “No! Not in the tent!” at the fire-eaters.  Last time we saw them, he cleared children from underneath the aerial ballerinas half way through their act.  I do like their Health And Safety style.   We went to the playground, the Big Boys played on the roundabout. “And me! And me!” cried Son 2.  There was a posse of bigger children on the roundabout. “Can he go in the middle?” I asked them. “Slowly, slowly, spin it slowly” they hissed to each other.  “Jack! Mind that baby!” barked a father from the bus shelter. “It’s ok,” I called back. “They’re being very good.”  Son 2 was spun slowly.  I took him out. He cried and reached back for it.  “Can we sit on the outside and I’ll spin it?” I asked the posse.  They assented.  I span us round and round. I took him off when I was dizzy.  The posse piled back on and whizzed it round like a drill bit.  We bought cold drinks, and went back to the tents. There was a circus workshop on. Son 1 and his friend span sticks round and round like majorettes. Son 2 was fascinated by a diablo.  He held the sticks, I helped him get it on the string… he tried to throw it off.  Guess what I used to call him in his reflux days.

Never Had A Friend Like Me

1.  Punch

2.  Pizzazz

3.  Yahoo

Boy oh boy.  I am still struggling to get up each morning.  When I get the boys up there is fruit for pre-breakfast snacks, to get started on their five-a-day while they’re still hungry.  I dress them.  And I sit with Son 2 aged 22m to read five books – chosen by him, of course. We are very Child Led in our house.  This will Develop His Understanding And Vocabulary. It must take place with no distractions or diversions (ie Son 1 aged 4y 10m) so Son 2 is Focused.  Sticker Books are only allowed in the morning. as they are too exciting before bed.  Trips to the window seat to watch the bin men or recycling lorry are allowed, but only if he comes straight back after.   If I stay in bed, all three of them sit in the lounge in their pyjamas and watch telly till I get up.  This morning I managed to heave myself up and Son 2 and I did our books. Then we went upstairs where Son 1 was watching Aladdin.  I was in a mad rush, but the Genie had just been let out of the lamp and I cannot resist him. We all danced.   I’m In The Mood To Help You Dude. 

I ticked off some things from the To Do list.  Booked hall for Son 1 and Son 2’s joint birthday party.  That’s a Load Off.   Mmm. That may have been Jack Nicholson, not Robin Williams.    So I now have a hall and a Party Leader.   All I need now is a bouncy castle and we’re rocking.  I flew around The Town and got presents and cards for The Man’s birthday.  And a couple of cheap DVDs from HMV for me.     I bought a birthday card for Wonder Nanny’s Other Family’s Mother, who’s having a party tomorrow that we can’t get to  because we were already booked.  I sent an email back to The Boy Who Broke My Heart, who sent me one yesterday.  Regular readers will know he had to phone me, http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2009/07/19/visitors/ in a very strange collision of our separate, parallel worlds.  We are going to have coffee next time I am in the Teeming Metropolis.  Not.  At least not until I’m the size 12 I was in 1983. 

And I got out for a run.  Unrelated to the last line of 2.  It was, AT LAST, a lovely evening. The Man had planned drinks with a work colleague, so I went out for a quick jog after the boys went to sleep. I ran through The Town, past the Different Coloured Houses Sitting By The Sea,  to Rockpool Beach.  Really lovely.  Very warm, and the tide was in, so I ran along the lower sea wall as the tips of the waves touched it.  The horizon was miles and miles away, the sea was blue and flat, the air felt crisp and clear.  Coming back I heard a cry of “Serenedays!” It was a very young colleague from The Office, freshly shaved, in a very clean, pressed shirt, on his way out to celebrate a friend’s birthday.  He thought they would all end up in the Town’s Dodgy Nightclub.  I liked The Town’s early evening atmosphere. Families out… father and sons, matching builds and faces, walking shoulder to shoulder, eating chips from paper… big dock visitors in large, overwashed black tee shirts and thick jeans, smart ladies of a certain age escorted by husbands in chinos and pastel polo shirts… lippy teenagers “Keep running!” and girls in clothes I couldn’t dream of wearing…  I’m very glad I went out.

Eskimoses

2.  Partying

3.  Parading

Son 2 aged 22m lies on his nappy mat, stinking.  I clear him up.  “Wipe,” he commands.  I can’t let him have one until he is Clean. Otherwise he will start wiping himself.  I give his nose a kiss. He pulls me down towards him. I rub noses back and forth, telling him “Eskimoses Rub Their Noses.” He hoots with laughter. “Again. Again. Again. “ 

We went to a Summer Party, at the home of some friends in The Country.   Parking in their field, a massive Bouncy Castle, and another newly-mown field for the children to play on, including a goal with loads of footballs, a water slide, a playhouse and a rocket launcher.   The friend, someone I worked with years ago, carried her six-month-old around. Gorgeous. And about the size of Son 2. I do hope he’s out of the 9 – 12 month clothing before he’s two. The Man was hungover, and felt better after many burgers and sausages.  Son 1 aged 4 y 10m ate one sausage and a piece of lettuce. Son 2 said “Cake!  Cake!” Father Jack-like. Son 1 sped in, along and up the Bouncy Castle a zillion times. Son 2 made it on his own.  Although when he got to the top of the climbing wall, he sat, waiting for me to climb through and up to help him.  I made it, several times, but was inelegant scrabbling down in my black linen frock. It took me back to the days when I slid down marquee roofs wearing fancy dress…

We came home, I dashed into town shopping, taking Son 2 with me, hoping he’d have a snooze in The Big Pram. Nope.  Then we were in The Carnival.  A friend gave us a lift, his partner had made the costumers. Marlin for Son 1, Dory for her son and Nemo for Son 2. We joined our partners in the parade, secondary schoolchildren also in costume, hauling a huge whale on a boat trailer.  We watched and waited while Vikings, Pirates, penguins, fairies and cyclists gathered.  The Town Band had dressed up like the Welsh Guards in Rourke’s Drift.  We set off. Son 2 refused to walk, but just stood, peering and everyone and everything.  We walked down a steep hill towards The Town.  I was worried our whale was going to break loose, ten-pin bowl its way through the carnival procession and leap over the buildings at the bottom and into the sea like Free Willy. Son 1 held hands with his 3 year old friend all the way round, and collected a fortune in their buckets for looking cute.    Ye Olde Sweetshoppe was open, so I bought 2 Childcatcher lollipops for the boys at the end. They all crunched up. Son 2 had green food colouring all round his mouth. High as kites and off their heads with tiredness and sugar, they zinged around. 

When we got home, I showed Son 2 his reflection in the hall mirror. “Who’s that?” I asked. “Son 2!” he said.  The little lamb can say his name. Sigh.

People World

1.  Dealing Cards

2.  The Long Shot

3.  A Winner

So.  It was nearly 10pm by the time The Man and I got the boys to bed last night and, whacked out as we both were after heaving Son 2 aged 22m round a two-mile walking carnival, we rubbed our hands and chinked our glasses in anticipation of this morning’s lie in.  Nope.   Atomic Testing began before 7am.  The Man’s birthday, so he was allowed a Lie In, and the boys and I went downstairs to wrap the presents and write the cards. Yes I know, but I’ve been busy. Son 1 aged 4y 10m surveyed the present pile: a DVD boxed set, a DVD and three CDs. He picked the singing birthday card, the DVD boxed set and the DVD, picked the pirate wrapping paper and set about stringing sellotape round and round. It was crinkled, it was wobbly, it wouldn’t have survived the Royal Mail, but he wrapped it all himself.    Son 2 and I did three CDs, my card, his card and a singing Happy Birthday badge.  We took them all up to The Man with a cup of tea, and Son 1 unwrapped everything.  The Man was pleased with his presents, but is still planning to buy himself some essentials for The Boat. 

Son 2 was floppy, clingy, cross and impossible to please.  Son 1 aged 4y 10m wasn’t much better.  Son 2 wouldn’t be put down.  This was a Good Thing, because somewhere – probably Mumsnet – I have been reading about how babies end up with attachment disorders if they have  Distant Mothers.  Since when I have been consumed by trying to decide how clingy is Clingy Enough.   Son 1 was lying full-length on the floor, cheek on the carpet, playing sideways with his Lego.   The Man was allowed to do whatever he wanted, because it was his birthday. He wanted to go and look around DIY stores. Son 1 wanted to go to the Balloon Shop and choose balloons. I thought there was an outside chance that they would both sleep in the Pram/Buggy and then we could Do Nothing.  The Man liked the odds, so we pushed the boys into The Town. Son 2 passed out in the Big Pram, Son 1 didn’t. Back at the house, we piled them into the car and drove to the Big Town. Son 1 fell asleep, Son 2 didn’t.

We were having roast chicken for the Birthday Tea. Son 2 stood at the sink in his nappy and a Thomas The Tank Engine Apron, on a chair, cleaning potatoes with the washing up sponge, singing to himself, squeezing pools of water on the floor and pressing the buttons on the microwave.   The kitchen felt hot, and that was when I noticed I’d had the chicken roasting at Gas Mark 7 for more than an hour.  I whacked the gas down and improvised. The bird was fine, and I cut 20 minutes off the cooking time. Nanna came for tea, the boys ate well, and we popped party poppers. The boys blew out the candles on the Colin The Caterpillar smartie cake. Many times.   At bedtime we read Birthday Stories. Mr Birthday. Ziggy’s Birthday. Happy Birthday Winnie The Witch. Little Rabbit Gets Lost.  Little Rabbit’s birthday present is a trip to Rabbit World. Rabbit World has rabbit roller coasters, a rabbit pirate ship, carrot pedal boats and a rabbit rocket ship.  Son 1 studied the pictures carefully. “I wish there was a People World,” he said.

Shift Work

1.  ?

2.  >

3.  +

Getting Out Of The House.  The first Good Thing.  One of those mornings.  The Man and I went out with a couple of friends last night for a few birthday drinks and I just didn’t get up early enough. I read to Son 2 aged 1y 10m; he kept suggesting other books and I didn’t like to say no.  I couldn’t find anything.   I definitely had my mobile last night as we left the house because I called a friend to see if she could come out. I rang it from the house phone. No ringtone. Bother, Blast, Blow.  Just what I needed, the hassle of replacing my phone. I called the Hotel With The River View.  Nope, no-one had handed anything in. I went to get my mac.  The phone was in the pocket.  The mac was hanging at the back of the house where there is no phone signal.

The Office was a long, hard, mad slog.  But I did get out at lunchtime and went to TK Maxx.  Hell.  Not the place for a rainy summer school holiday.  Kagoules, harrassed mothers, snappy teenagers and loud and lively Little Ones. Gridlock.  I tried on dresses.  They have some lovely silks, cashmere and linen. But sadly my size 14 days have not returned.  I am in the beautiful clothes in every way except, shall we say, across the bodice.   I have simply got to run it all off. 

I was back home at a reasonable time, and decided to sail sweetly smiling through bedtime instead of my increasingly usual hurry-up-I’m-busy-hungry-tired mindset. It worked very well and we were done by 1930.  I started work, The Man started work. I went to bed at midnight, when the light was still on in his shed, out in the back garden, two-thirds of the way up the cliff.  I should check, I thought, in case he’s had heart attack up there and is lying, slumped over his paperwork, life flowing away… Then I remembered my Positive Mindset.  Off to bed I went. He’ll be fine, I thought.

Nemo

1.  Mummy Vanishes

2.  Fishing

3.  Finding Nemo

The Man was still alive this morning.  “I did think you might be worried.  I’ll take my phone up with me next time.”  “Is it a Wonder Nanny day today?” asked Son 1 aged 4y 10m as I was getting ready for The Office.  “Yes,” I said. “And then Mummy will be with you tomorrow.” He let off a high wail.  “You don’t (sob) love your boys (sob.)”  Thanks for that one Son 1, I’ll even up a little when I’m in the nursing home.  Son 2 aged 23m was a little darling. “Neno!  Neno!” I do an abridged version of Son 1’s Disney book. “Tak Ta!”  His lift-the-flap farm book.  I almost got him to sit all the way through The Cat In The Hat last night. The Cat was a winner, so was the fish.  He went walkabout well before Mother Came Home.

I had to drive to The City. The roads were ok, it’s always good to see my colleagues from The City Office, and someone said something very nice to me in a meeting. On the way back I stopped at Waitrose because we’re out of Cheerios and tea. A friend wants Wonder Nanny to take her child as well as our two for one day.  Fine, I said, but I’ll have to ask Wonder Nanny. She’d gone by the time I got back. Son 1 pelted down the stairs to greet me, Son 2 just sat up top laughing. 

Son 2 is great. “How old are you going to be on your birthday, Son 2?” “Doooo.”  We sat and read, and then he had his bath, lying face down, full length in it as he played with two tigers and a donkey. His post-bath game is called “Boo.” It involves him lying down with a towel over him. “Daddy, Daddy, something terrible’s happened!  I can’t find Son 2!”  Daddy comes in – somehow this is always timed just after he’s lain down on the bed – lifts up the towel and there is Son 2, who laughs his head off.  Son 1 also plays. He comes in, points at Son 2 and says “He’s there. Under the towel. He’s always under the towel.  Every time.” Again, thanks for that. I put a toy Nemo we’ve had hanging around for ages into the cot with Son 2 tonight, in the hope it might stop him screaming for me the minute I leave. He still screamed, but not for as long.  Could this possibly be the solution?

Direct Hit

1.  Hither To Thither

2.  Man To Man

3.  Wingtip To Wingtip

Festival week.   Can’t move the car – on street parking just vanishes.  We had to walk to The Rockpool Beach today.   It’s well over a mile away. In the days before I had Son 2, now aged 23m, I would put Son 1, now aged 4y 10m, into The Big Pram and stride away. Off to Swimming Lessons, a mile and a half away, on to the Rockpool Beach, a mile from the swimming lessons. He’d sleep, I’d keep fit, birds sang sweetly and the sun shone. Now Son 1 can walk that far, but it takes forever, and I only ever have a day. It’s worse at the moment. He has red raw heels where I made him wear and walk in his size 10.5 wellies in his 11.5 and growing feet.  I was economising.  I cwuld buy some more when the weather got worse in the autumn, I thought.  It rained for a month. I haven’t had any time off for a month and they looked all right.   I can’t even pass them onto Son 2 now because poor old Son 1 has split them at the sides.  Do Not Try This With Your Own Child.  We set off at 11am and we got there at 12.  Diversions: to the stand selling Red Arrows toys to buy some for our Wednesday Friends. To the discount store to buy new buckets and spades for the beach. Where do they go?  To the ice cream wagon. The poor Polish boy manning it had just shut up and locked up and was disappearing out the back. ”I need two lollies!” I begged, waving my purse. He opened, unlocked and put on his white coat to sell me two Fabs.  And now he has my custom forever.

One Wednesday Mum was there – the other is still visiting her parents.  Son 2 wanted to rockpool, so that’s more or less we did for three hours.  He’s great. “Fish!  Fish!”  We weren’t at all successful.  Son 1 wandered over.  ”We’re catching periwinkles!” I told him, for that is what was in our net. “Fish!” insisted Son. ”Maybe you’ll bring us luck, Son 1, we haven’t caught any fish so far.”  A gentle, older boy came over to tell us he had caught a fish. “And we’ve only just got here.”   Gentle Child stayed with us.  “Can I join in?” asked another, older child.  In the end, we had a shrimp, two crabs and two sea worms.  And Me, Son 1, Son 2 and five other boys aged from about 4 to about 8.

I packed us up, loaded up the Big Pram and we headed home to meet Nanna. The Man joined us on the way.  The Red Arrows were coming.  The skies were dark grey, heavy and low. A fifty per cent chance they would fly, said the Radio.  The children watched Wall E. I made tea. We ate it outside in the sea mist.I found a three-year-old friend of Son 1 and he and his mother came to watch the display at our house.   I hoped the Red Arrow would bother to come, as I had bigged them up so much. They came.  They were brilliant.  Zooming up and down the river, so we had a perfect view. Son  1 was just full to his hair roots of joy.  Son 2 said “More planes! More planes!” whenever they disappeared from view.  It was fantastic. After they’d gone Son 1 clutched his chest. “The Red Arrows Shot Me,” he said, in mock faint.  I know he’s a PFB but I think that’s really funny, original and clever.  The drizzle got heavier. “The Rain In Spain Stays Mainly On The Plane,” we sang, flying blow-up toy Red Arrows in formation.

Comme Ci Comme Ca

1.  Commes Des Yorkshiremen

2.  Comme Il Ne Faut Pas

3.  Commes Des Garcons

Before the school holidays, I used to get both children up, dressed, breakfasted, washed and teeth-cleaned, get myself showered, hair done, made up, do my packed lunch, a load of washing, washing up and hoovering, mostly singled-handed, before scooping up Son 1 now aged 4y 10m and his assorted bags, walking half a mile to the car and getting to his Nursery 30 mins away at the madly early time they insisted day began.   Now I’m leaving it all to Wonder Nanny, The Man is home, and I still can’t make it to The Office without a 1950s’ Look At That Clock Why Can’t It Be Wrong mental ringtone haunting me all the way.  So my first Good Thing is the school hols.   Because I have no idea how I’m going to do it all five days a week and lots, lots earlier.

I’d taken the afternoon off, so the whole morning had the same panicky, desperate pace.  I talked faster in meetings as if that would make them end quicker.  It didn’t. It just made my voice get a bit higher, and I got the where-could-she-have-inhaled-helium look from my colleagues.  “I’m really sorry,” I said. “But I have a child’s birthday party and I need to go.”   Oh-good-nothing-important said their faces.  Out late, I rang Wonder Nanny from the car park. ”I’ll see you there,” she said.

It was Son 1’s Best Friend’s brother’s party.  I was first to arrive. The Working Mum So Busy She Forgot To Take Her Children To The Birthday Party.  Best Friend and brother looked unimpressed and continued doing lazy forward rolls on their sofa. Wednesday Mum had prepared a Blytonesque spread, cleaned the house from top-to-bottom and laid on party games. I made her a cup of tea. Other Mums arrived. I made them tea. At last Wonder Nanny, Son 1 and Son 2 aged 23m turned up.    We partied. Son 1 and Best Friend match-fixed the pass the parcel. I was so proud.  Wednesday Mum stopped the music dutifully and fairly so that 10+ small children each got a sweetie as the layers were removed. It took a long time, she got bored, there were still layers left so she gave the CD remote to Best Friend.  When the music stopped, Son 1 had the parcel. He got the chew bar. The music started. The ring of cross-legged children passed the parcel. The music stopped. Son 1 had the parcel.  He got the prize, a packet of jelly sweets. I wish I could say he shared it with Best Friend. It’s Because I Work.

Love At First Sight

1.  Greetings

2.   Vision

3.  Lights

I am trying to heave myself out of bed earlier, so when Son 2 aged 23m cried, I gave The Man just enough time to get to him first for the nappy change.  Son 2 called ”Mummy! Mummy!” at the sound of my tread on the stairs. The Man attended the business end on the changing mat… I had the little starfish hands reaching for me and giggles and smiles and shining eyes. 

The Man came into The Big Town, and we met for lunch. A Good Thing. He ordered for me before I got there.  There was me planning to have a green salad and mineral water, and he went and ordered hummous, ciabatta and a cappacino. Dang him.  Opposite the cafe is the optician, where weeks ago I ordered new contact lenses.  And week after week I’ve forgotten to pick them up. The Man marched me in to make sure.   I’ve been dangerously short-sighted all my life.  I knew vaguely that you get more long-sighted as you grow older, and I thought vaguely that meant I’d have perfect vision one day. Even if starting from my base line I’d need to live to be 900 to benefit. So it’s been a sad shock to realise that the near focus just… goes.  And, as you can probably tell, reading is my whole world.  Still. I travel hopefully.  My lenses are still in the bag. They will solve it all.

The Man worked very, very late last night, and I did books, bath and bed on my own. I  got back this evening and the boys were watching CBeebies.  Television After Tea!  Hell in a handcart.  They were, The Man said, sitting quietly watching it till I got in. Can’t think what made them leap up and down screaming.  No need to be that loud once the telly was off. There were fireworks at 10pm for the end of the Festival.  Son 1 insisted we wake him. “I’m a big boy! I can get up!” We woke him. He sprawled out on the window seat, his vision obscured by the window frame.  Lights and patterns exploded in the misty sky.  He drowsed. “Take me back to bed.” The Man obliged.

Typically Tropical

1.  Babs In The Buck-Buck

2.  You Shall Have A Fishy

3.  Sundowners

Out to the river wall at the end of The Terrace, crabbing again.  The Man baiting two lines with bacon, Son 1 aged 4y 10m happily scooting up and down, me trying to keep Son 2 aged 23 m out of the water.   Eleven crabs.  We all caught them, including Son 2. “Bab! Bab!”  Son 2 is of course still obsessed with fish, and while crabs were ok, yearned for “Fish!  Fish!”  And he also wanted to bait the hooks. “Babon! More Babon!”  We persuaded him to feed bits of babon to the babs in the buck-bucks instead. Son 1 is going to fall in the river.  He is always right on the edge, he has no concept of the incoming tide “Son 1 you really do have to MOVE!” and he doesn’t understand that the green slimy stuff is very very slippery.   Oh well. There is one sure way of his learning…

Still on our fishy theme, we drove to the Garden Centre so Son 1 and Son 2 could have another look at the Fish Shop.  Son 1 is still keen to get a fish tank for his birthday, so we wanted him to have a good look at all the fish for sale to get an idea of what he wants.  Nemo.  Who needs warm, salt water, a tank full of difficult, expensive swaying corals and assorted sci-fi prawnie things to keep the water and the tank clean.  Main diet of prawnie things = expensive corals.   The lad behind the Fish Shop counter recommends tropical fish for a beginner. Easier than goldfish, who are too messy.  The starter tank kit was eye-wateringly expensive. “Son 2, do you want to share Son 1’s fish tank for your birthday present?”  “Yesssss.” Sorted.  They can have toys for Christmas.

They fell asleep in the car on the way back, so The Man and I drove up to the Headland for sneaky whirly whippy ice creams with chocolate flakes in.  We scoffed them guilty while they slept. Back home I went shopping with Son 2 while Son 1 and The Man watched telly.  I got tea, amid protests from Son 2, who couldn’t understand why he wasn’t allowed to wash the potatoes. Because we’re having stir fry darling.  Nanna babysat while The Man and I went out to the Hotel With The River View. We sat outside while the sky darkened and the lights across the river came on.

Missing A Beat

1.  The Clash

2.   The Darkness

3.  The Feeling

Son 1 aged 4y 10m has two weeks of holiday left before he starts Reception.  Pang. He cried and clung this morning. “I’ll take more time off next summer,” I said.  Pang.  Wonder Nanny, The Woman I Am Paying To Take My Children To The Beach While I Am At The Office, arrived.  Oh stuff it.   At least they can go to the beach. Son 1spent his first three summers inside in Nursery.    I don’t believe in lyin’  back, sayin’ how bad your luck is…

i did another TK Maxx run at lunchtime, and bought some birthday stocking fillers/random presents for under a fiver. And then went like the clappers in the afternoon so that I could try and get back at a decent time to see the boys.  I didn’t even leave till Wonder Nanny’s finishing time, so I knew I’d miss her, but I was hoping Son 1 and Son 2 would still be up.

Up?  They weren’t even home. The house was strangely still when I went in.  No chatting, no laughing, no shrieking.  No squeals of “Mummmeeee!”  No pitter patter of feet down the stairs.   Just The Man, loafing. “Where are my boys?”  “Wonder Nanny rang. They’re all having their tea on the beach.”  i had a cup of tea. I looked at the paper.  The Man paced up and down. He went up and down the stairs.  “This is like the old days.” Not quite. In the old days I would have come home from The Office and gone straight out for a run.  But it still felt very odd.  Household life suspended, while we waited for two little heartbeats to come back.

Re-Reading

1.  Lies

2.  Damn Lies

3.  Statistics

Last night I worked late and went to bed very late.   Well towards 1am, I tiptoed upstairs, weightless, soundless, I did not breathe.  The Man rolled over, grumbled and switched off the telly.   I took out my contact lenses.  I peered behind me.  Son 1 had teleported in,  lurching round like a drunk. The Man was in the Big Bed, he wanted to lie down, but “Where’s Mummy?” “In the bathroom.”  Son 1 was still bothered by The Man in the Big Bed.  “When you’re not here, if I wake him up when I come to bed, he settles down in your side watching me while I take off my make up and do my teeth, and then I have a little read in bed, and then we both go to sleep.”  The Man harrumphed and  trogged off to the Blue Room.  Yes yes I know that Son 1 will one day be off with She Who Will Never Be Good Enough For Him and I should be Putting My Eggs In The Man’s Basket (this is going badly wrong) but what the hell. It was the way Son 1 just stood patiently at the bedside waiting for his space to become available… 

So this morning I was matchsticks-under-the-eyelids. Another oh God look at the state of the boys, never mind, Wonder Nanny can do it when she gets here, bye, sesh.  I am doing better though on reading to Son 2.  We did our five books.  Pinocchio, for God’s sake. He insisted.  This is Son 1’s library book, the Disney series that everyone has at least 1 of, somewhere.  I should be reading stuff that is Rooted In Reality.  About washing machines and buggies and looking at leaves.  So. Son 2. Gepetto makes this toy, and the only woman in the story, winged, badly drawn, wearing a pillow case,  makes it come alive, and it goes shopping and gets mugged – twice -  and then gets caged, whereupon Gepetto rescues it and they all live happily ever after.  Son 2 couldn’t give a hoot, and wanted it twice. He’s only really looking at the pictures of the nose getting bigger. “Wee wee,” he said, at the end.  I went all the way downstairs to get his potty. He rejected it, sat on Son 1’s old booster seat, and wee-d in the loo. PSB. “Bye bye Mummy,” he said, as I went off to The Office. 

At bedtime, Son 1 gets the book time. We took out 17 from the library, some for Son 2, but most chosen by him. ”Improving your fishing,” has been a bit of a challenge.  I always put at least one book about another country or culture in the pile. ”And the liberal, with a small ‘l’, cries in front of the TV,” sang Billy Bragg when I was Young. ”Coming Home” went in on the strength of a cover drawing of a black woman in a hijab with a small boy. Oh-Good-Islam-Portrayal-Not-Arab-We’ll-Have-It was the quarter second attention it got as I tossed it in.  Hassan is a Somalian refugee.  Son 1 and I have done Somalia, in answer to the “Mummy, are there any pirates now?” question. “There are some very poor people from a very poor country run by bullies and they steal other people’s boats and ships because they Have Nothing.” “What happens to them?” “President Obama (Most Powerful Man In The World.  In answer to: “Who’s that man on your book?”) sent a big ship and told them to stop. Now darling, let’s clear out Son 2’s old toys and take them to Oxfam.”   Hassan’s Uncle is killed by soldiers who burn his house down. Son 1 wanted it twice. ”Is his Uncle dead?” “What happened to the animals?” “Where are his cousins?” “Will it happen here?”  At this point my inner Nanna broke through and I couldn’t resist. “No. Because we are one of the richest countries in the world, and you are such a lucky little boy, and that is why Daddy and I get cross when you don’t realise – ” Son 1 burst into tears. “I’m scared of the soldiers.”  Gepetto was a woodcarver, I said, and one day he made a puppet. 

Sea Urchins

1.  Rhythm

2.  Blues

3.  Jeopardy

Wednesday is Friends’ Day.  So why oh why did I have to do painting, colouring and a long, loud session on the drum kit and ELC keyboard before anyone came round?  She is saintly, and will not  mind me crying Foul! Is That Not Why I Have Wonder Nanny?  Ahem. Excuse me.  One Wednesday  Mother had a hospital appointment for 3 year old’s adenoids and was Too Stressed To Come Out.  The other Wednesday Mother wanted to come here, which was fine. I am being unfair on Son 1 aged 4y 10m and Son 2 aged 23m.  Son 1 was up for painting. Son 2 really just likes stirring the dirty water from an upturned ramekin and splatting it on the walls with a paintbrush.  And the jamming session was great. Son 1 on keyboards “You’re too noisy! I can’t hear when I sing!” and Son 2, “Bang-It-Hard-Enough-And-The-Crayons-I’ve-Posted-In-All-The-Drums-Will-Rattle.”  Mrs Gallagher would have had this.

Best Friend and Little Brother at last came round.   Best Friend and Son 1 locked into a horrible axis and wouldn’t play with Little Brother. Little Brother, tired, rejected/dejected, was uninterested in Son 2, no matter how we tried.   Son 2 trailed after all three: “I’m 4! I’m 4! Honest!”  Son 1 and BF were in an elaborate game of pirates which involved caves, maps and treasure. LB, who must never be under-rated, was very often in possession of the treasure chest. And I was on his side.  Son 2 wore Son 1’s Captain Hook outfit, and was incredibly pleased with himself. Pa-ang.   Son 1 hasn’t worn his Captain Hook outfit since BF’s mother found him one at a car boot sale.        

The MAn came home with a Business Colleague and we all went crabbing. The tide was coming in, there was seaweed everywhere so we couldn’t see anything, all four boys stripped off.  I made Son 2 put his reins back on. “In years to come, it will cost him a great deal to walk around naked with a beautiful  blonde on the end of his reins,” I told Wednesday Mum.   Son 1 found something which i thought was a weathered old battery case with stuff growing round it. ”It’s a sea urchin,” said Wednesday Mum. “That’s its mouth.”  She did a degree in Marine Biology ahead of the PhD in Chemical  Engineering so I kinda believe her.  We still caught crabs. Big ‘Uns and Littl’Uns. Son 1 caught a whopper. Son 1 caught a titch – just by trawling his shrimp net he found the teeniest sideways-mover. We put them all in the same big bucket, worried they’d eat each other. But they all huddled under the Whopper. ”We’re running out of concrete,” observed BF.  Four-year-old speak for The Tide Is Racing In. We were also running out of bacon.  But we defeated our own record.  Twelve crabs and a sea urchin. We tipped the bucket out on the river wall so we could watch the crabs scuttle back to the water. Three huge seagulls appeared instantly.  We then had to prise the bloody crabs out of the gaps in the steps to get them safely back in the river.    It was supposed to be a race, but it turned into an airlift.

Me Do

1.  Fungus

2.  Fertiliser

3.  Photos

A ridiculously long, complicated day, involving a drive over to The City which meant I wasn’t home till 8pm… then a quick night night to Son 1 aged 4y 10m and Son 2 aged 23 m, who’d been kept up specially, and then zooming out again for an Office Thing. We were up daftly early though, so I did have time to read to Son 2 this morning.  He pointed at a mushroom in a picture book. “Mush mush.”  Hmmm.  I spend hours each week patiently going through piles of children’s books with Son 2. They are very heavily centred on cartoon cats and dogs, jungles and farm animals, vehicles and babies. Mushrooms don’t really come into it.  I’ve told him what they are a couple of times – on the odd occasion he’s been through the veg box before I’ve had chance to put it away. Clearly a genius. Or possibly something to do with Wonder Nanny. 

I fetched the hairbrush to brush Son 2’s hair. “Me do,”  he said firmly.  And for the poppers on his sleepsuit.  He also wants to wee in the loo. Won’t use his potty. Doesn’t want to use the booster seat.  Just wants to stand up on the plastic step and point.  I went into the bathroom to see Son 1 and Son 2, starkers, Son 2 on the step and  Son 1 beside him gently holding Son 2’s willy while he weed in the loo.  Both with beaming smiles.  Sorry, but I’m leaving that one.  I’m very happy for Son 2 to toilet train himself, and skip all the extra bits of plastic Son 1 used. I still remember having to take the Big Chair Potty to the beach under the Big Pram, because he wouldn’t go in anything else. And I can remember packing a booster seat in the suitcases to take to Portugal.   But if he wants to wee standing up he can hold his own willy. You Do. 

The Man has had some holiday pictures sent to him by the Elegant Aunt. A lovely picture of all four of us sitting on a sofa in the bar area of the holiday village, and others taken in the cafe/pool area. The Man flipped back and forth between them. “Son 2 looks different in this one.  His hair’s longer…”  “No darling, ” I said as gently as I could. “This one – ” the family shot ” – was taken last year, in May 2008. This one –  ” – Son 2 and I, on the terrace, “was taken on this year’s holiday. He’s eight months old in that one, and 20  months old in this one.”

A Pan Fan

1.  Peter Pan

2.  Baking Pans 

3.  Panic

Peter Pan was the DVD. Son 1 aged 4y 11m and Son 2 aged 23m were playing with the toy pirates. We bought Son 1 a new Captain Hook yesterday. He has got through 2 Disney ones, so now we’re on Toyshop Traditional.  The old Captain Hook fell to pieces.  Son 1had found a Peter-And-The-Children pin badge that I’d bought him. ”I’m a Peter Pan fan, aren’t I?”  Orwell fashion, I have come to love Peter Pan. Ignore the dodgy author and the political incorrectness, and name another children’s classic that’s as brilliant on Motherhood.  The Lost Boys and The Pirates who want Mothers, Wendy who doesn’t want to be a Mother to Peter, Mrs Darling sitting in the empty bedroom, and poor Peter, damaged by a closed window and another little boy asleep in his bed. ”If you find your mothers,” he said darkly, “I hope you will like them.”  I bought my copy new in 1972, price 25p.  And I grew up and had a son.  Who feeds pieces of broken Captain Hook to toy crocodiles. 

 A grey day, with two shattered children. We decided yesterday went askew because we got the meals wrong. We drove the Big Town to do a Big Shop. Son 2 fell asleep in the car, Son 1 was car sick. We went down to the River and parked. The Man and I had coffee, the boys ate peanut butter sandwiches for lunch.  In the supermarket, we bought heaps of cake and biscuit making ingredients. I have a week off, the forecast is not good, and I have much Uber Mother ground to make up. Son 1 longs for me to make a cake.  I find cake tins frankly baffling.  There are the ones with the clock hand things in them, presumably used for Getting Your Cake Out. And the ones that are rings with round circles at the bottom. Presumably also used for Getting Your Cake Out.  Greaseproof paper, baking paper, baking parchment. All for Getting Your Cake Out.  I’m only guessing, but is there sometimes a problem Getting Cakes Out?  But anyway. We can manage muffins. And Biscuits.  And Wonder Nanny will be here. I bet she can Get A Cake Out. 

We did a massive pile of shopping with loads of Sunday afternoon yellow stickers.  Son 1’s shopping treat was a Scooby Doo biscuit making kit. I thought it was going to be a box with biscuits for them to draw on with an icing pen. Oh no. Back home there was an egg and milk involved. I put too much milk and egg in the packet mix and ended up with gloop so sticky it glued my fingers together.  I finally fought my way out of the mixing bowl, and the boys rolled it, cut the Scooby shapes and we put them in the oven.  Son 2 washed green beans for tea.  They had roast lamb… I went for a run.

Barefoot On The Beach

1.  Harvesting

2.  Irrigation

3.  Threshing

Nanna’s garden is blue-marbled with slug pellets. Son 2 aged 23m picks up big handfuls and puts them in his mouth, along with the melted-insides of dead snails.  So we can’t use slug pellets in our garden.  We have six sunflowers, getting bigger, The Man’s now so tall that we can only look at the flowerhead from the upstairs window. We have two tubs planted with peas.  We have some organic slug repellent gel. You pour it around the plants and it’s supposed to make barrier. It looks like dying slug trail, which is probably how it works.  We put it round the pea plants when they first sprouted, and then we couldn’t find it any more.  The slugs ate all the peas in one tub. And Son 1 aged 4y 11m, and Son 2 and I caught a snail laying eggs in our other one.  But this morning Son 1 yelled “Mummy, mummy, come and see! We’ve got peas!” We did indeed. Little pea cases.  Son 1 gobbled one, Son 2 gobbled one. We had six altogether, which they ate instantly.  Son 1 found the case of one a bit fibrous and spat it into the ice cream tub in which we’d put three tiny snails we’d caught on the plants. “They can eat it.”  We were so excited we thought we’d plant some more. And then decided to plant a pumpkin for Hallowe’en instead.  Vegetarian depressive Mummy always has pumpkin seeds. We hunted through the cupboards. Mummy had pine kernels, sunflower seeds and sesame seeds. ”Shall we grow a sesame?” I asked Wonder Nanny.

We planned to go for a swim, then come back and make fairy cakes after lunch.  Wonder Nanny’s mobile went. It was a Wednesday Mum, ringing her to arrange to meet with the children, so Son 1 could play with Best Friend. Wonderful Moments For Working Mothers, #149: When Your Friend Rings Your Nanny Because They’ve Both Forgotten You’d Be There.  We changed the plans. We would meet at The Beach Near The Garden.  It was sunny, warm-ish with a gusty wind and some clouds.  Son 2 and I walked down to the water’s edge, filled a bucket with water, walked back, and he emptied it. Many times.  Son 1 was over-excited and horrible.  The new fishing net was broken.  I left Wonder Nanny in charge and went Swimming In The Sea.  I have a new way of getting in. I walk a hundred paces without stopping.  Shoulders down, swim forward and cold, cold, cold.  I felt my rings loosen on my fingers.  The sea was flat, the beach was sandy, the water was turquoise and every now and then the sun broke through and warmed my face.  Son 1 stood on the shoreline, staring out after me.  I went back. Another family arrived to sit with us, Mother, Father and their three children.  Lunch, more play, splashing and digging in the low tide.  The Navy helicoptered by, low and loud. Play stopped, while the children waved. They waved back. ”Mummy, we got a wave!” bounced Son 1.   

Best Friend, Little Brother and Wednesday Mum left. I went for another swim.  The children made sandcastles.  Son 2 was hanging with tiredness when i got back. “Ah wanna bik bik.” The other mother was handing out iced rings.  ”Would you like one, Son 2?” “Es please.” Beautiful manners.  Gets them from his mother.  We packed up. “Son 1, where are your shoes?”  He looked blank. Wonder Nanny hadn’t seen them.  “Did you take them off in the jungle?” In the Garden, where he’d run off playing with Best Friend when we first arrived.  Yes he did.  In  vast mounds of elephant grass, the dried straw had poked his feet through his sandals. So he’d taken them off. I hunted through every bloody clump.  Gone.  There was no fairy cake making when we got home, although Son 2 got an ice pop.

Compensation

1.  Ingedients

2.  Processing Food

3.  Sweet And Sour

7am.  Son 1 aged 4y 11m got into the Big Bed.  He was freezing.  And doing his mock-crying/mock whining thing. “What’s the matter?” “I don’t want to give our ingredients to Wednesday Mum.”  I was rabid about the loss of the sandals. And told Son 1 there would be no fairy cake making, and that all the ingredients we bought would be given to our Friends.  “We’re not going to. Mummy was probably a bit too cross yesterday. I’m sorry.” ”I’m sorry I lost my shoes.”  “I’m sorry I was so cross. But your feet are very long and thin and it took me a long time and a lot of shops to find some that fit.” “Can we still make our cakes?” “Yes we can.” “I’ll go and get the ingredients.” “From the cupboard?” “No. I hided them.” “Where?” “Behind the toilet.” Son 1 and I went downstairs.  Bicarb, sprinkles, jelly sweets, sugar letters, caster sugar, icing sugar, cake wrappers… all wedged on the floor in the cobwebs behind the U bend.    It must have taken him three or four trips. No wonder he was freezing.

We had a group trip into The Town after breakfast, and then came back and started cake-making. Son 1 and Son 2 aged 23m stood on the big chairs.  They were interested in three things: breaking eggs,  pressing the buttons on the food mixer and eating sweets.  Much disappointment when Son 1 realised the sweet stage doesn’t come till you ice them. We mixed. Son 1 broke his egg. “And me!” yelled Son 2. Ah. We only had one egg. Wonder Nanny went down the road in search of another box.   The cakes went in the oven.

We had lunch and then Son 2 and I went for a lie down. Luxury.  I think lying down for a snooze with a little child is one of the great free pleasures in life.  We slept for more than an hour – I’ve got a cold coming and am feeling pretty wrecked. When we went downstairs, Wonder Nanny and Son 1 were peeling crayons. “I’ve been meaning to do this job for ages,” said Wonder Nanny.  I didn’t even realise it needed doing. We went swimming.  The pool was almost empty. Son 1 piled up surf boards to make a surf shop.  Son 2 delighted in the surf boards. He clung baby-like in the deep end, but as soon as he had solid ground under his feet his confidence soared.  He was great.  At bedtime they slept instantly.  Wonder Nanny babysat, and The Man and I went out to the local Thai restaurant. We sat in the window. Some Eastern European men set upon a man walking up the hill directly outside. My view was bloked by the menu in the window, but The Man saw the whole thing. The police arrived. Someone came in and asked if the staff had seen anything. “No no,” said the waiter. “All in kitchen.”  No they weren’t. They watched it all.   I was a Juror.  I made The Man go and see the police to make up.

The Icing On The Cake

1.    Infection

2.    Confection

3.    Ingestion

I have a stinking cold, and there is no hope that Son 1 aged 4y 11m and Son 2 aged 23m won’t get it. Son 1 was in bed with me last night, his hands seeking my eyebrows and eyelashes, via my nose and mouth.  Son 2 spends a great deal of time with his fingers up his own nostrils, and also trying to get them up mine.  So although I’ve spent the day trying to Catch It Bin It and Kill It, I have a nasty feeling that next week, when I will be back at work after my holiday, when Son 1 starts reception and when it will all be a bit tense and fraught… I will have two littl’uns feeling awful. Never Mind.  Being Positive. I’ve had a massive stretch of time with neither of them being ill. 

We iced the cakes.  Son 1 and Son 2 on their chairs.  The liquorice allsorts, jelly sweets and sugar letters on the chopping boards.  They stuffed their faces. And spat out the liquorice.  I made icing – first time, ta da! – and they drew on it with writing pens, scattered sprinkles, and stuck sweets on. We had nine cakes, and they looked great.  “Was this as much fun as you thought it would be?” I asked Son 1. “Yes.  Can we do it again?”  Yes. But we will swap our liquorice allsorts for dolly mixtures next time. 

We went to Best Friend’s house for lunch. The whole Wednesday gang was there.  Five year old – who we’ve hardly seen this year since he started school in January, his little brother aged 3 and a half… Best Friend aged nearly 5 and his little brother who’s just three, and Son 1 and Son 2. The five elder boys formed a wolf pack. Son 2 decided to stay with me. The two younger brothers were spat out. There was screeching, strutting, chasing, shoving.  Best Friend accidentally head-butted one Wednesday Mum so hard her nose bled. Son 2 kept getting into various beds, making me think he’s already got The Bug. Five Year Old seemed incredibly grown up.   I have such a clear mental picture of him at 17 weeks old, Son 1 at 9 weeks old, Best Friend at 5 weeks old, lying on pillows at Breastfeeding Group.  Breastfed boys, organic and sugar-free in their early diets.  They polished off the fairy cakes in seconds flat.

Gambolling

1.  Birds

2.  Lambs

3.   Chickens

A Clifftop Charity Day I wanted to go to.  The Man said he’d come.   The forecast was fine-ish in the morning, then rain by the afternoon, so we went off early.  The Man drove, I was in the front seat and Wonder Nanny was squashed between two car seats in the back. Son 2 aged 23m and Son 1 aged 4y 11m slept.  The Man and I were once regular visitors to The Clifftop and the countryside around.   It had been more than five years.  Bracing coastal walks, stopping to watch cliff birds through binoculars, climbing up sheer paths and over stiles, the odd pint at the odd pub… “Come on! Let’s walk lunch off!” “What’s wrong with sleeping lunch off?”  You really do forget what life was like before.

We arrived and checked out the stalls. The Man took Son 1 to a tombola.  A 5 or a 0 and you win. Son 1 won.  Sweets, and a pen with a football on the top.  He was hooked. Nag nag nag nag. “Just let him have another go and he’ll lose and learn.”  He won.  Two prizes on three tickets. Four dinner candles – for the child for whom candles mean birthdays and blowing out – and another pen with a football on top.  Nag nag nag nag nag.  It was like hook a bloody duck. “Son 1 you don’t always win. ” Nag nag nag nag.  We gave him another go. He won a calculator.  Son 1 thinks calculators are as good as candles.  ”And me!” We gave Son 2 a 50p go in the lucky dip. He won a three-way highlighter pen.  The child who likes crayoning on the furniture because of the excitement of trying to scrub it all off.

We walked down the cliffside to the Children’s Farm.  It was windy, the sea was huge and slate grey, crashing high against the rocks. The clifftops were covered in pink and purple heather and thrift and yellow gorsey flowers. It was the same as it had been for a thousand years. Apart from the Children’s Farm. Son 1 skipped from rock to rock, stopped to peer into the rabbit holes, squelched the springy grasses under his wellies.   I watched him enjoying the drama of the landscape, and shared a moment with the Old Me, standing where I used to, staring out to sea.   Our first time in the Children’s Farm. The Man bought a bag of animal food. “You’ll need two,” I said. “They’ll fight.” Son 2 is such a child of his time that as soon as he saw the animals he swung back and commanded: “Food!  Food!”  There were goats and pigs and hens and ponies and sheep and rabbits and ducks.  Even The Man enjoyed it. Back at the top Son 1 demanded another go on the tombola. The little girl in the queue ahead of him won the biggest prize.  He lost.  He did not take it well.

The River Bank

1.  The Gates Of Dawn

2.  Dulce Domum

3.  Wayfarers All

I am really not well.  Weak as a kitten, hurting head full of snot, racking cough, sore chest, sore throat and ears that crack horribly everytime I swallow. I could prove it was swine flu if I could be bothered to look for our thermometer.   In the meantime I’ll assume it’s just the cold I get every time I take any leave. It’s not helped by a lack of sleep. I went out last night to our book club, and got to bed about midnight. Then I woke at 5am, my head thumping. Son 1 aged 4y 11m arrived.  I tried to get him back to sleep, and at 6am crept downstairs to make a vast pot of coffee – I’m a keen believer in caffeine for colds.  It wasn’t quite dawn, so I took my coffee to sit in the bay window and watch the sun come up over the river.  A shadow flitted in. Son 1.  We put cushions on the window seat, and hauled one of Nanna’s big blankets over ourselves to keep warm.  Camping. Son 1 loved it and snuggled up to me. We watched vans and cars drive by.  We watched the sky lighten.  “I’m bored with camping,” said Son 1 after 15 minutes.

The Man’s sunflower is now the largest, and Son 1 and I have claimed it as Ours. A yellow flower has today started to appear.  Son 1 and Wonder Nanny played pirates. Son 2 aged 23m and I went outside. He wanted to play with Wah Wah, so I put him in his swimsuit, boiled a kettle, squeezed in some washing up liquid and warmed up the rainwater for him.  I went and got myself a garden cushion so I could sit and watch him. “More,” said Son 2, trotting off to bring out all the others, one by one.  As soon as Son 1 saw the bubbles he was out there too.  Adding compost to make a potion.  The parcel for the Scooby party arrived, and Son 1 was almost sick with excitement. Wonder Nanny made minestrone soup.  We had lunch. Son 2 and I went for a sleep. 

We woke up at 3pm, and an old friend was downstairs with Wonder Nanny and Son 1.  Just on Wednesday i was looking back to Breastfeeding Group nearly five years ago, at the July baby, the September baby and the October baby. There was also an August baby, the little girl, just five, playing with Son 1, whom we haven’t seen for nearly a year.  The Man came back from The Boat and we went crabbing.  Son 2 demanded I take him to the riverside beach just as the others hauled in crab 14 to break our record. Another family joined the others, but Son 2 and I walked round to the low tide beach.  It’s covered in broken glass.  “Son 2 just pick up the shells or the stones NOT THE GLASS.”  Son 2 kept picking up the glass. The water’s edge was glass free, so I took him there,  me keeping his reins on, him with his dungarees rolled up. Son 1 joined us, but ran in the sea with his trousers on “Take them OFF! Look, you hold Son 2’s reins and I’ll help you.”  I pulled off his trousers. I turned round. He’d let go Son 2’s reins and Son 2 had strode out into the river, standing hip-high in the water,  looking back at me.   Son 1 danced in the water, naked from the waist down.  His five year old friend gazed longingly after him. “Son 1 come back! It’s not fair on Son 2 or Your Friend!”  I promised him we would come back in our swimming costumes one day and both go in. At bedtime he was so tired he lay in his bed while I was singing to Son 2. When I’d finished Son 2’s night-nights, Son 1 was fast asleep.

Ready, Steady, Sleep

1.   True Love

2.   Little One

3.   A Swell Party

Son 2 aged 23m has a hacking cough. Son 1 aged 4y 11m is sneezing and coughing.  I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.  It’s the end of August, and because The Man has spent the summer re-fitting and painting and sanding we’ve only been out on The Boat twice. The forecast was so-so, and worse for tomorrow.  The Boat it was.  Son 1 and The Man went off to get the dinghy ready. Son 2 ran after them, a sandal in each hand, “and me!” and sobbed when they left without him.  I put him outside in the yard on the astroturf, naked,  with a bowl of warm soapy water, some washing powder jugs and two beach buckets.  I started on the sandwiches.  Son 2 toddled back in carrying the empty bowl.  “More wah wah!”  “Who tipped out the last bowl?” I asked. “Me!”  Off he went.  I carried on.  He came back in twice more for water.  I chopped vegetables. Then he came back in and pawed at his clothes. “Dest.” “You want to get dressed?”  “Yes peez.” And then “Pooo.” He pointed to the yard. There, on the sodden, soap-soaked astroturf, was a damp, squashed poo. 

Son 2 was hard work. Clingy, insistent, tearful.  He also kept falling over.  The Man and Son 1 came back and we went down to the Yacht Club.  Son 1 and Son 2 played races on the lawn. “Ready… Steady… Go!” yelled Son 1 as they pelted across it. Son 2 was still falling over.  “Try ‘Ready, Steady, Lie Down.’” I said.  “Ready, Steady, Sleep!” called Son 1, and they both fell down. In lifejackets. Stuck on their backs like upended tortoises. 

So we took the baby with his fluey cold and balance problems and put him on a motor boat in a heavy swell.  He fell over. In the cabin. Bump on the forehead. He fell over on the deck.  Bump on the forehead.  We had lunch, and then bribed the boys. If they went to sleep they could have a sweet when they woke up. They both slept.  I read the paper, The Man and I drank coffee.  When they woke up we caught crabs. The world-record for Biggest One Yet.  Barely fit in the bucket.  Son 1 was a stroppy, screeching pain all the way back. I did not cope well.  I think that’s Three Down, and The Man in charge.

Understanding

1.  Under The Weather

2.  Under Surveillance

3.  Under Pressure

Son 2 aged 23m’s dramatic, croupy cough rattled out after we’d gone to bed. I couldn’t see how Son 1 aged 4y 11m could sleep through it, so way past midnight, I sent The Man downstairs into the Double Bed, scooped Son 2 up from his cot and took him up into the Big Bed with me.  Mummy Serotonin makes them get better quicker.  The idea of sleeping with Son 2 is always lovely.  I agonise over him snugging himself up in his sleeping bag in his cot – I’m sure Son 1 was in with us most nights at that age. So I dream about Son 2 and I cuddling, dozing, drowsing, in tune with each other’s sleep cycles. In reality? Even ill and exhausted, he’s always up for a party.  PUshing and towing pillows off the sides of the bed.  Feeling for nose and ear holes and sticking fingers in them. And endlessly, endlessly, turning over, crawling, pulling the quilt up, kicking the quilt off… Until: “Son 2!  If you don’t lie down and go to sleep I am going to put you back in your cot and leave you there!”  He laid his little fluffy head on the pillow and went straight to sleep. 

We’d planned lunch with Nanna.  She said she’d brave our colds, so we decided on the Big Town.  We arrived, parked, and went to TK Maxx to look for shoes for the boys. Nanna was left in charge of Son 2 in the toy section.  The Man was with Son 1 in Children’s Shoes.  There was an argument about a grey pair. “He won’t try them on,” said The Man. “I don’t like them.” “Why not?” “I want bright shoes.”  It’s TK Maxx. Their entire business plan provides leftover pairs of orange shoes for little boys like Son 1.  We got him sorted, and I looked up to see Nanna walking out of the open double door and then back in again. “Where’s Son 2?” I asked. “I’ve lost him.” She continued to look round clothes racks. “Where?” “He just ran off!”  I looked for The Man. “I’ve seen him!”  He strode off halfway across the shop.  Son 2 nearly made it back to the escalator.   We got the reins out.    The boys were heavenly at lunch.

On the way back we stopped off at fish tank shops.  The Man is looking at tanks the size of Swan Vesta matchboxes. I am looking at tanks you could pickle cows in.  This is supposed to be a joint birthday present… we have less than a fortnight before Son 2’s big day.  It took us 17 years to decide to have children.  We have asked Son 1 if he’d rather have a rabbit.

Magical Creatures

1.  Ravening Beasts

2.  Dolphins

3.  Little Cherub

A grindingly long day on the Trade Stand.  At a coastal Trade Show, so The Man decided to take Son 1 aged 4y 11m and Son 2 aged 23m.  He’d arranged to see another family there so he’d still have someone to look after him.  But it meant getting up and out Early.  After a long summer of boys in pyjamas in front of the telly, snacking on tubs, having breakfast when they liked, it came as a shock.  But we made it out, on time, using it as a dry run for Thursday, when we’ll have to do it all again for School.  Son 2 passed out in the car almost straight away, Son 1 hung on until we were nearly there. I was then glued to the Stand, the family went wandering. Son 2 was tricky to start off with because he didn’t want to leave me. But they apparently had a blast. A fire engine, a pirate stall, food stalls, marine stalls, musicians, singers and all kinds of boating displays in the adjacent harbour. It heaved with people. The Other Family arrived, and we sent them off in search of The Man and the boys.  An Organiser came up to check everything was ok with us. “Fine,” I said. “How about you? Are you pleased?”  “Oh yes. Apart from having to get Security down to a fight between the Toffee Apple seller and Olde Sweetes next door.”

Late Afternoon and The Man, Son 1 and Son 2 were kicking their heels nearby. A colleague rang from the harbourside. “There’s a pod of dolphins playing with the lifeboats!”   An offshore lifeboat and an inshore RIB were supposed to be doing a display with a Navy helicopter in the sea outside the harbour wall.  The helicopter hadn’t turned up – too misty or busy elsewhere.   But who cares… we got to hang over the wall and watch five or six dolphins within 50 feet, surfacing, jumping, surfing.  Both lifeboats manoeuvred slowly back and forth. the dolphins jumping ahead of their bows and across their wakes.  Jet skiers who had been zooming up and down the inner harbour arrived and started playing with them.   We left before the dolphins. The Man had put Son 1’s milkshake in the pocket of his shorts. Then Son 2 had taken a dive… the milkshake erupted, and The Man had to remove marshmallow, milk and ice cream mix from his phone. 

At bathtime, Son 2 just wanted to “Tork.”  “Lifeboat. Monkey. Waved.”  “Yes. You saw a lifeboat with a man on it wearing a giant lifeboatman head and it looked just like a monkey. And he waved, didn’t he?”  “Dol dols. Lifeboat. Bikes. On Sea. On Wah wah.” “Yes, you saw the lifeboats and the dolphins and the jet skis that looked just like motorbikes.  Did you like the dolphins?” “Yes.  Lifeboat. Monkey. Waved. Me.”  He waved his hand.  “Dol Dol. Bikes.” He zoomed his hand in and out of the bubbles in his bath. ”Would you like to stand up please, like a good boy so I can wash your bottom?” “No. Tork.  Lifeboat. Monkey. Waved.” He was still trying to discuss the dol dols as I lay him down in his cot.

Creative Cookery

1.  Domestic Goddess

2.  Domestic Drama

3.  Domestic Bliss

Working yesterday meant I had today off.  Wonder Nanny was off, so it was Son 1 aged 4y 11m, Son 2 aged 23m and me.  September.  Strewth.  The boys were knackered after yesterday, and we all have rotten, rotten colds, so I aimed low.  Maybe some cake making, I thought. Maybe a stroll into The Town.  Maybe.  “What do you want to do Son 1?” “Crabbing.”  The Man took an early lunch, and down to The Hotel With The River View we strolled.  We have by trial and error arrived at the perfect crabbing design.  A washing tablet bag on a piece of string filled with bacon.  The MAn and Son 1 were hauling ‘em up, four at a time.  Son 1 is brilliant. He’s gone from being too scared to go near a net containing crabs to sticking his hands in and flicking them in the bucket.  “Mind your fingers!” “I am minding my fingers!”  Son 2 likes feeding the captives.  So much that you can’t leave him alone with the bait. He’d plop it all in the bucket for his prisoners.  He lost interest and was more interested in paddling in the tidal puddles on the quayside and flipping stones and winkles in the river.  The tide was coming in, The Man was running out of time. He took the bucket and nets… I took two small, tired boys back to the house. 

I’d roasted a pile of beetroot while we were out. And I made it into pink soup for lunch. In the Duck and The Cat and The Squirrel, they make pink soup one day when they’ve run out of pumpkins. ”I’m not eating that!” said The Duck.  “It’s Pink.”  Son 2 took one look and refused. And when Son 1 realised Son 2 was getting away with not eating it, he refused as well. So I gave them the leftover hummous and veg from  yesterday’s packed lunch and ate two bowls. It was Delicious.   Then we made fairy cakes. Son 1 and Son 2 took turns to press the food processor buttons.  They carefully put the cake papers in the tray.  They broke the eggs. And they licked the bowl out. We watched Wall E. Son 1 pestered to ice the cakes. I said he could if he ate all his tea.  He did.  I made icing while they stuffed their faces with cake sweets. We had a whole pot of jelly tot sweets… There are none on the cakes.  Son 2 just stood on his chair by the chopping board, his attention rigidly fixed on shoving as many sweets in his mouth as he could before someone took them away.  And then Man Oh Man I got the sugar rush I deserved. Son 1 cannonballed back and forth; Son 2 giggled like a drunk. The Man came home. “They made me do it,” I muttered sheepishly as he picked up Son 1 by his torso, his arms and legs still whizzing round like a wound-up bath toy.

I finally got them to bed. Son 1 is still on Book  Club. I went to Book Club last Thursday, which meant I had to leave during his bedtime. “Can I come? I’ll bring one of my books.” “You can have a Book Club tomorrow.. as many as you like.”  On Friday he had all his Thomas books, and all his Mr Men books on a big pile. We counted.  58 books.  We have done about 20.  This evening he passed out after about five. I went downstairs. The Man had made fajitas, because we both have colds.  We ate them downstairs, no telly, no newspaper. A glass of wine, and we talked to each other. We agreed we must do it more often.

Wednesday’s Child

1.  Start A Revolution

2.  Summertime’s In Bloom

3.  A Better Place To Play

The Man has my cold. He is Very Ill Indeed.  All he could manage this morning was getting himself to work, so  I did breakfastanddressingandtidyingupandcleaningupandwashingandteethandmakingpackedlunches.  Poor old him.  Imagine getting it this bad after only one day.  I really am very lucky that I’ve been able to keep going through the whole week I’ve had it. The dentist rang. I have an appointment tomorrow morning, and so does Son 1 aged 4y 11m.  I made this appointment in February.  When I was in pre-school world. Tomorrow is Son 1’s first day at school.  I rang them. “Bring him in when you’ve finished,” they said.

We’d arranged to meet The Wednesday Friends on the Beach By The Garden. MAcs and wellies, because the forecast was rain. But we just wanted to get outside. By the time I’d finished all my jobs though, we were very late. And it was raining very hard. The others had de-camped into the Beach Cafe.  We arrived, Son 1 in full Captain Hook, Son 2 aged 23m barely awake. Six five-and-under boys in a cafe. Didn’t work. We abandoned it.  Best Friend and Little Brother came here, the other Wednesday Family went home.  The boys played well.  It rained and rained. When it came for home time, Son 1 tried to persuade Best Friend to stay. ”This is the funnest house. We haven’t got all the toys out yet.”  He was the Child Catcher. He cried when they left.

And this evening I became The Terrifying Mother Who Invites The Whole Class To Parties. In my defence… these are September birthdays. Last year I invited one boy from Nursery who’d already invited Son 1 to something, and then spent the rest of the year feeling guilty every time another invitation appeared.  This year they can all come if they like, hospitality done and dusted, hooray hooray.  And Son 1 starts school tomorrow.  Herein endeth the pre-school years.  And our Wednesdays together.  Pang, Pang, Go Away.  I have done my best.

First Day At School

1.  Starting Gate

2.  School Gates 

3.  Stair Gates

Every bloody morning for the last eight weeks Son 1 aged 4y 11m has been bouncing out of bed.  Today he couldn’t get up. “I’m tired. Who says we have to get up?” We tried to get him to eat a croissant but it was yesterday’s. Wouldn’t eat it. Ate only about 15 dry Cheerios and a few grapes for breakfast.  Into his school uniform, cuteness on legs. “Tell Daddy to buy you a Variety Pack for breakfast tomorrow.”  “And me!” chorused Son 2 aged 23m.  Son 1 trailed downstairs, and I heard him saying: “Mummy says I can have Coco Pops for breakfast.” 

We had a late start because we were seeing the dentist.  I stopped off to get Son 1 a comic. “Mummy why have I got this comic?”  “To keep you occupied while I see the hygienist.”  “But why does it include me?” “Because your dentist’s appointment is after mine.”  A couple of weeks ago a fragment broke off my front incisor leaving a sharp corner.  I asked the hygienist why it had happened. “Acidic drinks?” she said. “Fruit juice?  Wine?”  Ah. The dentist said both Son 1 and I are doing great.   i dropped him off at his school. The children were on break.  His form teacher met us and showed us around. I showed her Son 1’s chest, covered in molluscum contagiosum.  I’ve been worried they won’t let him go swimming. “Oh we had loads of that last year, I think it’s all right as long as it’s not weeping.” The school’s had building work done over the holidays and it’s fantastic. Two new teaching assistants know us from Son 1’s Old Nursery. He scampered off to play with friends from Nursery last year.  And That Was That.

After The Office, I walked in to find The Man was unpacking the fish tank he’s bought for Son 1 and Son 2’s joint birthday present. They were in raptures. “Fish Tank! Fish Tank!” chortled Son 2.  Yes we know it’s ahead of the Big Days… but we have cleaning to do and gravel to wash and plants to settle in before we can even think about fish.  I wanted to know all about Son 1’s First Day At School.  He wanted to wash gravel. He was exhausted and uncontrollable and adorable.  i scooped them upstairs for their baths. Son 2 shut the stair gate behind us.  He is the only one who closes them, and then I can’t get through when my hands are full of cups/washing/etc. The Man took both stair gates out while I read to Son 2.  The house looks very different without them.

Miles Away

1.  Travelling

2.  Leaving

3.  Arriving

Today was an 18-hour day. Everyone in bed when I left. EVeryone in bed when I returned.  Fortunately Son 1 aged 4y 11m had crept into bed with us during the night. So I did get a bit of contact with him.    I had some Office work to do Miles Away and was out of the house at 0530, struggling with the Sat Nav.  The trip up was ok, apart from the bit where I got there. As always, the Sat Nav got me within 500 yards of my destination and then just seemed to give up.  Turn Right On Such And Such Road it said, as I sped along.  0 miles to the next turning. 

I set off for home at 1630 and had a long, hard trip back. Roadworks… Friday evening traffic…  I queued on motorways for miles and miles.  I took my knee highs off as I drove along, which probably isn’t in the Highway Code.  A colleague sent me a text. His father has been rushed to hospital, gravely ill.  Not expected to survive the weekend.  Horrible, horrible.   

I got back at 2245.  Checked out Son 1’s school things – he’d clearly been swimming, and he had a little Jolly Phonics book. We have to practise Snaky Ss with him.  I have a dream in which when he can read he sits quietly in the corner with a book. Or does that only happen with girls.

Marvellous Us

1.  Swimming By Dozens

2.  A Nine Turtle Stack

3.  The King Of The Pond

A very tired Son 1 aged 4y 11m was in bed with me when I woke. No idea when he arrived.  We had a vague plan to start getting the fish tank ready for fish. But a friend texted… partner working and in the market for a trip. We decided crabbing on The Boat. The Man went down to the shops to get picnic stuff. Son 1 watched telly. Son 2 aged 23m came in the shower with me. He’s grrrr-reat.

We chugged for about 45 minutes, then The Man anchored and we got out the crab lines. Our Friend had brought with a vast pile of saved washing tablet net bags. “I knew they’d come in handy one day,” she said. They are just the best thing for crabbing. You fill them with bacon, add a stone, chuck it overboard and wait.   We caught 61 crabs. Son 1 was fab, he’s so confident now, he was hauling them in, catching them in his net and plopping them in the buckets without any adult help.  Son 2 was weeping with frustration because Son 1 wouldn’t let him hold a net with crabs in.  Poor little titch.  Living with us has taught him that he’ll always be left out and treated like a baby, and he’s responded by barging into everything without caring if he’s physically big enough to Have A Go.  In the end he got so tired we had to put the engine on to get him to sleep. Which meant emptying out the crabs.  Hmmm. We had our 60+ crabs in four  beach buckets. The ones at the bottom of the pile did not look happy.  I think we re-created Yertle The Turtle.  In my role as official animal welfare inspector I think next time we need either bigger buckets or fewer crabs.

Both boys fell asleep in the cabin on the way back, and Little Friend eventually passed out in his mother’s arms.   Back on the mooring, The Man switched the engine off.  Son 2 woke instantly and sprang into action.  The other mother couldn’t believe it. Happens every time, we told her. Back home, the boys were tired, we were tired, but Son 1 was determined to Wash Gravel to prepare the Fish Tank.  “I’ll make the tea,” said The Man. “You wash the gravel with them.”  “No, no, it’s ok,” I said. “I’ll make the tea, you wash the gravel.”  Son 2 insisted on being involved. I listened to the sounds of a bucket of gravel getting washed in the back sink.  “Son 2!” “No, Son 2!” “No!” The Man was more patient that I’d’ve been.  They both ate their stir fry, with Son 1 proclaiming:”This is the best chicken I ever tasted.”  Farm shop chicken, ridiculously expensive.  He can spot the bad stuff at 20 paces too.

Sunday Trading

,  Chest Flies

2.  Lord Of The Flies

3.  No Flies

We didn’t get the boys to bed till 9pm last night, so we felt we deserved a lie in this morning. Nah.  The only impact was no little visitor clambering into bed with us during the night.  The Man got up at about 7 and went downstairs… Son 2 aged 23m wailed, I heard Son 1 aged 4y 11m chatter… and that was it. I rested for as long as I felt I could get away with it.  “I don’t understand why my cold’s gone in three days and yours is still going on and on and on,” said The Man. “Because if you’re exhausted your immune system doesn’t work as well.” “Well why don’t you check into rehab or something?”  Not Just My Husband, My Very Best Friend.

The Man wanted to drill holes for the fish tank power. The boys and I took Nanna’s giant stone mushroom to her house – two months after her birthday. We picked her up and then went to the Garden Centre. The idea was that each boy would choose a toy for the fish tank, to be given as a present on their birthdays. Son 1 couldn’t care less about anything I showed him: one-hole two-hole three-hole rocks, hippos with mouths that opened by bubbles, pieces of wood. He only wanted a bag of shells. He said if I bought them for him he would behave for the rest of his life.  It seemed like a good deal. Son 2 got a red ray, and I chose a lump of wood for Son 1. Away from the fish tank, it looked as if it would fit. Back home it clearly won’t.  Might have to saw a bit off.

We walked down through the town to meet Nanna for lunch.  The Man strode off with Son 2 in the Big Pram, Son 1 and I took longer. In the cafe Son 1 wanted pizza. I turned to Son 2.  “What would you like?” “Cips.” Not 2 years old and he can order in restaurants.  I didn’t go into a cafe till I was 14 years old.  The kitchen messed the order up so we had two small, tired, over-hungry boys melting down.  Looking on the bright side, they could have been a lot worse.  After we went to the discount shop, where I bought them each a Playmobil toy with money Nanna gave them for a birthday stocking-filler. Son 1 studied each box on the way home. “Son 2’s is better than mine!” he decided.  Son 2’s cost a pound more.

Accepting

1.  Biting Remarks

2.  An Audience

3.   Value

Forgot to tell you. I solved The Mystery Of The Broken Front Tooth on Saturday.  Vegetarians have great teeth.  Nothing we eat is crunchy or chewy or hard.  And we’re overloaded with calcium.  Yet I lost a fragment of front incisor.  I was more worried than I admitted to myself.  Crumbly teeth = getting old = poor Son 1 aged 4y 11m and Son 2 aged 23 with their toothless crone of a mother. The hygienist on Thursday blamed wine.  But.  On Saturday on The Boat I realised that hooray hooray, I am still young, I am not a drunk…. I just shouldn’t bite Frubes open for the boys.

We had a scrum to get Son 1 and me out of the house on time, and we were doing fine till we we encountered a massive queue of traffic. Broken down double decker. “What have they done with the children?” asked Son 1, craning his neck round. At School, we went in with X from Son 1’s class and his mother. ”X is looking forward to the party,” said Mother.  Yes.  X’s father rang me last night to say he’d be coming. Son 1 answered the phone, and brought it upstairs. He came into the bedroom just as I had my head in the cot singing Son 2’s lullaby.  I ignored him because Son 2 was drowsy and I didn’t want him fired up again.  So Son 1 thrust the phone at my mouth just as I launched into a reedy (but perfectly pitched) Summer-Tiiiimmmmeee.  ”Hello?” said a tinny voice. “This is X’s dad.  He’d love to come to the party.”

I’m still not 100% so I had a Hard Day At The Office.  I took a late lunch and did a Big Shop.  Including a  birthday cake for Friday, lots of little fairy cakes, and Tesco Value Hula Hoops.  You can’t Taste The Difference.  Two Variety Packs for Son 1.  Not 5 years old and I am bribing him with sugary food to get him to have breakfast. The worst sin is not  Son 1.  It’s “And me!” Son 2 who has to have what he’s having. I picked up Son 1 and we headed home. He went in, I unloaded the shopping. Not realising that Son 2 was howling for me upstairs.  We are thinking about toilet training Son 2, so at bathtime we give him a chocolate button every time he pees in the potty.  He has amazing control, and is currently averaging four buttons per bathtime.  I’m not breaking all the Sisterhood of Motherhood rules on sugar. This is science. His brother had nothing sweet till he was two, and is now a sugar junkie. So, in the interests of research, I am plying Son 2 with sweet things to prove that once he is two, he will choose celery sticks and cucumber instead.

Alternatives

1.  Saying Goodbye

2.  Introductions

3.  Substitutions

I dropped my contact lens when I was getting up. “I’ll find it,” called Son 1 aged 4y 11m from bed, remembering how last time he got himself a Scooby Doo DVD for finding it. The Man found it, but didn’t admit it, giving Son 1 a clue instead. He came down the stairs, triumphant. ”I want a present now. From your secret present pile.” I gave him a Ben 10 pencil set I’d bought for his birthday.  The Man took him away to school and Son 2 aged 23m and I were left alone in the house.  Bereft.  For four and a half years I’ve worked flat out so they’re never apart from me for longer than two days. And now Son 1 will be gone five days at a time. Pang pang pang.  Son 2 didn’t care, he discarded the Tarzan DVD and put The Wiggles on.  And complained when I stopped it on the second time through so that we could go out.  

We went to the Beach By The Garden.  I took the Big Pram.  Before Son 2, I used to push the Big Pram everywhere. I covered miles and miles.  Son 2 fell asleep.  As I strode through coastal avenues I wondered whether I now had the chance to go for long walks on sunny Wednesdays for the next three years.  At the beach, each Wednesday Mum had only one boy. We last each had only one boy in December 2005.    It was very different.  Son 2 instantly expanded to fit the space alloted him: to the sea for water, climbing up me to balance on my shoulders, sitting with me, digging with me. At one point, as I tried again to loll back on the beach mat, drink black coffee from my flask and chat to the other mums, I considered saying: “Play by yourself, what do you think I am, your Nanny?”  He is of course designed to be irresistable.  I changed into my costume and swam in the sea. I turned round to look back and he had followed me down the sand, towing the beach mat, a Wednesday Mum completing the parade.  He had no intention of letting me go out swimming again, so we sat in the sea together, being slapped out by every seventh wave. “Again, again,” he chortled. 

We picked up Son 1, came back, they watched a bit of telly and I gave them an M and S ready meal spag bol for tea. Son 2 was weeping with misery over Son 1’s Ben 10 stationery kit. Son 1 loves it so much he won’t take anything  out of the box; Son 2 just wants to finger everything. Genuine, deep misery.  “Would you like one for your birthday?” “Yes peez.”  Good job I have the £3 Wall-E from TK MAxx, ready and raring to go.  I put Son 2 to bed. The Man and Son 1 wrapped his presents. Including Wall E.  The Man went out drinking. I came downstairs. On the phone was a message from the entertainer booked for the joint party a week on Saturday. ”Human Error. Mix Up.  Two shows booked for Saturday afternoon. Ours will have to change times. Sorry about short notice, he’s been leaving messaged on the wrong number. He’ll ring everyone. Not to worry.”  i left a message on his answerphone which said: “Sling Yer Hook, we’ll get someone else.”  Then I rang Wonder Nanny Crisis Management Services.  She suggested a person, and gave me a number. The Person can do the party. Hooray.

Christopher Robin’s Mother

1.   Without Consulting Me

2.  A Golden Gown

3.  Wandering Vaguely

I took Son 1 aged 4y 11m to school and found The Headmaster. At the end of last term The Man wrote to ask if we can take Son 1 out the week after half-term. The Elegant Aunt has offered us her Timeshare week.  Our holiday in May with The Family was a delight for the boys, but this, because of The Man’s Business, would be our first chance this year to go away as a foursome.  “I understand,” said The Headmaster. ”It’s not a problem.”

My last day as The Mother Of A One Year Old. I took the day off work so I could spend quality time with Son 2 aged 23m. So, after I’d dropped off Son 1 I had my hair done. I like the colour, I like the cut – she seems to have made it longer than it was when I went in, even with taking half an inch off.  Although The Stand In Hairdresser says as it’s bleached, it’s got to be short.  No handsome prince is ever going to scale a tower by clambering up my flaxen tresses. I got home at lunchtime to an exhausted Son 2 – Wonder Nanny had kept him up so he’d be awake for my return.  He then refused to sleep in the afternoon.  We played and watched telly, and then I roasted chicken legs for tomorrow’s birthday tea. Son 1 wants Pirate Chicken.  The meat pirates eat in the pictures.

I rang Nanna. “Please can you babysit so The Man and I can take my new haircut out?” She could.  We were late leaving though, after Son 1 first had to tiptoe into the bedroom to put each of Son 2’s presents under the cot. And then, as we read stories about Birthdays, we did Two Presents For Eeyore – the original of course – and his curiosity was drawn to Christopher Robin and The Narrator. “It’s his DAddy.  The stories were written a long time ago by a Daddy for his little boy who was five. And the little boy’s toys were Winnie The Pooh and Piglet and Eeyore and Owl and Rabbit and KAnga and Roo.” “Are they dead?”  “The Daddy is, I can’t remember if Christopher Robin is. He’s a very old man if he’s still alive.” “What happened to the Mummy?”  A very good question I thought. Never heard of her. In fact, now you mention it, I’m also worried about James James Morrison Morrison Weatherby George Dupree’s Mother.  She may have Gone Down To The End Of The  Town and was Never Seen Again. But did anyone check the whereabouts of James James’s Father when she went missing?

By The Light Of Jupiter

1.  The Golden Bell

2.  Birthday Boy

3.  Teddy Bears

4.  Night Skies

Son 2 is 2.  Amazing.  Funny, determined, physical, loving, bright, gorgeous. And incredible that if I hadn’t taken tablets we wouldn’t have him.  Conceived the month after we lost Son 1.5.  I took the advice of a doctor who said: “Well, you could take some time to recover from the miscarriage but you’re 42 and every month counts.” I can still remember a dark December evening, Clomid packet in hand, thinking about C S Lewis: “Make your choice, adventurous stranger;  Strike the bell and bide the danger, Or wonder, till it drives you mad, What would have followed if you had.”   We struck the bell… and What Followed got  a handprint kit, Playmobil fish, fish books, a crocodile, a crab, and of course half a fish tank.

Son 1 aged 4y 11m was beside himself for the present opening. Son 2 loved having Happy Birthday sung to him.  I took Son 1 off to school, in the end having to bribe him with parma violets from next Saturday’s party bags. Back home, Wonder Nanny and I pushed Son 2 in the Big Pram over to the Beach By The Garden. Son 2 fell asleep on the way over, and woke within two minutes of us arriving. I’d pictured a day like Wednesday, but the wind was ferocious, so I hired a windbreak. The sea was mighty, great big surfy breakers crashing up against the high tideline.  Son 2 dug and went to the sea for water – taking me with him each time.  We had lunch from the Beach Shack, and then  I went Swimming In The Sea. I have decided this is now a tradition. Every year I will go Swimming In The Sea on Son 2’s birthday.  I couldn’t swim – the surf was too strong. I just swam into each waves, swam/sprang up over the top of each six footer, and had to turn my back into them so they’d break around me and not wipe me out.  I still got wiped out, and rolled around in the shallows.  When I took my costume off it was full of small stones.  We had ice creams and walked back.

Wonder Nanny and Son 2 went upstairs to watch telly, and then played outside.  I got the food ready for the Birthday Tea.  Not a party of course, that will happen next Saturday.  Cold chicken, cooked yesterday, ham and peanut butter sandwiches, hummous with cucumber, pepper, carrot and breadsticks, hula hoops and cocktail sausages. Nanna arrived. Then Son 1, his face worried through the glass of the front door “Have I missed the party?” Before he’d got to Son 2, one set of Wednesday brothers had arrived, then the other. Then the sole girl, with her big sister who was on her way to Beavers. They all brought Teddies for a Teddy Bear picnic.  The boys sat with their teddies for five seconds, stuffed their faces and then ran off to get all the toys out.  I sent out a plate of jelly tot and smartie mini fairy cakes.  Son 1 and Best friend took handfuls and sat behind The Man’s chair in the lounge stuffing their faces. Son 2’s Godmother arrived with Godbrother and Godsister. “Thank heaven you’re here Godbrother,” I said. “We need a light for the candles.” “I’ve stopped smoking now,” he said. Godbrother will be 14 at the end of this month.  We had a Monkey birthday cake and a singing candle with five others.  It was impossible keeping five bigger boys from blowing them out, but we kept re-lighting them and Son 2 seemed happy with his efforts. The cake vanished. The Man let off Poundland table top fireworks in the flower bed. 

After we all went to the Yacht Club with Nanna and the Parents Of The Girls.  Son 1 and Son 2 played with their golf set. Son 1 cried when he hit his ball into the river.  A scarily competent ten year old got in a dinghy and went and brought it back. We sat on benches outside, watching the boats, drinking and talking and talking and drinking. Jupiter shone large in the darkening sky.  “Look at that lovely star Mummy,” said Son 1. “It’s not a star, it’s a planet.” “How do you know?”  “The stars are small and far up in the sky.  The planets are big and nearer the horizon.”  We came back at nine. It was a Good Day.

Ten Green Bottles

1.  The Morning After The Night Before

2.  Air Pressure

3.  The Bear Garden

Jaysus if it’s like this the day after one of them is 2, what’s it going to be like when they’re 18?  Son 1 aged 4y 11m had a lie in, Son 2 aged 2 was live and kicking at 7am despite his crackalacking day yesterday and an extremely late night. The Man and I were washing up, rinsing bottles and gathering up leftover paper in bin bags. As far as I could tell, the tally was one bottle of vintage cava, one bottle of white wine, two cartons of pineapple juice and a heck of a lot of stubbies. We let them have a lazy day. They watched Son 1’s new Charlie and The Chocolate Factory DVD.  Yes I  know, but he had a hard week. He had to go to school on the Wednesday with the Best Weather this year, his chosen Party Entertainer dumped us, and he had to go to school on Son 2’s birthday. And it was from Oxfam so I was Saving The World.   

We planned to go to the library after lunch, but a parcel arrived from Younger Sister for Son 2, and Son 1, sick with excitement and sibling rivalry, shrieked so loudly I nearly had him adopted.  It was like he nail-gunned a knitting needle into my ear.  The whole side of my face went numb.  I picked him, carried him up two flights of stairs and hurled him into his bed, closing the blinds and shutting the door. Son 2 and I went into The Town, but every step made my ear hurt, so we came back. I suspect the problem has more to do with my rampant upper respiratory congestion than his high-frequency blast bombs, but I still felt assaulted.  Son 2 fell asleep in the Big Pram on the way back, Son 1 was asleep in his room, so The Man and I had Daytime To Ourselves. We worked on the fish tank. He fiddled with the pipe to the skull and the treasure chest, while I read fascinating facts about the plants he’d bought. We had about three minutes’ Quality Time before Son 2 woke up.

Son 1 pulled out last year’s Birthday Party things. He wanted another Teddy Bear’s picnic, so we let them play outside while I did some food.  The Man was admirable. Spontaneous decision to go outside again – taken well. Arrival of 30+ Teddy Bears from the plastic bag under Son 2’s cot.  Taken Very Well.  Pirate and Peter Pan flags and flagging hung from fences and washing line. Taken Very Well. Children hooting with excitement during meal, Taken Very Well.  The Teddy Bears had salad, green beans, new potatoes, and leftover chicken and cocktail sausages from yesterday.  They went to be at Six O’clock because they were Tired Little Teddy Bears.  Son 1 and Son 2 went considerably later. Taken Very Well.

Learning The Ropes

1.  Round Turn And Two Half Hitches

2.  Bowlines

3.  Splicing The Mainbrace

A glorious day, and we took The Boat out for a crabbing trip.  Oh ok then, we took The Boat out because both Son 1 aged 4y 11m and Son 2 aged 2 were so knackered that they were almost certain to fall asleep with the drone of the engine.  It worked perfectly.  They scoffed the frozen Frubes and ice pops I’d put in a flask with some ice cubes for lollies… they each had a sandwich, and Son 1 was already lying down in the cabin. I bribed them of course. “Boys who have a sleep on The Boat can have some chocolate when they wake up.”  Zzzzzzzzzz.  I really did mean to have a go at steering it, but ended up sitting out back in a fold-up chair reading the Sunday supplements, The Man was Captain Seadog at the helm, spotting jellyfish, a line out the back for any fish capable of doing 5 knots.   The sea was turquoise and the coastline was a dazzling green.  We motored a couple of miles round into The Bay.  “We did say we’d moor up and have ice creams,” I reminded The Man.  He headed back Up River.  “The batteries needed a spin anyway.”

We reached a Yacht Harbour and moored on a pontoon.  “I can climb off on my own!” insisted Son 1. He wanted to tie us up and to untie us.  He wanted to play with the fenders, trying to yank them out at just the point a 24 foot boat could crush a Little Boy Arm against the concrete.  He never seems quite so keen to help out and learn at home. Son 2 was just as bad, wanted to walk without his reins and without holding my hand. “You walk on your reins or I pick you up,” I said. He walked on his reins. Son 1 chose a Twister, Son 2 chose a chocolate Mini Milk.  I was reminded of why I only ever let Son 1 have strawberry or vanilla. We went into a Chandlery. Sticky fidget fingers were everywhere and into everything.   On the pontoon, we put out some crab lines. A slow start, but we got 20, with Son 1 as usual doing the hauling in, netting and tipping out into the buckets.  “And me! And me!” said Son 2, walking all the lines together with his fat little legs. A Business Acquaintance of The Man’s came and sat on The Boat.  We all had a beer and basked in the sun.

Back home, Son 1 wanted another picnic.  “Which do you want, to watch telly or have a picnic?” “A picnic! With my Peter Pan flags!”  The Man, Son 1 and Son 2 went out to hand out skulls and crossbones, and Peter Pan bunting.  ”Tay Bears!” called Son 2. “Tay Bears.” The big bag full of cuddly toys came down. I made steak and chips from scratch in half an hour flat.  Son 1 still won’t eat oven chips or stringy chips. Doesn’t like them. Not as nice as Mummy’s. Which, girls, are made by putting a baking tray coated with olive oil into a mark 7 oven, cutting potatoes into chips, microwaving them for seven minutes (with a shake up half way,) drying them off and then coating them in the hot oil from the tray and shoving then in the top of the oven for 10 – 15 minutes to brown off.  Outside on the ground the Captain Hook table cloth was screwed up and the teddies were everywhere.     The boys wanted to eat their meals sitting down with the teddies. We let them. After, they played a kick/hit the balloons game with two of Son 2’s birthday balloons and The Man. The sound of their giggles, shrieks and laughter rang out.  “Son 1, you’re so tired,” said The Man, after Son 1 missed and fell again. He sprang up:”I’m not tired, I’m just happy.”

Apparently

1.  Assumptions

2.  Avalanche

3.  Aquabatics

I didn’t see the children yesterday. I went out before they were up, and didn’t get back till way after they were in bed asleep.

“Apparently,” said Son 1 aged 4y 11m over breakfast this morning, “everyone in Reception can read except me.” Cannon ball blast through stomach moment. Many moons ago, linguistics was part of my degree, and I have Strong Views about teaching young children to read.  Forget it. Unless they are hanging on your leg and bashing a book against your knee eveytime you see them, concentrate on helping them speak well instead. Son 1 can read and write his name. Weren’t me, guv. Wonder Nanny?  Nursery?  No idea.  And so. If he had picked up the book called “How To Skewer Mummy Right In The Know-It-all-Assumptions” he couldn’t have chosen a better line. I questioned him.  He named two children. One a boy who has an older sister. Second children. Always learn faster. The other a child from Nursery whose parents sent him elsewhere.  A little prodigy who could swim, climb, run, write, draw and talk better than anyone else, and who is probably on his sixth or seventh symphony by now. Way out of our league.  So I worried for a few minutes, but then Looked On The Bright Side, and decided that any four year old who can use “apparently” correctly is going to be All Right.

After The Man has taken Son 1 to school, I left Son 2 aged 2 upstairs watching Chitty Chitty Bang Bang while I put washing on, hoovered, tidied up, ate breakfast, had a little read of the paper and rang a few friends.   I discussed reading, parties, starting school, birthday teas, and had a very nice time.”I do have to go,” I told the last one. “I’ve left Son 2 on his own upstairs for ages and I really must check on him.” I ended that call and then thought I’d quickly ring  a Wednesday mum while I was going upstairs. I dialled the number and there was a massive thump, a wail, then another thump, then a silence and then a loud, terrified howl.  Son 2 was lying about three foot from the bottom of the stairs, face down and crying so hard he could barely breathe. Cuddles. Ibuprofen. Chocolate buttons.  He was ok. I rang a friend to tell her what happened.

We walked over to the Beach By The Garden to meet the Wednesday Friends. All the big boys are now in school.  Son 2 slept on the way over.  We dug, we went to the sea to get him water, we had ice lollies. Another lovely day – less wind than on Friday, but still with a mighty sea swell.  I dug two big sandcastles.  Son 2 trashed them, depending on which one I was building.  A Wednesday Mum dug a big levee and a massive hole for when the tide came in, so the boys could sit in it when the water rushed round.  I swam in the sea. I’m getting faster at going in. Or maybe the water’s warmer. There were a few set, grey hairdos and one bald head bobbing up and down.  Mmmm.  Clearly I am Yoof discovering something that old ladies do. It was fantastic. I prefer it flatter, but I swam out past the big breakers and let the current take me along parallel to the shore, then swam back against it and headed diagonally back in. It was wonderful. Reacting to the power of the water, enjoying breathtaking scenery, touching nature.  The Man had stopped off during his lunch break.  I came out of the water smiling. “Look at the state of your swimming costume,” he said. “It’s disgusting.  Chuck it. I’m throwing it out tonight.”  Just been washed a few too many times, that’s all. Oh dear, if he’s noticed I shall have to find a new one.   Who knows where I can get a forgiving, flattering one-piece that doesn’t automatically admit me to the grey-hair-bobbing-in-the-sea club?  And that also has plenty of space in the bodice.

A Bright, Bright, Sunshiney Day

1.  Nothing But Blue Skies

2.  Obstacles

3.  Here Is The Rainbow

We are improving.  We can get out of the house a bit earlier, and in to School a bit earlier.  A bright, fresh morning with a blue sky. Son 1 aged 4y 11m is still in shorts; I was in a silk print frock. I have no idea what Son 2 aged 2 wore. He was in his pyjamas when we left, and in his (different) pyjamas when we got back. A completely different set of parents dropping off when we are On Time, as opposed to There By The Skin Of Our Teeth. I’ve never seen any of them before.  Although I do think it’s quite funny that it is, indeed, Always The Same Ones who are late when we are.

At lunchtime I went out to shop for party food.  M and S. No I didn’t remember the bloody vouchers. Or the bloody carrier bags.  I gained three more party guests on the way.  One is a little vegetarian boy who usually comes with his vegetarian parents.   I’ve been vegetarian for 26 years and even I don’t really know what we eat. I bought quiche and  Cheese and onion savoury rolls.  I don’t want little 5 year old X to sit and stare at the table and not have a choice.  “I can’t decide if Son 1 aged 4m is going to be a vegetarian or not,” I said to the Breastfeeding Counsellor, way back in Jan 2005. “Well you don’t need to decide yet do you?  He’s 17 weeks old.”  “Oh it’s not for now, I’m making baby food for the freezer for when i go back to work and I’m just starting 9m in the Annabel Karmel book.”  I was a bit more in control in Those Days.  I went for meat.   I didn’t want him to be the odd one out at parties.

When I picked him up he had made me a bar of soap, and completed his sticker chart for a Certificate Of Achievement. “I’m the first to get it in my class,” he said.  For two weeks he has talked of nothing else. “I am going to smile so I can get a sticker.” “I am going to help so I can get a sticker.” He seems two years older than he was two weeks ago.  I let him talk me into a trip to Tesco, because I needed serving plates for tomorrow. He behaved impeccably.  Threw a few Smoothies squashies and cheese stringie things into the trolley, but I kind of regard those as collateral damage if I’m barmy enough to take him shopping. Back home, The Man had remembered to buy serving plates too. The phone kept ringing, Another three party guests.  We are now up to… er… 25.  I can do 24 Scooby Party bags. 24 Scooby plates and 24 Scooby cups. After that it’s Tesco Value. They won’t all come. Sweepstake anyone?  I think 7 no-shows on the day. Maybe two we’re not expecting to turn up. I am The Woman Who Cooked Her Baby Food Four Months In Advance.  I will take a carrier bag of Spares.

Making A Day

1.  Making Bags

2.  Making Sandwiches

3.  Making Merry

27.  The vegetarian boy’s Mother called off, two older boys turned up… no-one dropped out and I have absolutely no idea who The Last One was.  I am Toast.  Charred and chewed.  Ringing head. Rabid sciatica.  Twitching eyelid.  Compulsive hair twiddling.  Hope you’re ok.  So. Up at the crack.  Son 1 aged 4y 11m with one goal. Doing The Party Bags.  I read to Son 2 aged 2, but we finished too soon. The second we got to the kitchen, Son 2 started unpicking the bubble wands Son 1 and The Man had just carefully sellotaped to the Scooby Do bubbles. Son 1 screamed.  The next thing to go in was the sweets. ”Can we eat them?” said Son 1.  ”Yes. If you eat your breakfast you can have them as your treat in Tonic, Treat and Teeth.”  They gorged parma violets and lollies and chews.  Son 2 gobbled boiled sweets. Choked. Spat out.  The advantage of eight months’ reflux hell is the best gag reflex this side of an eating disorder.     Son 2 happily plopped sweets into each party bag. 

The Man was a Marvel.  He started making sandwiches at 0830, went down into Town twice, made all the party food – sandwiches, vegetable fingers, topped strawberries, packed up all the stuff, made two trips to the Church – with Son 1 – and presented it all beautifully. He was singing as he washed up 15 minutes before we had to go. A Magical Moment which is going in The Album.

And The Party.  27 + children, 24 party bags, 30 balloons and a bouncy castle. Acoustic Armageddon.   Son 1and Best Friend were, by several streets, the Worst Behaved Children there.   The Bouncy Castle Man, because I asked him nicely, turned up 45 minutes ahead of start time so Son 1 and a handful of friends could have a Good Old Play before the rest of the guests arrived.   I thought it would calm them down.  Nope.  They were orbiting at sub-atomic speeds, and then the Gentle New Children from Son 1’s reception class arrived with their bewildered parents.  The Children’s Entertainers were amazing. Party games, a puppet show, magic tricks.   Son 1 had the time of his life.  Son 2 less so… he needed me to help him enjoy it and although I did my best I couldn’t always do it. Nanna just sat on her chair throughout, watching.  I had Great Help.  Son 2’s wonderful Godmother queened it in the kitchen with The Man, serving squashes, teas, coffees… and, when I got up the nerve, beer and bucks fizz. She washed up, she did the party bags.  She’s a miracle.  Best Friend’s Mother got the most outrageous gossip from her chatting.  All to do with ex-boyfriends, impossible overlaps between Reception Dads and Breastfeeding Group Mums, and a jaw-dropping “I should have chosen you” moment.   Bloody Hell. If “He” goes off with “Her” it’ll be my fault.   And the present pile, oh God the present pile.  It was for two children remember…. but a small, church hall table piled with 50 plus presents does not look good.   In my defence, Son 2 had money for the Children’s Hospice instead of presents for his christening. And I promise they’re having goats next year.   ”Did you like your party, Son 1?” “Yes I really enjoyed it.”  And still they both span bedtime out to get more time with Mummy.

Bash A Fish

1.  Sardines

2.  Flounder

3.  Shark

So. After yesterday’s triathlon, what sort of a lie in do you think our perfect children game us? 6am.  Little Baskets.  We put them in the Double Bed with us.  Son 2 aged 2 tried pestering The Man. Didn’t work. Tried pestering me. Didn’t work. Reached over me to bat at Son 1 aged 4 y 11m.  Giggles to the left.  Giggles to the right. “Sweets,” said Son 2. ”Son 2, are you hungry?” “Es.” “Do you want your breakfast?”  “Es.”  Son 2 ate nothing but peas-in-the-pod and biscuits yesterday afternoon.  They promised they’d have a sleep during the day. 

The weather was fine, the water was flat.  We knew we were for it if we stayed in.  We rang round for reinforcements for a Boat Trip.   A Wednesday Mum and her family came. We packed leftover quiche and chocolate cake.  We went to the Yacht Club. The Man brought The Boat into the quay.  We chugged around, fishing.  The Wednesday Mum had a real, live fish on the end of her line. It Got Away.  And then… she, Retired Army Captain husband and The Man started catching fish. RACH took them off the line… And he’d brought a large stone with him.  For killing the fish with a blow to the head. At first, he did it. Then, his son, Five Year Old Friend, did it. And then, Son 1.   I watched him do it.  He’s killed a living creature before he’s five. Forty years older, I still haven’t.  I can clean and gut a fish, and always enjoy meat-eaters’ squeamishness when they see my matter-of-fact technique. But I have no idea whether or not I could kill a crittur.  I just felt as Son 1 lives on The River, he should be able to catch a mackerel.  And put it out of its misery.  He walked round clutching the stone.  “Anyone want to bash a fish?”

Total catch: 10 mackerel and 21 crabs. The crabs went back in the river.  Back home, we wrapped up four fish in greaseproof paper and hung them in a bag on the neighbours’ front door. She told Son 1 that if he ever caught any mackerel, she’d buy them from him. He was heartbroken when she wasn’t in. The Man lit a barbecue, I made new potatoes and broccoli, and we barbecued the two fish we’d kept. The Man wasn’t sure, but I told him he had to eat them to Be A Good Example For The Boys. Son 1 wouldn’t. Sucked a few bits in his mouth, but that was it. Son 2 wolfed it. We had just started to suspect Son 2 may have been a fish in a previous life.  It would explain the unswerveable fascination with both fish and wah-wah.   From the way he gobbled the mackerel, he must, of course,  have been a Big Fish.

You Shall Have A Fishy

1.  Mr Bump

2.  Mr Clever

3.  Bash A Fish

The Man took Son 1 aged 5 to school, so Son 2 aged 2 and I could bond at home.  He chose the activity. Sitting on my knee while he watched The Wiggles.  At the party, a Mum-Of-Three kindly donated 3 Wiggles DVDs which hers have outgrown.  Another friend gave him a “Mister Bump” sweatshirt, which I put him in today, thinking it was hilarious.   I went upstairs to do my hair and make up. I went downstairs to put on washing, clean up and get our packed lunch ready. ”Mummeee!  It’s Bished (Finished)!” called Son 2’s distant voice. “Ok!” I called back. Bump-Thump-Crash-Waaaaaaah.  Down the stairs again.  I couldn’t see him, but I know what happened. He thought I was upstairs and was heading on up… he heard my voice from downstairs… swung round and splat.  Never happens with Wonder Nanny. Always happens with me.

I pushed him over to the Rockpool Beach to see the Wednesday Friends. Another Mum from breastfeeding group five years ago was also there.  Two little Wednesday brothers, who’d both been at the Birthday Tea yesterday, were knackered. One cuddled his Mum and slept… the other played and sat.  They were in rainsuits and fleeces.  Son 2, within seconds of arriving, demanded to play in the water. I put him in his neoprene swimsuit, with his sunsuit over the top. He’ll freeze soon, I thought, and then he’ll sit with everyone, so I’ll play with him for a bit first.  Clutching the fishing net I’d transported upright on the Big Pram, he led me to the rockpools.  They were all full of shrimps.  Poor old Son 1 and I have been to that beach time after time. He loves catching shrimp. And we really had very little luck.  It’s one of the reasons we moved onto crabbing. And yet, just after high tide, there they all were, darting around in every one.  It was great. It probably means another polar bear somewhere with no ice cap to live on, but it was great. We caught three before Son 2 demanded we look for crabs. Which we couldn’t find.  He didn’t get cold. He didn’t sleep.  

We walked back via The Square. I had a coffee and got Son 2 a hot chocolate.  He fell over on the concrete – this is where he fell and ended up in casualty – and blacked his cheek. He pointed at something. “Big SeeSaw,” he said.  I kept trying but didn’t get it.  “Seahorse?”  “No.  ‘Mine. Mine. Mine.’ Like Nemo.”  “Oh, seagull!” “Es.”  We rounded up The Man and went to collect Son 1.  “You can bring siblings in for the school photos tomorrow,” said Smiley Teacher. Of course we can. Because Son 2 has a great swollen red mark on his cheek. On the way back we stopped in at The Fish Shop with a sample of water from our tank. Hooray. We can buy two fish.  Son 1 picked some little sparkly silver ones.  Back home, they watched his new Kung Fu Panda DVD, while The Man and I tried to sort the tank. When he set it up, he left the plants in baskets. And they have to be planted. So I stuck two in the gravel and tied one to the bogwood. Then we couldn’t get the airpipes into the skull and the treasure chest properly.  And the tank looked all stirred up and murky. So we put the fish bag in it. The boys ate tea, and then, at last, we released Flossy and Coupon into the water. They seemed to like it.  Then, upstairs, while I was putting Son 2 to bed, Son 1 asked if he could go down and have another look at the fish.  When I’d finally got them both to sleep, I went downstairs and there was only one. “I think we’ve killed the other one already,” said The Man. “Son 1 frightened it, it swam behind the bogwood and that’s it. That was an hour ago. ”  Bugger, I thought. I’d liked those fish.  I went downstairs for the paper while we were eating our meal. Two fish. It vanished again while we were washing up, and then came out when we switched the light off.  I do hope they live. We can have some more at the weekend, according to the woman in the shop. I am having one. When the boys have chosen theirs, and when they are settled, I am going to get one more.  i will put it into the gang and see how long it takes for them to notice. But it will always be Mine.

A Shining Light

1.  You Arrive And The Night Is Alive

2.   These Are The Days

3.   Dark, Divine Intervention 

I wanted to stay in bed. “Up,” said Son 2 aged 2. “Up,” said Son 1 aged 5. I consider anything after 7.30am a bonus. But the boys were crabby and cantankerous. Son 2, as usual, wanted breakfast, and then wanted to lie in front of the telly with his face on the floor. Son 1 wanted to fall out with everything.  The Boat, we felt, not liking the idea of a day at home with over-tired, horrible children just wanting to watch telly and sleep.  We packed up and had a text from friends saying they were taking their boat out with a barbie. So I defrosted some yellow-sticker burgers in their honour. The Man picked us up from the quayside in a dinghy. A beautiful day, with flat water, light winds, scores and scores of yachts, kayaks, cruisers, powerboats, racers, fishing boats… all out pootling.   We pootled off to Lighthouse Beach and anchored off it.  The mother arrived with two small girls in a powerboat, and moored against ours. Maybe I should learn about boats. She looked quite cool zooming up. The girls came aboard, and Mother zoomed off to get Father.

We went ashore in their boat. Lighthouse Beach is only accessible by water or a couple of sheer Amalfi-style zigzag paths.  The bay was busy, the beach less so.  Golden sand, turquoise water, great walls of cliffs with water dripping down them to form pirate caves.  Son 1 was in raptures, Son 2 wanted to stay close to me. Son 2 and I dug, Son 1 rolled around in the beach tent. Other families arrived. I went for a swim in the sea. It was heaven. The best one this year. I think. Can’t really remember and I haven’t got time to look back at this blog.  The water was, as usual, blood-thickeningly cold… but it was still, no current, no rocks, no wind.  I swam up and down, keeping an eye out to make sure all the boats heading for the beach had seen me. Son 1 came down to the shore so I went in. We played in some caves liberated by the outgoing tide… and then we went rockpooling on the ohter side of the beach.  The reason children can skit about on razor-sharp rocks is because they weigh nothing. For the more traditionally-built, like me, walking on upended layers of granite hurts.   Back with the others Son 2 changed into his tiger robe, lay face down on a yoga pillow I’d bought with us Just In Case, and went to sleep.

Son 1 was engrossed with the other children, so I got to wander along the shoreline in the low, September-solstice sunshine, picking at the shells and looking for a stone big enough to Bash A Fish with.  The sea hush-hushed in the background. And then suddenly the golden sunshine vanished and the sky was filled with low, dark clouds. We idly packed up and headed back to our boats. Son 1 was a nightmare all the way back. Crying because he’s tired.  It was gone nine by the time we got them to bed.  They will so not be able to get up tomorrow morning.

Payback

1.  Sleeping

2.  Smiling

3.  Sluicing

And of course I couldn’t get either of them up this morning. The Man left at 0530 on a Business Trip. I got up, had coffee, had breakfast, emptied dishwasher, hung washing out, put washing on, put boys’ breakfast out, showered, did hair and make up and STILL they weren’t bothering.  Why.  Why at the weekend, when I am gripping my bed like I’m on a 20th-floor ledge, do they make me get up? And then why do they not even hear me in the week? Even Son 2 aged 2, the original I WILL WALK 500 MILES AND I WILL WALK 500 MORE hypercharged baby was comatose.   I got them up, and I got us out.

When I picked Son 1 aged 5 up from school, he burrowed in his bag and produced several proof sheets from the school photos taken last week. Wonder Nanny had taken Son 2 along as well, so there were five of the two of them together.  i have long told Son 1 that if he smiles nicely in official photos, Mummy will buy him a present. The pictures are truly fantastic, and Son 1 knew it.  Crumple of small boy when he realised I didn’t have a present with me.  In my defence, I had said I needed to see the smiles first. We have agreed we will try and get to a joke shop tomorrow to see if they have a magic wand. 

I did them corn on the cob for tea. Served with little sharp skewery things in each end.  Kitchen gadgets I bought in the days when I though we weren’t having children.  Son 2 pulled his out and started shoving one through his teeth. Son 1 played pirates with his. The corn was too hot to eat, so I sliced it off onto their plates. Son 1 stared at the pile in disbelief. “I want it back on,” he wailed.  Upstairs Son 2 was in the bath while I sorted washing and Son 1 spoke to Birthday Boy Godbrother on the phone. “Big Poo!” came the battle cry. We went in. There was a toy turtle floating in the bubbles on the top. But nothing sinister. I put my hand in for the turtle. It wasn’t a turtle.  And my hand went straight through it, a five-fingered macerator which scattered the soft turd down, along and up the sides of the bath.    Son 2 couldn’t have had more toys in the bath if he’d piled up every one he owns in there.  Today’s Top Tip.  In net laundry bags (Lakeland and kitchen shops,) in the washing machine, Quick Wash. ”Big Poo,” said Son 2 again. We put him on the booster loo seat. He performed. Four chocolate buttons each for a poo in the loo.  Keeps the children still and quiet for just long enough to spray and wash the bath out.

A Magic Wand

1.  Spellbound

2.  The Evil Queen

3.  New Lamps For Old

And again, I couldn’t get them up.  I have decided to Be Positive and Not Take This Personally.  It is getting darker in the mornings. That is why Son 1 aged 5 and Son 2 aged 2 are struggling in the mornings. Still, it gave me time to tumble dry Son 1’s school shorts. Which he sprayed yoghurt on in the car on the way home yesterday. Bloody Frubes again. So. I was Mrs Perfect Housewife and had them cleaned, dried and ready to be when I finally tow-trucked him out of bed this morning. He tipped milk down them when he was having his breakfast.   

Mrs Perfect Housewife turned into Mother From Hell this afternoon.  I picked up Son 1, who was leaping and laughing because we were going to the Joke Shop in The Town to see if they have a magic kit.  A reward for coming home with Heavenly Photos.  Son 1 wants a magic wand.  I agreed, thinking he wanted one of the ones he sees at parties – rigid in the hands of the magician, floppy when the children hold it.  Since saying ‘yes’ it has slowly dawned on me that he thinks a magic wand is… er.. magic. Anyway. Outside The House. Heading for The Town.  “I want to ride in the Pram.” “Darling you’re five, you’re too big. And anyway, Son 2’s in the Pram.” “Wark.”  “No, you go in the Pram, then we can get to the shop before it closes.”  “Wark.”  “Oh all right, but you’ll have to wear your reins. And walk, Son 2, no, don’t stop to look at a feather. If you want to walk, then walk. Son 1, I cannot manage you in the Pram and Son 2 on the reins. Son 2 will you walk! Put the stone down!  If you don’t walk you’re getting in the Pram…”  So.  I stuffed Son 2 in the Big Pram “Wark! Wark!” He cried and  corkscrewed and twisted himself out. Everytime he got out, Son 1 got in. I put Son 2 back in. He screeched so loudly people on the other side of the street stopped talking to look over.  And so I marched us all home, with Son 1 crying and begging to be allowed to go to the Joke Shop. At home I stripped Son 2, put him in his sleeping bag (to stop him climbing) pulled the blinds down and shoved him in the cot. Gave Son 1 a vast chocolate bar to stop him crying and poured a large glass of white wine. 

Son 2 and I are also developing a battle of the wills over toilet training. He wants to give it a go. I have just bought 132 nappies in two big boxes. “Wee wee!” “Oh, do it in your nappy.”  “Want loo. Want pot pot.”  He did another poo in the loo this evening.  I wanted to lie on the bed reading books to him. He wanted to get up and wee in the potty every five minutes. I have run out of chocolate buttons. Which should slow the little beggar down a bit.  I got them to bed and then sorted out the recycling.  Two birthday teas, two birthdays and a huge party have passed since the last collection. We have generated mountains of cardboard, paper and bottles.  I have positioned our pile far down The Terrace. To make it easier for the recycling men to load it on the lorry, of course.

Vanished

1.  Lost

2.  Left

3.  Legerdemain

I can do this, I thought, swigging coffee at 6am as I emptied the dishwasher and put washing away. Son 1 aged 5 woke up at about 0630. I put him in front of CBeebies while I had a shower. Son 2 aged 2 cried. I did his nappy, dressed him, dressed Son 1, did my hair and make up and got them down for breakfast. Eaten. No spills. Tonicked.  Hair and teeth brushed.   Out of the house on time, a Good Morning to the Man from the Paper Shop with his fluorescent satchel, and a wave to the recycling men as we passed them at the bottom of The Terrace.  We drove to School singing Doll On A Music Box from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, Son 2’s current favourite. We had enough time to park up the Muddy Path. We got out of the car. “Son 1, where’s your school bag?” I checked the seats, the footwells and the boot.  With a slowly dawning dread, I realised I’d put the school bag on the road behind the car while I seatbelted the children in.  Not the end of the world, but next to it was the Nappy Bag. In the Nappy Bag was my card wallet – bank cards, credit cards, loyalty cards, library cards – phone and purse.  And not even on the pavement… on the road. Six or seven cars down from The House. With the recycling men heading on up towards them only minutes away.

The School let me use their phone. The only number I knew was The Man’s. “What do you expect me to do… I’m in France!” Ring the neighbours, I suggested. He has a new phone and his Simcard isn’t working yet.  I drove back. What’s the worst that can happen, I thought.  I will have to cancel a few credit cards and borrow money from Nanna till new ones arrive.   I can get a new phone. It’s Not The End Of The World.  Son 2 fell asleep on the trip back. I double-parked outside The House and sprang from the car. On the doorstep was the organic veg box. With the school bag and nappy bag, contents intact, on top. 

Son 2 and I had a low-key day. We visited one Wednesday Mum at home, and then went round the other’s for lunch.  Afterwards, I drove into The Town, went to the Joke Shop and bought Son 1 a 5+ magic kit and a 99p magic wand.  I put it in his schoolbag and gave it to him when we picked him up. “Where’s my magic wand?” In the car, I said. “Does it have powers?” he asked on the way back. “It’s a toy wand,” I said. “See how you get on with it.”  Back home, we found the magic wand makes bits of magic tricks disappear. “Don’t open the bag with the tricks in until I’ve got Son 2 to bed. You’ll lose the pieces.” Well by the time I’d left Son 2 we were down a rubber pencil and two of our Find-The-Lady white balls.  The balls re-appeared. Son 1 can just about do a swords-through-the-coin trick, and he LOVES the magic paddle.   “Who was the super-good person who helped us with the bags, Mummy?” he asked.   I have considered the suspects.  The neighbours knew nothing. The recycling men – wouldn’t have stopped to look at the bags.  The organic veg man – I didn’t see his van. Step forward…  someone who often sees us leaving for School, who saw us pull away, and who Knows Where We Live.  I think our Secret Hero is the Paper Shop Man.

Friction

1.  Resistance

2.  Inertia

3.  Flow

On days like today I need a Positive Blog. We are, all four of us, knackered.  Son 1 aged 5 goes deaf when he’s tired.  My voice gets louder and I repeat myself, repeat myself.  Son 2 aged 2 grizzles and clings.  The Man lists faults. Out loud. We are worried about Son 2’s Godmother, who is on a drip in hospital with a kidney infection. And Granny is coming to stay for nearly a week tomorrow, so there has been some mad tidying, and a rather ill-timed attempt to Improve Your Children’s Table Manners In 24 Hours.  However. Digging deep in the day…  Son 2 wanted to lie down in Son 1’s bed. With Mummy.  He pulled the cover over his head, pressed his soft little face close to mine, and dozed off with snuffly little snores.  He had about 20 minutes’ sleep before Son 1 woke him by throwing toys around.

I got the boys’ hair cut.  After lunch, piled Son 2 into the Big Pram, ignored Son 1’s attempts to get in it, and strode off for The Town.  Son 1 whined every step of the way. He wanted to ride on the Pram. At the bottom of the hill I gave in. He stands on the axle and holds on to the handle, in a sort of makeshift buggy board stance.  I take the weight on my back and arms, and tell myself I’m burning calories.  This time he has perfected his technique.  He rested his bottom on the nappy bag so he had a seat. At the hairdressers’, Son 1 just stared, exhausted, in the mirror and didn’t bother answering any questions. He could barely keep his head upright for her. Son 2 was Perfect Child, sitting in a car in the window watching The Wiggles on their DVD.  People passing pointed and smiled. I hope because my child is so beautiful, and not because they were saying “Why doesn’t that mother just cut it herself?”  They both look great.  Son 1 misbehaved all the way back.

While we were out, The Man changed some of the water in the Fish Tank, so it looks better.  We switched on the skull and treasure chest bubbles, and Flossy and Coupon seemed to play quite happily.   We had a Fishkeeping For Beginners moment earlier.  I asked The Man to turn up the heater because the water seemed to be getting cooler – it’s meant to be 25C, and was barely 20C.  He kept turning it up. Nothing happened. And then… we… er… realised the heater wasn’t on. The water was at room temperature and was getting cooler because it’s getting cooler.  Still.  It doesn’t seem to have bothered Flossy and Coupon, who after 10 days with us are still alive and seem to be having a good time. Excellent. That means 1 in 3 members of our family has in fact enjoyed today.  I knew this Blog was a Good Thing.

Free Dawdling

1.  Hand Prints

2.  Footsteps

3.  Hand Outs

We did a bit better today, although writing this in the evening, me on the sofa, and The Man on His Chair, we are pale, fatter, worn out shadows of our BC selves.  Son 2 aged 2 woke in the night wailing for Mummy. I have decided he can’t have Mummy, Daddy is his reward for antisocial behaviour, so off trogged The Man to sort him out. And then Son 1 aged 5 arrived in The Big Bed. It was 8am before anyone tipped me out of bed, which is a Good Thing. “Can we get Granny now?” asked Son 1, the moment his eyes snapped open.  He swiftly moved on to the plaster-of-paris handprint kits I gave both Son 1 and Son 2 for their birthdays. After breakfast, I said, sternly. You make a mould, and then pour plaster in, and then lo, a spooky Pompeii-style memento of the size your child used to be. Well I like them. And so does Son 1.   And they were cheap in TK Maxx. We messed up the first kit by spreading the gel too thin. And decided to make two out of Son 2’s. Son 1 sat, Perfect Child, his hand absolutely still, flat in the gel. Son 2 cried at having to keep his hand still. So we tried his foot. He cried. The gel crept up his fat little thigh.  We tried his hand again. He crumbled the rapidly-setting gel material in his hand.  He crumbled his mould, and then poured water from the jug in.   It was a craft material. We let him get on with it.  Later, ready to collect Granny from the Airport, the kitchen was spotless, and Son 2 was wearing the latest outfit she’d sent him.  While we were still tidying frantically elsewhere, he climbed up to and opened the plaster-of-paris packet from the handprint kit, sending stiff white powder down his Sunday best and all over the kitchen. I texted this to his Godmother, who has finally been released from hospital.  “I love Son 2,” she texted back. “You can buy him on eBay,” I replied. 

We had a coffee at the Airport while we were waiting for Granny’s plane. And then saw her, trailing forlornly outside, pulling her case on wheels. Oops. The Man and I are veterans of the Airport in the days when the sound of planes landing shook the paint off the tinpot terminal walls and rattled the fillings in your teeth.  It’s all got a bit bigger since then.  Son 1 and Son 2 were skipping with delight to see her. We played Spot The Yellow Car all the way home, with Granny proving almost as good as Son 1. A cup of tea, then lunch, and then we walked into The Town. Son 1 was still pingponging off the walls, and I decided we needed to Burn His Energy Off. He did very well, walking the 3/4 mile down to The Square and then some on the way back.  Climbing up onto every railing, going up and down every step, round and round every column, under every cycle rail and up onto every flat surface offering King Of The Castle potential.  It’s a form of Free Running. Only much, much, much slower.

I made Fish and Chips for tea, Sea Bass I bought from the fishmonger’s yesterday, home-made chips and peas. I was five minutes from landing when friends called round. They’d bought a jacket on ebay for their 3 year old. It was too big, but beautiful. Did we want it for Son 1 for the winter? Ooh yes please. And an unwanted bimini someone was throwing out, which they’d thought we’d like for The Boat.  “Bim bimini, Bim bimini,” sang The Man.  He’s got a great line in malapropism.  “Sit!” he said to Son 2.  “You sound like you’re training a dog,” I said. “I know. I feel like Mary Whitehouse sometimes.” “Do you mean Barbara Wodehouse?”” “Same thing.” Son 1, Son 2 and 3 year old played in the garden.  We drank and chatted. Our friends left. Tea was late.  Bedtime was late.  Oh well, only 2 weeks till half term. We can all have a bit of a rest then.

The Ugly Bug Ball

1.  Nobody To Hug

2.  Fancy Dancing With The Fleas

3.  Every Little Crawling Creature You Can Name

Well let’s start off with a Big Fat Positive.  Son 2 aged 2 slept through the night without HOWLING for me. Big big relief.  Yes I know it’s only one night… but at least it shows he still can, and hasn’t flipped back to the nightmare days of a year ago when Wonder Nanny was off, Son 1 had just started the new Nursery and I’d just stopped feeding him and he WANTED HIS MUMMY.

And then. I got up at 0545.  Made lunches, put out breakfast. Cleaned. Did washing. Left dishwasher for Granny. (Daring.) Took The Man a cup of tea. Son 1 aged 5 woke, reluctantly.  We got him up. We got him dressed and fed. We were nearly on teeth and Out Of The Door.  He scratched the back of his head.  He’d scratched the back of his head on Friday, and I conditioned him and Nitty Grittied him. The back of his hairline looked red, but I took him to the Hairdresser and she didn’t find anything.  “Son 1, come over to the light and let me have a look at you.”  A Secret Thing I will tell you about Being An Older Parent is we can see Bugger All.  It’s blissful. We can’t read ingredients on packets, so we fret not over sugar or salt.  We can’t read safety warnings on toy instructions , so we never worry.  We can’t see marks on whites, pencil on walls or insects on the lino.  We can’t cut toenails: “Ow Mummy! You made me bleed!” Never, Ever, let us drive you at night.  And head lice on blond children? Forgeddit.   I am so short sighted I need blastproof thickness contact lenses. And yet my near focus has gone. So. I took out my lenses, yanked poor old Son 1 round by the window and stared at his hair from a distance of one inch. There was something dark gripping a hair which I couldn’t pick off. I combed. And I found an insect. I rang the school. Treat Him, they said, and bring him in.  I conditioned and Nitty Grittied Son 1 in the bath.  We found two more critturs.  I rubbed sheepdip into his hair.  “I need to do mine, I need to do mine,” The Man panicked. My head started to itch. Granny, in her dressing gown, looked after Son 2.  Son 1 wriggled and cried and whinged. “If you sit still Daddy will buy you a packet of Go Gos,” I said. “I need two packets,” said Son 1. “Done!” I said.  Son 1 sat, saintly, patient.  I finally got him, damp haired and stinking, to School an hour late.  I am overwhelmed at The Office at the moment. If I had to pick a day when I simply couldn’t be late, today was it.   

At The Office the “Only One Way To Get Rid Of Head Lice” stories rained down.  Wrap your hair in olive oil in a towel for two days.  Make sure you get the eggs.  Tea Tree oil.  I tackled my work pile and was pleased with how far I got. Son 2’s Godmother got the tests back. E Bloody coli.  Where did she get that? Apparently it lives in your gut and can spontaneously skate in.  One of those Shaddap About The Headlice moments. I took her sunflowers.  I went to Boots for more sheepdip.  The Assistant couldn’t have cared less about our outbreak. I just made it to Son 1’s school before the After School Club shut. Back home I shampooed and combed two slithering, wriggling children. And rubbed Agent Orange into my hair. I am bleached blonde. It will probably be green by morning.

Double Dating

1.  Howlround

2.  Clash

3.  Bump

Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht. Alles schlaft. Until Son 2 aged 2 started SHOUTING FOR MUMMY. I sprang out of bed to get to him before he woke Son 1 aged 5, sleeping next to him, scooped him up and put him in the Double Bed between The Man and me.  Granny is in the Big Bed upstairs, and The Man are next to the boys. I checked the time on a clock downstairs.  4am. The little beggar.  He tossed and turned and wriggled and writhed. At 0445 I gave up and got up. On the Bright Side. I copied dates from 2009 into the 2010 calendar. I cleared out the mess in my bag. I paid a bill which had been outstanding forever. I ordered school photos. I made the lunches.

Son 2 wasn’t impressed with being left at home, Son 1 was Perfect Child. A long drive in this morning because of the rain. I dropped him off and had another Hard Day At The Office.  I have muddled up Son 1’s Parents’ Evening. I thought it was today, which I could have left early for.  It isn’t. It’s next Tuesday, and already my whole day is jam-packed.  The Man will have to go without me.  Bright side: I bought a new dress from TK Maxx.  There is an Important Office Do on Thursday night.  I took it round to the Godmother for a second opinion. She approved, and provided pashmina and handbag.

When I got home, Son 2 chortled, giggled and clung.   Both boys were excited… there were two plastic bags resting on top of the water in the Fish Tank. Granny has bought four more fish.  Son 1 has carefully considered, and named them Fluffy, Floppy, Zizzy and Sulky.  Friends for Flossy and Coupon.  An instant shoal.  They seem to be getting on ok.   In Son 1’s bag there was an apologetic note from his class teacher. We can’t have the time we asked for his Parents’ Evening appointment. She’s happy to do another day and time if it would be more convenient. Oh all right then.   As you’re unable to fit us in, we’ll re-schedule.  No, no, don’t mention it, we don’t mind at all.

Getting Wet

1.  Second Sons

2.  Settling Sons

3.  Getting Sons

The Man took Son 1 aged 5 to school, which left Son 2 aged 2 and I having a serene start.  He wanted to watch telly, so I parked him in front of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. He sat on my lap. “Mummy wot wi me.” I watched Truly Scrumptious billow chiffon around the annoying children on the beach.  A Wednesday Mum texted. Swimming.  We have been barred from the swimming pool for four years – since the birth of the first Second Son. You cannot go swimming with two under fives in The Town Pool. All our First Sons are now in school… so we can now take our little collection of Son 2s.  Great news. The bad news is I still haven’t replaced my sagging swimsuit.  (I tried Bravissimo, as recommended by Katherine, found a costume I liked but was then asked to register. And I couldn’t be bovved.)  I went to get ready. When I came down Granny had done all the washing up and tidying.   It were brill.

It rained and rained.  We collected one Wednesday Mum and went off to the Town Pool. The other arrived later.  In a knockout swimming costume.   I clutched Son 2 lovingly to my bosom whenever I left the water. He can swim in his armbands now.  I watched him find his balance in the water and, for the first time,  experiment with his arms and legs to see the effect. He swam a good width.  He jumped onto Mummy. He played with the Nearly Four Year Old’s toys.  He splashed in the shallow end. He ordered me into the bubble bath.  He is a joy, and I’m thinking of going each week. We were there 90 minutes, until he lost his trademark ramrod carriage and flopped against me.  We had another soaking getting into the car. We dropped off the Wednesday Mum and NFYO near a cafe entrance. “Ow,” said Son 2, in his most disappointed voice. ”We are going to the cafe, darling, we just have to park.” All three boys were heavenly, sitting still and quietly eating their snacks, proving my theory that over-exercising creates Perfect Children.   These are boys who can sear paint off with their slipstream.

After another drenching, we dropped off Wednesday Mum and NFYO, and picked up Granny.  Son 2 was unconscious.  Down to the Town Square to meet The Man. We lifted Son 2 into The Big Pram and he barely moved. We ordered lunch. Someone I know slightly was in the Telegraph so I went out to get it.  Son 2 woke, unhappy.  He didn’t eat, but he did settle in the end. After lunch we thought about shopping, but the rain still hammered down. The Parking Fairy had two spots outside the house, so in we went.  Son 2, who’d spent all day saying “Get Son 1 from school”  decided he wanted to stay at home and watch Chitty Chitty with Granny. I got wringing wet walking from the car to the school to get Son 1. And back again.

Truly Terrible

1.   Hoarse

2.   Croaking

3.   Rasping

I’ve got a throat infection from somewhere. Voice has gone, feeling hot and bothered and sleepy. Hey ho. I spent today travelling back after a night away because of an Office Thing yesterday.  I was with three colleagues, so I didn’t have to drive. We spent hundreds of miles talking, eating sherbert lemons and ringing our mates. I was aiming at a 3.15pm appointment at Son 1 aged 5’s School – the replacement appointment for the Parents’ evening I can’t make.  I got to the School in time, and then got stuck in the queue of cars waiting to go in. Another advantage to being  a Working Mother. You have genuinuely no idea what happens at the end of the school day.

Mrs Smiley the Teacher was lovely. Happy with Son 1’s reading, maths, communication, It, arts and crafts and PE.  He is Popular And Has Lots Of Friends. A bit of a discussion about how sometimes he seems dreamy, unresponsive and slow to respond. Not as smiley on some days.  How’s his sleeping? Does he share a room with Son 2?  Ah, I croaked. We have had rather a mad Birthday Fest September.  He could be… er.. knackered. “Well I wouldn’t of course say that…” she said. Subtext: That’s Exactly What I Mean.   Poor old Son 1. And then of course I forgot to mention the midnight bed-hopping. “What is the first thing in your head when you wake up at night?” I asked once, wondering if he was having bad dreams. “I think: ‘I’ll go and find Mummy,’” he said. 

Son 1 was excited because he’s completed his third sticker chart. As we drove back I asked him how he’d  got on that morning with Granny and Daddy when I was away. “Don’t know.”  “Was it brilliant, all right, or Truly Terrible.” “Truly Terrible.” “What about last night?”  “That was Truly Terrible too.” Son 2 aged 2 was delighted to see me, and then wouldn’t let go.  Neither he nor Son 1 like my creature-from-the-black-lagoon voice.  Granny had made them individual cottage pies for tea, and they did all right.    Nanna rang. Teenaged Niece is staying for a College Open Day. Can we see them tomorrow. We are taking Granny back to the Airport, but we will try, I said.

Super Eyes

1.  Souvenirs

2.  Keepsakes

3.  A Lovesome Thing

Thank Heavens and Stars we didn’t have to get up for school.  Son 1 aged 5 was already in the Double Bed with us, Son 2 aged 2 roared: “I WANT MY MUMMY!” We brought him in with us, and tried to settle them both back to sleep.  “Big Poo.” Ah.  I switched the light on to change him. Son 1 reached over and switched it off again.  I took Son 2 into the bathroom.  I’d picked up two lollies on my Office trip, and had stuffed them in my vanity case.  He found them instantly. “I wan’ lollipop! I wan’ lollipop!” “No,” I said. “You can have one later.” “I wan’ lollipop!” He burst into tears. “Son 1 will go back to sleep if you keep the noise down,” called The Man. I took Son 2 downstairs. 

We had to take Granny back to the Airport, and decided we would stop off in the Big Town. Granny gave Son 1 a ten pound note, and it was smouldering in his pocket.  I needed to take back part of Son 1’s uniform – the shop had given me an aged 8 size instead of aged 5. Son 1 wanted to go to the Early Learning Centre to look at the toys.  The Man and Granny said they’d go and swap the clothes, and I could stay with the boys. “You can all go,” said Son 1. “I will look at toys and  wait for you.” “No,” said The Man. “We need someone with you to supervise.” “I have super eyes!” Son 1said. “I will look at all the toys and make sure I see everyone. I have the best eyes, don’t I Mummy?”  Son 1 chose a PIrates and Baddies spoons set, and Son 2 wanted a little farm.   How do people keep on top of toys?  We have so many we can barely all fit in The House, and The Man and I have Deep and Earnest (= Somewhat  Shouty) conversations about how The House is full of tat.   

We waved Granny off and went to Nanna’s. No-one in. I’d left my mobile at home. We climbed over various plants, spread out the car rug, got out the boys’ tuck box and a ball from the car, and settled down to read the Early Learning Centre catalogue.  Bees buzzed and big Red Admirals settled on the Michaelmas daisies. The sun shone.  The boys played with Son 2’s farm, and Son 1 whined that he wanted to make his pirates.  Son 1 needed a poo.  It was a difficult moment. All we could do was aim him at an open nappy and fold everything up into a nappy bag.  Son 2 announced he’d done a poo. We’d just used the last nappy. We’d waited an hour, but we had to go. Back home there was a message on the mobile.  Nanna and Teenaged Niece had been delayed.  I rang them and we agreed to meet tomorrow. It was good to be back in the Big Bed.

Goddesses

1.  Who Disturbs My Slumber?

2.  The Little Mermaid

3.  Chicken Run

Tired, tired, tired.  Son 1 aged 5 was trying to get into the Big Bed before midnight last night, so I took him back to his bed, got back in with him, got him back to sleep, woke up in the wee hours and headed off to the Double Bed to try and sleep. “Mummmeee!” called Son 1.  I put him back in his bed, explained I had to sleep alone or I’d be grumpy, and went off again. Not a creature was stirring and everything was still dark when Son 2 aged  2y 1m hollered for me. The Man went in. Son 2 had hysterics in disappointment. “NO! MUMMMEEEE!” The Man brought him in to me. He snugged. Son 1 padded in after. The line-up was Son 2, me, Son 1, The Man. Son 2 span round like a drill bit.  Son 1’s arms snaked out,  insistent fingers seeking my eyebrows. The Man gave up and went back to The Big Bed. In the end, I asked Son 1 to go back to his own bed. And begged Son 2 to go to sleep.  We were wakened well after 9am by the phone. Nanna ringing to find out today’s plans.  The Man and Son 1 were upstairs in the Big Bed watching Sponge Bob.  Son 1 wanted to make a spoon pirate.  “After swimming,” I said. He ignored me, and made one while he was eating his pancake.

We went to the Town Pool. Nanna sat at the side and watched. Teenaged Niece is 18 and a champion swimmer, with a Sharon Davies figure, natural blonde hair, huge baby-blue eyes,  Californian-style braces on gleaming white teeth and an unstoppable laugh.  She was dazzling.   Into the pool, laughing and splashing, came Best Friend and Best Friend’s Little Brother.  Wednesday Mum followed behind. She took one look at Teenaged Niece and said “What did you bring her for?” “Because now I know no-one will be looking at my skanky swimsuit,” I said.  Son 1 and Best Friend were overjoyed to see each other, inseparable, and high with happiness.  Son 1 hasn’t seen Best Friend since his birthday.  The fact that they’re in different schools is a secret source of regret. But they live 200 yards from the Outstanding Village School with the 16-place reception class. And we don’t.   I spent all the time with Son 2… Teenaged Niece played with the older boys, diving in, popping up and swimming under, sleek as a seal. Son 2 is also a natural swimmer, doing two widths – each time because he wanted to go somewhere else.  Plenty of jumping, playing in the bubble baths and splashing in the warm water coming out of the jets.

Back home Nanna, Teenaged Niece and the boys went upstairs to watch telly.  I made cups of tea and started on lunch. After a coffee and a little read of the paper. I went upstairs and announced I was going to sit down for five minutes. Son 2 dropped his frog bottle on the carpet and, because he’d loosened the top, it burst open, spilling what seemed like several gallons of pineapple juice. Oh I wish I’d taken it better. I made dinner, roast chicken, roast potatoes, sweetcorn, spinach, carrots and leeks. The Man came in and made onion gravy. Son 1 came down with Teenaged Niece and made another spoon pirate.  By the time the meal was ready, Son 2 could hardly stand. He managed a bit of food, but just wanted to flop on me.  Son 1 did better. After TN and Nanna had gone we rubbed our latest anti-lice goo – which we think is neat petrol – into the boys’ hair and combed through. When they were asleep  The Man and I put the petrol on our heads and checked each other.  Love is…

Headbanging

1.  Tessellation

2.  Acute Angle

3.  Fearful Symmetry

Son 1 aged 5 came in the Big Bed in the night.  Fast asleep, his little body seeks mine. Arms, legs, hands, touch,  touch, touch, snug,  snug, snug, following me around the bed.  I really don’t think there’s a childcare book I haven’t read, so yes, I know I should be giving him the great gift of learning to sleep independently… but surely anyone seeing the unconscious behaviour of a small child in bed would conclude they are biologically programmed to sleep with their parents.   We of course are not biologically programmed to work ourselves into oblivion, which is why it all gets tricky. 

And which is why I get every bug going.  I still can’t speak, so I couldn’t go into The Office.  The weather was heavenly, so I decided to help it recover by taking Son 2 aged 2y 1m to The Zoo.  He loved it. Monkeys, lemurs, ducks, deers, warthogs… “Next one! Next one!”  Lions, lynx, zebra, penguins, snakes, reptiles, frogs.  He walked and walked.  “I wan’ see lion.  I wan’ see lil farm. I wan’ see clip clop (= horses = zebras.) After two hours I had to give up and we drove back. Son 2 fell asleep almost instantly.  I thought  a sherbert lemon from a bag my colleagues left would help my throat. The bag and the sweet wrapper crackled. ”I wan’ tweetie!” came a cry from the backseat.  At home I needed a rest. Son 2 wouldn’t lie down with me, so I went into the boys room, got into Son 1’s bed, and let Son 2 play with his cot and soft toys on the floor beside me.   I closed my eyes.  Something heavy smashed into my forehead so hard it nearly popped my eyeball out from the inside.  It was the lamp from on top of the headboard. Son 2, playing with the on/off switch, had pulled the flex and brought the heavy metal base down on my temple from two foot up.  The imprint is a trench in the bruise on my forehead. Being positive, at least we now know it’s dangerous. It would have cracked a little boy skull like an eggshell. “Mummy. Bump. Light. Head. Ouch.” said Son 2.

The Man collected Son 1 from School and the boys had the Sunday roast leftovers for tea. Just when I thought they’d finished and could be shooed up to bed, Son 1 reminded me that I’d said they could have jelly tot lollies for pudding. ”Ok, you can eat them outside as a special treat and we’ll read some books while we’re out there.” The evening was glorious. We sat beneath the fading sunflowers, and read Son 1’s school book. The boys gobbled the last pea pods off the plants we’d grown.  Son 1 was happy to have his bath and go to bed with Son 2. He dashed upstairs, sprinted into the bedroom and caught the side of his head full pelt against the doorpost, so fast and so hard he ricocheted off like a billiard ball.  He screamed, and cried loudly and horribly. I scooped him up, gave him a large slug of ibuprofen and made him an ice compress in a tea towel.  His left temple is grazed and bruised.  My right temple is dented and bruised.  On the same day, within three hours of each other, absolutely unrelated accidents.  How does that happen?

Rouge, Jaune, Vert, Bleu

1.  Avoir Fatigue

2.  M’Aider

3.  The Couleurs King

I have been awake since 3am. Ellen MacArthur did five months on five minutes’ sleep every four hours.  Or something. I could so see her off.   I woke up, couldn’t get back to sleep, went downstairs, made a cup of tea, went back upstairs, got my Book Club book and went back down to the Double Bed for a peaceful middle-of-the-night readfest.  A little figure came padding down from the Big Bed. Wordlessly and glassy-eyed, Son 1 aged 5 plonked himself in the Double Bed.  Mrs Smiley’s voice echoed in my head: “How’s his sleeping?”  I switched off the light. “My head is still hurting.” I gave him a slug of Kalpol. He didn’t sleep; I didn’t sleep. He eyebrowed vigorously and clamped himself to me.  After a very very long time, Son 2 aged 2y 1m wailed.

After an hour at The Office, my voice had gone again.  “I’ll go home and work there,” I told a colleague. I didn’t make it. I found if I kept my head down, said nothing and drank lots of hot drinks, I could manage. I did a mad run round the shops at lunchtime.  I have… erm.. burnt Son 1’s tummy by putting neat tea tree oil on his molluscum. It’s made his eczema flare up.  I asked Teenaged Niece what she put on her eczema. “HE 45″ she said. I wasn’t going to take her word for it. I was going to ask the pharmacist. Only all pharmacists in the Big Town take their lunch between 1pm and 2pm.  “When can you guys make it?  OK.  That’s when we’ll shut up shop.”  So. HE 45 it was. And some allergy-for-children medicine.

Back late, and Son 2, the Cooler King, was shut up in his cot in a darkened room, having a raging tantrum.  ”He’s been horrible,” said The Man. ”He wouldn’t eat his tea, he wouldn’t have a bath, and I only just got his teeth done.” I got Son 2 out, and he sat on my knee, quietly panting, his head against me.  I took him into the other bedroom. Son 1 had a French lesson today, and was singing something about quelle couleurs.  The Man and I were baffled by the verse: Hoar, jaune, bleu, vert. We eventually worked out that the problem was our dodgy accents. Our rouge features the same sound as kangaroo.  Son 1’s has a throaty soft French “r” and a “g” that rolls into the “j” of “jaune.” I gave him the anti-allergy medicine. And then read the ingredients. Sugar and alcohol.  Nice.  I really want to give that to my five-year-old.

Truly Scrumptious

1.  What Do You See, You People Gazing At Me?

2.  Scrumptious As The Breeze Across The Bay

3.  Marshmallow Mouthfuls

Son 1 aged 5 and I got to School on time, after another disturbed night and, subsequently, a bit of a sleep in.  Back home, Son 2 watched Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. It is slowly dawning on me that he thinks I’m in it.  He has, throughout his obsession, sat watching it, saying: “Mummy,” and putting his face against the screen.  Now.  If I were a lot thinner, if my hair were longer and natural instead of short bottle blonde, if I wore hats and sashes… there is a certain pointyness to my nose, the way I know all the songs, and the lashings and lashings of mascara…. I am Truly Scrumptious.   

A text from a Wednesday Mum. The Beach By The Garden. 10am. Son 2 aged 2y 1m and I can’t get anywhere by 10am on a Wednesday morning.  Son 1 aged 2y 1m had a 0930 swimming class at the Town Pool, and I was out striding the mile and a half over there at 0845 every week.  Just can’t do it any more. Son 2 and I got there at 1045.  Two Wednesday Mums, two three year olds, and our old friend from Breastfeeding Group and her second, now a year old.    One Wednesday Mum has just run a half marathon. Pang.  I dug a sandcastle, I went down to the water to bring back bucket after bucket of water.  Son 2 made himself a little bed out of his towel, my towel and a pram blanket.  I read a comic to a three-year-old. Son 2 got up to listen.  One Wednesday Mum left. ”I wan’ a wee wee,” said Son 2. “Do it in your nappy, darling,” said She Who Doesn’t Want To Toilet Train Till We’re Back From Holiday. ”No. I wan’ go on toy toy.” “Come on then.” Off we went to the loo. I changed into my swimsuit while I was there. Son 2 played, and I went for a swim in the sea.  In October. Hooray. I thought the water was flat until two successive waves smacked me in the face, filling my mouth with saltwater. It was cold, but it was great.  I came out. ”I can’t go in,” said the running Wednesday Mum. “I just can’t do cold.”  I wasn’t that cold. This is the difference between someone with no spare flesh, and someone who has built-in layers of goose fat to keep her warm.

Son 2 fell asleep in the Big Pram, so The Man and a work colleague came out for lunchtime burgers.  Son 2 of course woke up, furious.  He was tired and hungry and loud. No. No. No. No. No. No. He wouldn’t let me take him out of the Pram, he wouldn’t be cuddled, he wouldn’t eat…it took about 15 minutes to get him back to us. Then he sat demurely eating his chips.  When we had coffee, he wanted hot chocolate. I took him to the counter. “Tell the lady what you want.” “Hot Choc Choc. Peez.” He has ordered his first drink.

Plough The Fields And Scatter

1.  Fed And Watered

2.  The Breezes And The Sunshine

3.  Soft, Refreshing Rain

Son 1 aged 5 and I arrived at School. It’s Harvest Festival Day.  His class, all dressed as scarecrows, is singing a song. Son 1 will pop up wearing a straw hat. I said I would try and get there. And was then told the time.  2pm.  No bloody chance.  “Are lots of parents coming?” I asked Mrs Smiley. She smiled, as she always does. “Oh yes. There’ll be a very good turn out.”  Outside the school, I rang Nanna, and Wonder Nanny. They can go. “Have we got to take something?” asked Nanna. “I’ve got strawberries.” Nope. I sent in a bag of groceries earlier in the week. I hunted high and low in the cupboards. I found two tins of Lite Evaporated Milk which were Best Before Apr 2005… and a tinned Fray Bentos steak and kidney pie so old it didn’t have a sellby date. I looked for things I wouldn’t use.  But deducing that someone getting a School food parcel would not feel too grateful for Chestnut Puree and Aubergine Pesto, I put tea, coffee, tuna, baked beans, soup and tinned tomatoes in a bag instead.  

Not the easiest day I’ve had at The Office, mainly because I did 16 hours yesterday and I’m knackered. Halfway through I remembed a snag in the Harvest Festival plan. I’d promised Son 1 an after-school trip to Tesco.  Last night Son 2 aged 2y 1m had done some blackbelt tantrumming because I wasn’t there… and Son 1 had behaved beautifully.  Plus he’s managed to get up for School for more than 6 weeks. I rang Wonder Nanny. Can they take him to Tesco as well if he wants to go.

When I got back home Son 1 was throwing small plastic balls which transform into aliens around. Son 2 was sitting in his highchair eating strawberries and sweets, giggling. ”I wan’ si’ on Mummy’s lap.”  It was late, so we rounded the up for Books And Bath And Bed.  Maybe The Man was making up the behaviour last night. Could this shiny-cheeked cherub with dancing eyes, sitting in the shower, laughing and splashing Mummy, possibly be the roaring banshee who was put to bed without a bath, without teeth cleaning, and without anything?  Teenaged Niece bought the boys new pyjamas. Son 1 was dashing in bright red Lightning McQueen, Son 2 in oversized bright green Buzz Lightyear. Another Good Thing: Son 2 seems to be getting a bit bigger.  If it carries on he may even get into 12- 18m trousers…

Fresh Air

1.  Gasping

2.  Blowing

3.  Snorting

4.  Bubbles

“Darling,” I said, putting my arms around The Man’s neck before he had his teeth in. “Men are Protectors.  Women are Nurturers.  Your job is to be Be Strong.  Mine is to Cherish.”  “What are you after?” he asked. “There’s a dead rat by the back door and I ain’t touching it,”  I said.  The large, clear-eyed, glossy-coated rat we saw sitting on its haunches in the back yard, gazing straight at us, coincided with the head lice outbreak. http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2009/10/05/the-ugly-bug-ball/ I didn’t put it in The Blog; I forgot.  So often happens with life’s little nasties when you have a Positive Attitude.  And then I looked up rats on Mumsnet. The post that haunted me said that the problem isn’t the one you see, it’s the huge family out of sight. So we called the Rat Man and he came, last Saturday, in an unmarked van.  He put one box down in the yard, behind a paving slab “where the boys can’t get it,” said The Man.  Yes darling I’m really going to let them play in the yard when there’s a rat the size of Son 2 aged 2y 1m living there. Another box went in the alleyway next to the house.  I went downstairs this morning. I put the kettle on. I put the first load of washing on.  I went to take the rubbish out, glanced through the window and there it was.  Smaller than before, the sheen on its fur gone.  Looking like it had died crawling out of the drainpipe across the doorway.   Which of course it probably had.  27 years of being asked why I’m vegetarian. Because I cannot cannot cannot stand critturs dying.

The Man is off on another Business Trip tomorrow, so we took Son 1 aged 5y and Son 2 out for breakfast.  By the time we got to the Cafe, Son 1 was so hungry he couldn’t behave.  The Man thought it was a disaster, but I think they’re improving.  Son 1’s eyes lit up when he saw the straw in his drink. He “always gets the bubbly glass,” and a few splashes of pineapple juice were spattered around. The Man growled.   Son 2 watched intently, took his straw in his little mouth and blew out his entire glassfull. The Man barked.

There’s another Festival in The Town so off we went. We met Friends with a 3 year old, and took the boys into the Marquee to paint shells.  Son 1 was Perfect Child, mixing a base colour, dabbing, adding glitter, doing twiddly bits at the edges. Son 2. It didn’t start well. He dabbed a great blob of red paint on the end of a paintbrush. And then I decided to take his reins off. The paint got on his reins. And on his hair, up his nose, on me and all over the nappy bag. I tried babywiping the paint out of his fringe and it just got rubbed in and looked like I’d dyed it. Then the red paintbrush went in the green paint tub. Then the glitter, which they were supposed to take little pinches of and sprinkle, was upturned onto his shell. Then he globbed blue paint all over Son 1’s shell and the tanks came over. I had to buy £6 worth of raffle tickets to make it up to the woman.

We did ice cream, we did coffee. We bought sausage rolls for lunch and Son 2 fell asleep. The Festival was packed. We bought a bottle of sparking white wine with six plastic glasses – four for us and two for whoever  turns up as soon as you’ve bought a bottle -  and sat down in the sunshine on the pavement by the side of The Museum.   A wedding party trooped past on the way to a boat trip from The Quay.   The boys crayoned, posted gravel in breeze block holes, and played with Go Gos and Son 2’s farm.  A friend walked by with his dog, and helped himself to a glass from the back of the Pram. The local policeman passed. “Vagrants!” he called. “Just drinking outside before it’s banned!” I called back.  The sun and the shadows moved round… the wedding party returned. We pushed the boys back home and gave them ready meals for tea.

Welcome Home

1.  I Don’t Have To Runday

2.  Let’s Go Make Some Noise

3.  Funday

Son 1 aged 5, and Son 2 aged 2y 1m slept through, and so did I. Son 1 stayed in his own bed.  This is a Very Good Thing, as I am Truly Knackered.  The first day of Half Term. Son 1, who has issues with Monday morning, eg: http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2009/09/29/payback/  was dancing on the Big Bed at 0630, spinning round and round with his arms out. “And me!” said Son 2, in raptures, trying to get up there.  They had breakfast. We read. We went upstairs. I read Son 2 Lost and Found and then put it on from the EPG while I had my shower. I zoomed around, they lolled. I wore a silk print frock, with that last-time-this’ll-be-out-this-year feeling. 

Back from The Office, Granny and Grandad were sitting at the table while Wonder Nanny served fruit and yoghurt for pudding. The boys, who I’d seen through the window sitting perfectly, both went into orbit.  Ran off from the table, shouted, raided the fruit I’d bought and took one bite out of everything, fell out over satsumas, shouted, snatched, pushed each other over. Son 1 span round and round.  And shouted.  Yummee.   Just for me. “They’ve been exceptionally well behaved today,” said Grandad.

I told G and G about the dead rat, and got Granny to supervise Upstairs while I took the bins out.  I somehow didn’t fancy dragging dustbins through Rat Alley in the dark. ”Grandad!” called Granny. “Are you going to help Serenedays?” “Don’t worry, I’m fine,” I called back.  But still I heard him get up from his chair.  That’s nice, I thought, he’s still coming down. Nope. Grandad, who has never previously entered a bathroom with boys in, pelted upstairs to help Granny. Not a rat man then.   I saw no critturs. I relieved Granny and Grandad, and conditioned and combed Son 1’s hair. He was not happy.  I don’t think there’s anything there, but I can’t really see. One for Wonder Nanny.  I’ll give Son 2’s a go tomorrow when The Man is back.  Lifestyle Guru Hairdresser says her children never get nits because they’re so rabidly antisocial they never put their heads near anyone else’s.  See? Even head lice can be A Good Thing. They mean your child has social skills.

Stamina

1.  Orienteering

2.  Endurance

3.  Deliverance

A rubbish night’s sleep. Son 1 aged 5y arrived at about 0230 and then couldn’t/wouldn’t go back to sleep. The Man, on his first night back from his Business Trip, gave up on us and de-camped to the Double Bed.   In the end, secret co-sleeping advocate that I am,  I put Son 1 back in his own bed, put the fan on, lay down with him till he went to sleep and trudged off back to the Big Bed.  I still couldn’t sleep.  I was Tetchy and Touchy in the morning. But managed a sudden and sustained Cheer Up when I got into a pair of size 14 trousers.

We went swimming at the Hotel Pool with the Wednesday Friends. The older brothers were still in school.  I forgot Son 1’s rash vest, and was uber anxious about his bright red spotty chest.  Molluscum and eczema.  Great combo.  He couldn’t have cared less. Jumped in, splashed round, dived for sea horses and swam and swam.  He did one width, and then when I wa-hayed and clapped… swam back across the other one. And turned round and swam back again to get me to do it again. A little lesson in how much he’ll do for approval.  So I put him on my back and swam across with him giggling all the way.  Son 2 was great, his fists full of toys he wouldn’t let go of.. and still managing to kick his legs like mad to keep afloat.   At one point when he was getting tired he just hung in the water, watching the others.  I used to take Son 1 to swimming classes every week, and he started swimming in armbands at around 2. And Son 2 has never had a swimming lesson, and has started swimming in armbands at… er… 2.  

We met Granny and Grandad and The Man for lunch. The boys were so tired they only just hung in there, but we made allowances and got away with it. Back home they watched telly, I slumped on the sofa. Having Son 1 back on Wednesday was a Good Thing, and it made me realise how much I miss him.  Son 2 was remarkable. Didn’t sleep in the car after swimming, didn’t sleep in the car after lunch. Didn’t sleep or lie down in the afternoon. And this was after an hour of intense exercise in the pool. By tea he was collapsed against me, picking out the brocolli from the pasta shells. But by pre-bath reading, he had six books and was still trying to get me to do a seventh. He passed out pretty quickly at bedtime, but has just, as I write this at gone 10pm, wailed and wailed and wailed for me. We left him. We are neither of us capable of walking up a flight of stairs to go and see him.

Lost Boys

1.  Big Boys

2.  New Boys

3.  Hello Boys

The Rat Man says we can ring him if we find any more bodies, and he will come and clear them up.  This is a Good Thing, as The Man has left on another Business Trip. Unfortunately, The Man cannot remember which Rat Man we are using.  He found him in the Yellow Pages, he’s very nice, and he’s been back in his discreet, unmarked van to check his boxes and put more toxic waste in them.  But frankly I’d tolerate a van saying THIS HOUSE HAS RATS with a big arrow pointing at us if  it meant his mobile number was stencilled on the side as well.   The Man left at 3am, so yet again I am wandering around like a zombie.  Son 1 aged 5y 1m ended up in the Big Bed, and came down shortly after I got up.  He used to flit around like a little wraith.  He now sounds like a team of rugby players coming down the stairs. It was slightly spooky listening to him… knowing there was no other adult in the house and yet hearing great clunking footsteps powering down. And then a little figure in Lightning McQueen pyjamas pads in, holding his willy and rubbing his eyes. 

I had to go to The City, which is the best part of a two-hour drive away. When I’d finished, I went into The Shopping Centre, because I’d promised Son 1 I’d go to the Disney Shop to look for squirty toys to take on holiday.  And then… Hold The Front Page, Don’t Faint, Shoot Me Down In Flames… they had a set of Peter Pan figures.  Including The Children and The Dog.  This is an Excellent Thing.  I have spent hours on the internet, trying to find the children for Son 1. I have trailed around Disney Shops (Oxford Street: “Yes we’ve got them upstairs because they’re not very popular.” 20 mins later: “Sorry we’ve sold out.”)  We have plastic Peters in several sizes, a finger puppet Peter and Wendy, three or four Captain Hooks, a fair few crocodiles, several handfuls of  Indians and Lost Boys and pirates, pirates everywhere.   Son 1’s Peter Pan obsession began with a charity shop Disney book I bought for 49p in Feb 2007. He got his first Peter Pan things the following Christmas, and he has longed for John and Michael ever since.  So what I’m saying is, yes I bought him yet another toy.  No, I haven’t thrown out/sorted out any of his old ones. And yes, Son 2 aged 2y 1m had to have a Nemo squirty toy bath set to be fair. 

There were comments about more presents from Granny and Grandad, who were waiting with the boys because I was way too late for Wonder Nanny.  Never mind. The Best Thing today was The New Swimming Costume. Not the one I wanted, not one I would have picked out… but it’s slimming, it fits nicely and it was in the sale.  I was excited for a few minutes because the label said 14E.  In better light, I realised that was the Australian sizing. I’d been worried I was stuck with the skanky baggy swimsuit for the holiday. I got put off the Bravissimo website because I needed to think of a password. (Really sorry, can’t. Got a pile of passwords to remember anyway, and a head so full of Other Stuff that not one more fact can be jemmied in. )  I tried another website. Ordered a beautiful costume on Wednesday. Ticked the box for faster postage to beat the strikes. And got an email saying they’re not expecting them in till next week. Today really was my Last Chance.  I don’t think I’ve worn a halter neck in my life but Granny thinks it’s great.

The Mask

1.  Two Faces

2.  The Lone Ranger

3.  Comedy Tragedy

Best Friend’s birthday party today. We had a present and a card but no wrapping paper. So. The plan was to go into The Town with Granny and Grandad, where we would also buy a scarey mask for Son 1 aged 5y 1m, to change one of his Dressing Up outfits into a Ghost Pirate for Halloween.  Before G and G arrived, the children were Very Hard Work. They did well in playing on their own in the lounge for about an hour while I tidied and did washing and hoovered. But then Son 2 got tired, they started bickering, Son 2 started squealing and needing me… Son 1 went nuts because I was trying to be sympathetic to Son 2… and I Could Have Done Better.  G and G arrived and they were still hard work. We pushed them both into the Town, Son 2 in the Big Pram in the hope he’d sleep, Son 1 in the buggy because he refused to walk.  It was Perfect. 

I got Son 1 a Marks mask (say that fast a few times each day and keep your jawline trim.)  We pushed them down to The Square for coffee to make Son 2 fall asleep.  Son 1 was still wrecked with tiredness, and alternated between being a cuddly on-the-knee want-my-mummy’s boy and a sulky nightmare. He had a hot chocolate and an apple muffin.  Son 2 woke up. I pushed him round the Square and The Museum, remembering the scores of times we did it when I was on maternity leave, hoping he’d fall asleep. He never did. ”Do you want to go back to sleep, or go back to the cafe?” I asked. “Hot choc choc,” he said.  Son 1 fed him bits of apple muffin, and then they both sipped through straws to share Son 1’s chocolate.   They looked adorable, and Granny and Grandad both took pics.  We went back. I stopped in the fishmonger’s to get some sea bass for tea with Nanna tomorrow.  I caught up Granny and Son 1 further on. “Son 1, where’s your mask?”  He hyperventilated. “Sorry Mummy.”  I power walked the 3/4 of a mile back to the cafe, where it was still in the booth we sat in. And then, worried about Son 2, I walked home with it as fast as I could.

Grandad decided he was going to rest, but Granny came to the party with us. Son 1 wore Captain Hook and carried his new mask.  Son 2 wore the same bat costume he had last year when he was 13m: http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2008/10/26/four-candles/ Aged 1 – 2. It’s supposed to last. Son 1 and Best Friend ran round together the whole time.  I was up, down, inside, outside, following Son 2.  A mother was there I hadn’t seen for while. She had an appalling time last year, (see http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2008/04/12/the-lesson/) and I still ache in sympathy for her.  We chatted; she’s brilliant. I hope.   After the cake and candles, Son 1, Best Friend and Son 2 picked blackberries at the bottom of the playground. ”Pop” went a balloon.  Back home we said goodbye to Granny and Grandad who are leaving early in the morning.  Son 2 accidentally punched me in the eye so hard he knocked my contact lens out. “Bring me a mirror!” I begged Son 1, who brought me my Chanel compact, broke it into bits, dropped the powder on the floor and then rubbed it all into the lino.  At least I found the contact lens.

Big

1.  Losing My Religion

2.  Shiny Happy People

3.  Everybody Hurts

I’ve just read a Sunday supplement piece about a businesswoman who says her spare time is spent “relaxing with the children.”  A dazzling light has broken through the heavens and rays are streaming down.  I think relaxing with the children would solve my entire life.  My spare time is spent cleaning up after the children, nagging the children, cooking for the children, refereeing the children, yelling at the children and hoping and hoping they’ll fall asleep so I can sit down.  This morning, they would have slept in till 0830, only someone changed the clocks. It has been a very long day indeed. I offered Son 1 aged 5y 1m a trip out, but he wanted to stay in, watch telly and make cakes.  I will Share Time with them, I thought. I sat down. Son 2 aged 2y 1m climbed up on the table with the glass top. “Get down,” I said. “That’s dangerous.” He ignored me. I picked him up and put him on the ground. He climbed up again. “No,” I said. “It’s dangerous.” When he got up for the third time, I went downstairs to the kitchen, Refusing To Pay Attention To His Behaviour. I made fairy cake mix. I mixed yeast for bread-making.   The boys trailed downstairs, pulled chairs up to the worktops and bickered. I struggled with the dough. ”If it’s a bit sticky, add some more flour,” said Annabel K.  It was liquid.  We poured half a packet of bread flour in.  I gave two splodges to Son 2, and 2 to Son 1.  Son 2 ignored them and ate butter from the packet with his fingers. Son 1 tried to make animal shapes like the picture, but just superglued his fingers together.  I put his chair next to the sink so he could wash his hands. Son 2 was up there in a flash.  Rubber gloves, sponges, cups, knives and tubs were all flung in.  I took him upstairs and he screamed and squirmed in protest.

We watched “Big.”  Many many years ago, The Man and I were Tom Hanks fans. Way before Philadelphia. Way before his films got meaty and meaningful.  “Big” was always a favourite, and I’d bought the DVD cheap and never watched it.  I told Son 1 the story outline. “A boy wishes he was Big, and his wish comes true.” The film started. Son 1 got his first sight of Josh, aged 12. ”He’s already Big,”  he said, giving a little window into his world which has stayed with me all day. He lived the story: ”Can he change back?” every five minutes till I put him out of his misery. At the salient point: “Is he going to stay Big?”  And “Why doesn’t she make a wish too?” as Josh’s girlfriend runs after him.  “What would you wish for if you found that machine?” I asked. “I would wish for every day to be my birthday.”

Spaghetti hoops and home made bread rolls for lunch. They ate the spaghetti hoops. Nanna came round and we iced the fairy cakes.  I gave the boys dolly mixtures – a gift from Nanna last time – to use as decorations.  Very few made it on to the cakes. They iced and they drew, oblivous to the sprinkles stuck to their faces like multi-coloured five-day stubble. They ate cakes for pudding after tea, and were high as kites when I took them upstairs for bed.  I bathed Son 1, got him in his pyjamas and cleaned his teeth. I bathed Son 2, got him out of the bath and he hid under the towel to play “boo,” like normal. He came out, giggling, burped, and then threw up all over me, getting my hair, ear, arm and trousers. It was fish for tea, and it stunk like seal vomit. “Clear it up, it’s horrible,” said Son 1. I gathered up soiled towels and clothes, showered, and changed into my pyjamas. There was a loud thump from the bedroom. Son 2 had tipped a Christmas Cactus over on the carpet, breaking the plant and scattering compost and plants over the floor. I cleared that up as well.

Back

1.   Froggies

2.   Buggies

3.   Huggies

Really good, thank you, great weather, good journeys, no complaints, no complaints. Want some pictures? You’ll like this one: I dressed the boys for a 3am start in the UK, and we arrived at 12 noon our time and 25C, picked up the gleaming hire car and headed for the villa… Son 2 aged 2y 1m cried in the back, red spots burning in his cheeks, clearly overheated and distressed. “It’s ok, Son 2,” I kept saying. “We’re nearly there.” We stopped outside our destination. Vomit jetted out of him in pitiful spurts, swilling down his front and pooling in the car seat.  “I’s sick,” he said, hair plastered to his forehead.   Oh, but the swimming pool was lovely, the waiters loved children, the sun shone and the Bloody Marys racked up.  The Elegant Aunt and Golfmad Uncle had given us their timeshare, where we’ve stayed before, but had booked themselves another villa a few miles away to see the boys. “You’ll think it’s a bit Footballers’ Wives,” laughed the Elegant Aunt as she showed me around their new find.  Oh dear. I didn’t. I thought it was lovely.  Really lovely.  I didn’t dare tell her.  So we swam and went to the playground and the beach, and then this morning we trailed along the paths towards the hire car, and the boys spotted frogs in the water through the gardens. And I had a massive Pang, because we Just Don’t Get Enough Time Together As A Family.  And then I was Positive, because I know how lucky we are. And I am full of Holiday Resolutions which will Improve Our Lives.

Son 2, sitting in the back,  sang a song about his Ollday. Each verse finished on “Orl day long,” and Son 1 aged 5y 1m and I clapped each time.  Then he started to cry. “I’s sick,” he said.  “We’re nearly there, Son 2,” I said, mentally risk assessing. Garbage In = Garbage Out. He hadn’t had enough breakfast for anything untoward to happen.  The Man piled the trolley high with two suitcases, a sailbag, a hand-luggage-on-wheels-case, two car seats and assorted bits of carry-on stuff, including a Thomas The Tank Engine wheeled suitcase and an Early Learning Centre farm.  He zoomed off to return the hire car.   We paused in Departures. Son 2 threw up. Magnificently.  Great quantities of milk and bits which even I could smell.  I blotted him madly with muslins from the nappy bag, failing to notice that he was sitting in puddles of it in the buggy.  Son 1 had Euros from Golfmad Uncle in his pocket, and whined for the Sweetie Stall.     The Man returned, I broke open a case and found clean clothes. We checked in, sent the stinky buggy into the hold and sprayed ourselves in Wall-E scent from the toy bit of Duty Free.

The flight was a Total Nightmare.  Son 2 is a psychotic flyer and I Refuse To Go On A Plane With Him Again Ever.  It was worse than this: http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2009/05/17/the-land-of-the-sand/  But it was only two and half hours in a 12 hour trip, there was a sachet of Calpol they didn’t spot in the nappy bag and we dosed him with that. But next time it’s Medised.  On the way we gave Son 1 his first trip to McDonald’s. A Happy Meal. Doesn’t like burgers, doesn’t really do stringy chips, but liked the tomato sauce and the toy.  Son 2 kept up the jeopardy with “I’s sick! I’s sick!” but we put Chitty Chitty Bang Bang on the portable DVD and he seemed to forget. Back home we unpacked. And I have a Triumph. We bought too much wine out there and couldn’t drink it all. So I brought it back.  I am a Member Of Mumsnet.  We can Solve Problems.  In the suitcase, in the hold, and it didn’t break.  Wrapped in clingfilm, a carrier bag each, two of The Man’s tee-shirts which I hate so wouldn’t care if we had to throw them out… and the particular stroke of genius of which I am very proud: Son 2’s swimnappies.  One at each end of the bottles. And one turned inside out on either side in case the worse happened.  6 Euros Over There will be Very Nice Over Here.  And Kim, who is keen on the brand, and has been kind enough to comment, at last I can give you your heading…

The Best Life

1.  Looking

2.  Listening

3.  Learning

Hell fire it was hard this morning.  Son 1aged 5y 1m has needed navy blue swimming trunks since term started.  Here we are after our three week half term, with his baggy white Monsoon shorts still damp and packed somewhere in the suitcases.  I was in Asda at 9pm last night pushing a trolley round George looking for trunks. I asked an assistant. They are, apparently, seasonal items. They come in to the store in Spring and go in the Sale in July. And that’s it.  My fallback plan was a pair of  navy and red Aged 3 swimming boxers I’d found in a bag of hand-me-downs before we went away.  But what had I done with them.  Wonder Nanny had also been sorting clothes. She’d taken my random pile and put the clothing away in the most logical place. Which was where I found them.  This was a Good Thing.  Son 2 aged 2y 1m cried and clung, but Son 1 got to School and I got to The Office on time. 

At The Office a colleague had done something so Useful and Important for me that my first morning  back was a breeze. I took her out to lunch to say thank you, blasting holes in my Holiday Resolutions of watching my spending and my eating.  I managed to offload a great pile of Nachos on to her plate in revenge.  In the afternoon, the contrasts.  The Man rang. Son 2’s Godfather is gravely ill again. And then I had a long conversation with someone I know whose young daughter, nearly three, is terminally ill.  “We never recorded her voice while she could still speak,” he said.  Wonder Nanny, who is very qualified, very competent and very caring, took Son 2 round to play there about a month ago. The father felt it was a success, so I’ll ask her to go again.  There is something very crap about the Mother who sends her Nanny round to help the desperate family.  But I just don’t know what to do. 

I picked Son 1 up in the closing minutes of After School Club.  He had his school photos, which are gorgeous.  At home, I just wanted to cut out pictures of my two gorgeous children and put them in their little cardboard frames, ready to send to Grandparents and Aunties.  The real-life versions of the two gorgeous children scrapped and screeched and shrieked for my attention.  Which they got. Words from earlier floated back:  “Her span is only going to be short so we’re trying to make sure it’s the best life possible.”  I will be less snappy with my children.

Can’t Cook, Won’t Cook

1.  Dough

2.  Bread

3.  Darkness and Hail

They wanted to play with the Playdoh, and like a fool I let them.  Son 2 aged 2y 1m plays with it during the week, under Wonder Nanny’s gentle supervision.  Son 1 aged 5y 1m plays with it at school, charming teachers and Tea Club Helpers with the delight he takes in it.  Together, on the little yellow table, they were murderous.  If Son 1 rolled, Son 2 wanted the roller.  If Son 2 squodged, it was the blob Son 1 was going to use. There was snatching and scrapping and shrieking.  And finally there was a lump of blue, trod into the bottom of Son 2’s shoes… and then into the stairs, and the hall carpet, and the lino.  While we were away, the carpet cleaner came and did the lounge, which was looking a bit Jackson Pollock.  ”If one bit of Playdoh gets on the carpet upstairs, I’m throwing it all out,” I said.  We went shopping. “Is it pocket money day?” said Son 1, as I counted out coins in the fishmonger’s. I gave him a £2 coin. We had to go to the toyshop. The only thing he wanted for £2 was a Playdoh toy.  And like a fool, I let him.

We met the Vicar in M and S.  We were trying to control a tantrumming Son 2… he was wandering round with a basket, peering at the ready meals. “Is it your turn to cook?” I asked.   No. The Vicar’s Wife is going on a trip, helping one of their sons move to a town many hundreds of miles away.  “But The Church is full of great cooks,” I said. “Can’t you just work it into a conversation so that someone will arrive carrying a casserole?” “I haven’t told anyone she’s going,” he said. “I don’t like to impose.”  That’s why I like the Vicar.  One of the most imposed-upon people I have ever met… whose flock includes scores of ladies of a certain generation who would rain pies upon him if he asked… but he doesn’t like to impose. He headed off to the check out with a bottle of wine on top of his shopping, so I liked him even more.   I simply don’t have enough life to cook for The Vicar.  But I know someone who might.   I think I’ll mention it…

Son 2 finally fell asleep in The Big Pram; Son 1 and I went to change the library books; The Man strode off home with the shopping.  Son 2 woke up just as we were leaving the library, and picked up his tantrum where he left off. ”I wan’  ge’ ou’!”  “No. It takes too long to get you back in.”  I pushed him up the hill, Son 1 trailing behind us looking at his Playdoh toy.  I suddenly noticed the sky, very, very low, and very, very dark. “Son 1! Will you please hurry! There’s an enormous black cloud up there and I want to get us home now!”  He walked slowly on.  “Son 1, MOVE! That big black cloud is just about to dump everything it has on our heads.” He got the message, but he couldn’t move fast enough.  It started to rain, so I swept him under the handle of the Big Pram onto his nappy bag seat, and pushed them both up the hill so fast my heartbeat pounded in my ears.  We were 300 yards from home when the hail started machine-gunning down on us, hammering onto the road so hard it bounced back hip high.  Son 1 and Son 2 screamed.  The Big Pram is a Big Pram because it’s a three-wheeled, heavy-axled, jogging buggy, bought in the days when I thought I would still run 30 miles a week. Son 1 and I went running with it seven whole times, but Son 2’s reflux meant we never tried.  Until today.  I RAN.  It still does its stuff. We crammed ourselves into the porch, soaking.  “I wet,” said Son 2. “Big back cowd.”  It stopped his tantrum.  But I can’t quite work out if it means I’m supposed to cook something for The Vicar.

Gutter Clips

1.  Reindeer

2.  Remembering

3.  The Lullaby League

Before the boys were born, The Man put up a roller blind in the Blue Room and hole-punched the wall with the end, leaving a golf-ball sized chip through the paintworkand deep in the plaster.  Son 2 aged 2y 1m has, over the last year, excavated it with the interest and determination of an archeologist.  Golf ball, satsuma, tennis ball, orange, grapefruit, melon, pumpkin.  Piles of grey powder underneath.  Today, The Man Got Round To It.  So we had a family trip to B and Q to buy the plaster. Son 2 wouldn’t go in the trolley.   Son 1, aged 5y 1m, and weighing considerably more than the 15kg limit, climbed aboard instead.  So Son 2 tantrummed. “No Son 1! My toll toll! ”  The Man headed off to the Raw Materials.   I took them to look at the Christmas things and was saved.  There was a dancing Father Christmas, who, at a squeeze of his foot, sang “Santa Claus Is Coming To Down.”  There was a turkey who clucked when you pulled its neck. And, best of all there was a Spinning, Singing Reindeer who sang “Sleigh Ride.”   I was strangely drawn to the flashing house decoration reindeer.  £34.99. And gutter clips. £1.99. You need gutter clips if you put lights on your house. I never knew that.  We live on a busy river, where wives of yore will have burned lights in their window to guide their menfolk home.  A glowing cross appears on the opposite riverbank every December.  Oh how I wish I had the nerve.   There’s clearly a reindeer thing in the family, because Son 2 clutched the dancing fluffy one.  ”Just hear those sleigh bells jingling, ring ting tingling tooooooooo” echoed around the aisles.  We got it off him at the till with the promise of another poppy to replace the one he dropped out shopping yesterday.  

In his carseat, Son 2 dismantled the poppy, threw away the stalk and chewed the chokeable black bit like it was gum.  At home I put the boys in front of the telly, The Man mixed his stuff, I started making stew for tea.  A friend we knew walked past the house with his family.  He was on the phone, looking up at the house. Son 1 answered.  The family had been to a Remembrance Service, and were heading to the Yacht Club for lunch.  Were we coming?  Oh of course we were.  The stew went in the oven, the hole was filled, we got the toy golf clubs out and down we went. The food arrived. “I done poo.” said Son 2.  “Did you bring the nappy bag?” asked The Man. “No,” I said. “I thought you did.”  Staring at my soup, I stood and traipsed all the way  to the house and back again.  The boys didn’t want to eat anyway, they just wanted to play with the family’s girls.  When the indoor golf turned into a sort of under-eight rave, I packed up the toys and declared the outing over. 

Son 1 had been bursting to watch the Wizard of Oz. I let him watch “The Making Of” which was on before, but had to switch back to CBeebies when a black-and-white, facelifted Judy Garland started talking about drunk Munchkins.   During the film,  I had to translate every line of the plot. Son 1 sped behind the chair every time the wicked witch appeared.  For Son 1, there is no difference between the Munchkins and the Oompa Loompas.  For me, yes I know it was 70 years ago and they didn’t have CGI, but man, you’d think they could remake it better so we don’t have to watch it any more.  I sat agonising over whether or not to keep the recording. The boys got bored with the journey to Oz and went outside to plant bulbs with the Man.

A Runner Again

1.  Getting Up

2.  Stepping Out

3.  Lying Down

As always, on a Monday morning, The Man and I were clattering around downstairs while the Son 1 aged 5y 1m and Son 2 aged 2y 1m softly snored in their bedroom.   I drank coffee, and gazed blearily at the clocks.  Every clock in the house has to be fast, or I am Late For Everything.  And only a few have been put back.  So in the lounge it was 0730. In the kitchen it was 0630.  Everywhere else,  it could have been anything from 0615 to 0620.   Wonder Nanny, months ago, told me she never looks at any of our clocks and relies on her mobile phone for the time.  The boys came down.  Son 1 now turns his nose up at Coco Pops, so we’ve gone back to pancakes.  Son 2 stuffed his face. Son 1 nibbled the edge of a tiny piece like a teenaged girl in ballet school.  I nagged and nagged.   As always, on a Monday morning, I was Gloriously Grateful that Son 1 got to School on time.

At lunchtime, a colleague and I went out for a Run.  I haven’t been out since A Pan Fan.  ( Another Good Thing. I have worked out how to edit the hyperlinks…)   We were therefore both Beginners, and did 3min walking and 3 min running x 5, in bright, crisp autumn sunshine.  We went down by The River, past the Garden and the Playground and along to the Sports Field.  My colleague wanted to run on the grass to save our joints. I didn’t want to mess up my nearly new shoes.  And yet inside I still think I’m a runner…  

I collected Son 1 from After School club.  He burrowed his face into my shoulder.  “Are you tired, Son 1?” I asked. “They’re all a bit tired, today,” said the Helper. Son 1 wanted a carry.  I hitched him up, and he slumped against me. “You’re not very well, are you?”  “My throat’s sore. It hurts when I yawn. Tell Daddy I don’t think I’ll have any tea. ”   I carried him across the playground. “I’m parked right up the Muddy Path. Do you want me to leave you on the bench while I go and get the car?”  “Yes please.”  Reader, I couldn’t.  I carried the poor floppy lump quarter of a mile, in my trouser suit and three inch heels.  He only ate a Frube from his tuck box, and was asleep by the time we got home.  I took his temperature. 37.9.  Son 2, chuckling with joy at first sight of us, went nuts at the amount of attention Son 1 was getting. They were both in bed and asleep at 7pm.  Or 8pm, if you were in the lounge.

My Generation

1.  Geography

2.  History

3.  Biology

I was late out of the door because we were up in the night. Son 1 aged 5y 1m was hot, thirsty, uncomfortable and wanted his Mummy.  On my way out I met a friend, the same age as me, with granddaughters aged four and 10 months.  Her 27 year old son went to Afghanistan a month ago. He’s still got five months to go.  Her daughter-in-law’s having a hard time with the News, the Remembrance coverage, and being on her own with the baby.  My friend aches for any contact from her son. And lives in constant dread.  

At lunchtime I went for a sandwich with another Mother, a few years older than me.  Acutely worried about her brilliant, but vulnerable 20 year old daughter. For the first time, I heard the story of the eldest child, who would have been 25 on Friday.  She died, from a chromosomal disorder, a few days before Christmas when she was 2.   “There’s a programme on tonight. I think the little girl has what she had.  She just looks the same.”  Because, 23 years later, you remember.  

Son 1 being at home gave me an extra half hour after The Office. I went for a Twilight Run.  Cold, damp, crisp and grey.  I’m still half-walking and half-running, but who cares.  I was out, in the kit, in the dark.  Back home Son 1 seemed much better, until just before bedtime, when his voice was shot and I could almost hear the wince in his eyes as he swallowed. We doubled up, again, on Calpol and Ibuprofen to bring his temperature down.  He had a clear mission. To get tomorrow, Mummy’s Day off, off school so we could have Adventures again like we used to.  As he wilted, The Man and I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, and give him the extra day, just to make sure. And Back To School on Thursday.

Tags: Afghanistan, army, bereavement, chromosomal disorder, illness, older mothers, running, servicemen, The Office

Seeing Red

1.  Blotches

2.  Does Your Child?

3.  A Shade Different

Not a Good Night. Poor old Son 1 aged 5y 1m came in at 0230, and I had very little sleep after that. I went downstairs at 4, and then got up at 6, with Son 1 pad-pad-padding down behind me.  One Wednesday Friend – the Booming Businesswoman – is away in South Africa, doing Very Well without the children. The other texted. Swimming?  Nah. Can’t really. I have Son 1 as well as Son 2 aged 2y 2m.  He’s off school with a sore throat.  She would go swimming, we decided, and we three would see her in the cafe afterwards.  I made lunch. I loaded the Big Pram into the car. I loaded all the bags into the car. At about 1015, for some reason I still can’t remember, I checked Son 1’s tummy. There was a rash.  Red.  Not even a rash, particularly. Just big blotches and patches of red.  Nah, not red. Pink. Too faint for red. Nope. Not faint. There. Inescapable.  And, come to think of it, if we’re honest, and not trying to make the least of something, it’s red. Red. At his neck. Under his ears. On his chest. On his tummy.  I kept peering at him. He kept protesting.

I got my Book out.  Rashes With Fever.  Does Your Child Have A Fever? Yes.  Is the rash red, widespread, and vanishes when pressed? Yes. Does Your Child Have A Sore Throat? Yes.  = Scarlet Fever. See Your Doctor.  I looked at Son 1.  I looked at The Rash. I looked at The Book.  I looked at The Rash. I rang the Doctor. The receptionist was vaguely interested. “There’s only emergency appointments left. Is it an emergency?” “Well… he’s got a sore throat, a fever and a rash, and I’d like him someone to look at him today.”  ”Four Fifteen. You’ll have to come and wait.” “That’s fine.”  “So it’s sore throat and fever? His symptoms?” “And The Rash. On his neck. And his body.”  “Could you please just excuse me.  I’m putting you on hold. ”  I tum ti tummed. “Sorry, I can’t get the Duty Doctor. Can he ring you back?”  Of course he can. He rang. ”Bring him in now, I’ll have a look at him between appointments.” 

“Open wide. Say Aaaah. He’s got white spots on his throat and palate. Rashes are hard… that could be viral.. or… what’s his highest temperature been?” “37.9.  And 38 last night, but that was when he was in bed with all his covers on so I didn’t think it counted. But I don’t really do temperatures. I’ve just been giving him Calpol and Ibuprofen to help him when he’s clearly too hot.”  “Over 38 is probably an infection.  What do you think it is? Scarlet Fever?”  ”Well,” I said. “I’ve got this Book. And it says fever, sore throat and rash = Scarlet Fever.  And we’ve been on holiday so he’s been on a plane. And we spent a lot of time in a Spa Bath, and I’ve read somewhere they’re high risk for Scarlet Fever… and… if you tell me it’s not, I’ll be happy.” “It’s not one of those where you take chances,” he said, swabbing Son 1’s cheek. “Usually, if there’s any doubt, you don’t give children antibiotics. Except for suspected Strep, when you do. ” The printer buzzed. ”No school till at least a day after the rash goes and his temperature is normal.  No mixing with other children till you’ve had a clear day.” “What about Son 2?” I asked. “Oh if he’s getting it, he’s got it. Ring on Friday for the Swab result.” Outside, I rang The Man. I told the people we’d been with over the last few days.  Only suspected, I said. Could still be viral. Yes, he did…er.. go red before my very eyes.   At home, the boys watched telly. I made tea.  Son 1 couldn’t eat any. At bedtime, I took off his top to put him in the shower.   His back was shiny, coated in the rash.  No white bits. And I’ve kind of hunted here and there for the right word to describe the shade.  Deep red?  Crimson?  Nah, a just  a few shades pinker.  Vermilion? A bit too orangey.  Scarlet.  Definitely scarlet.

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.”

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.

Tags:

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.

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.

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.

Thanksgiving

1. Here Comes The Son

2. A Long Cold Lonely Winter

3. The Ice Is Slowly Melting

Jackie Paper Came Back.  He’s got his Gormiti Egg and his Turtle Guy, so who cares about sticker charts? Into the Big Bed at 2am.  What a waste of wistfulness. Squashed between Son 1 aged 5y 2m and The Man, and boiling hot, I clambered out and went downstairs to the Double Bed.  The Man followed later. Son 2 aged 2y 2m cried in his cot. The Man went and got him, and laid him down next to me. He pressed his soft little toddler face next to mine and went back to sleep.  

Many hours and hundreds of miles later, The Man and I were at the Aged Aunt’s funeral.  Also there: Eldest Brother, Grown Up Nephew, Grown Up Niece and her husband, Elder Brother, Sister In Law and Teenaged Niece, and Younger Sister and Godfather 2.   Lots of elderly people, lifelong friends of the Aged Aunt and my late father.   Elder Sister has cellulitis and couldn’t go.  Nanna also stayed away.  Eldest Brother, the child of my father’s first marriage, was brought up by the Aged Aunt.  Don’t Ask.   The vicar said we were Giving Thanks For and Celebrating the Life of the Aged Aunt. The churchyard was closed for burials years ago, but they made an exception for her because she wanted to be buried near her parents and her grandfather.  My father’s ashes are buried in our grandparents’ grave.  As are the ashes of Younger Brother, whose death, 10 days before my 30th birthday, wrecked everyone’s lives for years and years.   Don’t Ask. Again.  There is a lot of Stuff in our family.

Elder Brother, Sister In Law, Younger Sister, Godfather 2, Teenaged Niece, The Man and I lingered in the churchyard afterwards. The Aged Aunt’s grave was covered in flowers.  We wanted some for her, and for the Other Grave.  We walked over to a nearby florist, and everyone chose some.  Sea Holly from Younger Sister.  Cyclamen plants from Sister In Law and Teenaged Niece. Red Roses from Elder Brother.  Michaelmas Daisies from me – our childhood garden was always full of them at this time of year.  We laid them on the graves, and then walked across the town to Grown Up Niece’s house for tea and sandwiches.  We were kept away from Eldest Brother as children – yet more Stuff – and only got to know each other as adults.  I see much less of them than everyone else… I moved a long way away, a long time ago.  It was good to be there.  The Man and I drove all the way back again as night fell.  Heavy showers hammered down on the windscreen as we crossed  pitch black moorlands on the way home.  And I thought about the flowers on the graves, in the dark, in the rain.

I’m So Tired

1.  You And Your Kin

2.  Kindred Spirits

3.  King Pin

4.  Next Of Kin

We were up early, again.  Heading on out to the Big City to see Lazy Town Live. Son 1 aged 5y 2m was in charge of costumes, and trashed his room with his dressing up box, pulling it apart to find all the bits of Sportacus and Robbie Rotten.  There was no question about who was going to be Sportacus.  All very different from another trip to Lazy Town way back when I started writing this: lazytown live.  In the kitchen,  Son 1 danced to the tunes that blare out from the Sportacus music box in his costume; Son 2 aged 2y 2m, wearing a Robbie waistcoat, bounced around with him. They held hands, stomped their feet and laughed their heads off.  The Man and I flew about like bats in a barrel.  Dress the boys, feed the boys, washing on, teeth, clear up, food for the theatre, swimming kits, food for after swimming, load the car… The Big City is a two hour drive away. Son 2 sat pressing the buttons on the Sportacus music box again and again and again and again. “Wel-come to Lazy Town, the place where you wanna beee!” “You’re so strong!” “Someone’s in trouble!”  The first time he dropped it, I gave it back to him. The second time, it stayed on the floor.     

The Show was great.  I loved the number of two-boy families with First as Sportacus, and toddler Second as Robbie.  I loved the fact that we’ve escaped pink wigs.   Son 1 – who refused to dress up, leaving his costume in a carrier bag -  danced, shouted and yelled “Behind You!”  Son 2, in his waistcoat and tricorn pirate hat,  sat on my knee and never took his eyes off the stage.  The Man stayed awake.  Sportacus could do one handed cartwheels.  Robbie Rotten stole it.  Ours has been a Pirate House for nearly three years, so  ”Yo Ho Fiddle De Dee, Being A Pirate Is All Right With Me” has been part of our world since before Son 2 was born.  And boy, am I on Robbie’s side. What’s not to like about someone who’s exhausted,  and only wants the children to give him peace and quiet so he can have a sit down in a comfy chair?  Stephanie broke into “Bing Bang” and Son 1 said “Good, it’s the last one, let’s go.” “Go where?” I said, baffled.  “Swimming,” he said. 

We have been to the Big City Theatre twice, first to see the wiggles, and then to see scooby doo. Each time, Son 1 has pressed his little boy face against the viewing glass of a big Fun Pool, looking and longing.  My pland was to watch Lazy Town, have lunch and then have a swim.  Son 1 wanted to go Straight There. We went. There was a snake flume and fountains and a pirate ship and a baby pool with a slide and both boys walked in delight from jet to spray to gadget. I was with Son 2, and he played and played with the fountains and showers and bubbles and waves. He swam, he jumped, he slid, he smiled. He found if he stuck his fingers in the pipes he could spray Mummy.  Fantastic. The Man chased Son 1; Son 1 chased The Man. ”I wan’ ge’ changed” Son 2 said.  Son 1 wanted Mummy to stay. We played hide and seek, crocodiles, Son 1 went on the flume. Eventually I got him out . “We’re going to come back here every day.”

Then we went to Toys R Us and the boys agreed to share a toy sweet shop with real sweets. It was a beautiful piece of collaborative  working. But they’re not allowed it till tomorrow. Everything else was Ideas For Santa. Lego for Son 1, and it has to be Scarey. Not interested in vehicles or traditional brick sets. Back in the car we drove in a rainstorm. It was 4pm and The Man and I had eaten nothing all day, so we stopped off at a Burger King. Son 1 slept. Son 2 was awake all the way home.  I am now blogging on the sofa. The Man is watching The X Factor.  I feel like I’ve staggered across the finishing line in a marathon, and I want someone to give me a medal and a goody bag, and wrap a big sheet of aluminium foil around me.

Snow Flakes And Rice Cakes

1.  Advent

2.  Mother And Babe

3.  Three Kings

I went to bed at 0030. Son 1aged 5y 2m snuck up before I’d gone to sleep and curled himself into a corner of the Big Bed.  It rained at 0530. I woke up and got up.  Coffee and breakfast in peace.  The boys and The Man came down; we used Advent Calendar chocolate to bribe Son 1 into having his hair treated with head lice solution.  The Man took him off for School.  In my pyjamas, I squirted great slops of pesticide into my hair and gave it a good rub in.  A knock on the door. The Organic Veg Man on the doorstep.  Worlds colliding.  Me,  bottle blonde hair slicked upwards in a greasy Jedward and stinking of organo-phosphate sheep dip… him, sustainable, biodegradable and offset.   I wrote him a cheque. He left a veg box, four litres of organic milk and half a dozen free range organic eggs.

 Booming Business Wednesday Mother is in Barcelona.  Just back from Cape Town.  Both without the children. She won’t be enjoying herself.  The remaining Wednesday Mum and I are never envious.  Teeth Toys and Telly We all went swimming, Son 2 aged 2y 2m overjoyed with excitement. Into the pool, instantly swimming in his armbands, into the bubble baths, asking the lifeguard for a surfboard. Then, after about half an hour, suddenly saying “I wan’ ge’ changed,” and marching off to the shower. I distracted him, got him back in and we had a great time playing fishing with the noodle.  Afterwards we went to the Beach Cafe for coffee.

Straight over to Nanna’s to pick her up, and then on to the School for Son 2’s Christmas Play. We were early, because Nanna can’t walk very far and we needed a disabled space.  Among the first in.  We chose seats in the front of the audience, because there seemed to be a lot of space between them and the four rows of little chairs in front. Nanna needs room to move.  The hall filled up with parents and grandparents.  Scores of small children filed in, angels, snowflakes, shepherds, cow, lambs, donkeys, and sat between us and the stage. Three little Kings sat in front of us. And one was Son 1, near enough to touch, and clearly near enough to be distracted and disturbed by us the whole way through. For 75 minutes I wrestled Son 2 as he tried to take crowns, roll his lorry up and down the kings’ chairs, climb over and call out: “I don’ loik it.” and “I wan’ go ‘ome.”  I fed him organic rice cakes – a lucky break in front of School Eyes, as our usual snack is Tesco Value Hula Hoops. Son 1 held out his hand: “I’m hungry.”   I didn’t dare. Son 2 gobbled his rice cakes, drank his juice and ate ham sandwiches. Turned round in their seats and watching every morsel go down were three huge-eyed little Kings, salivating. 

Head Count

1.  Little Ole Wine Drinking Me.

2.  Cutting Remarks

3.  Unwelcome Guests

La la la. Very occasionally I like to do one for Mumsnet.  Dear Aides. It’s all true. I live in a constituency which has been represented by all three political parties in the last 20 years. I am apolitical.  Childcare vouchers mattered, because they brought us the daily miracle that is Wonder Nanny.  There is no pony.  Or Eton fees. Just one higher rate payer, and one 20%.  Some things we’ve bought because we’ve worked for years and years and years, and yes we’re better off than most. But I Always Vote. Every Single Time.  And guess who is the most important influence on how my husband votes? Go on.  Guess.  1700 votes in it sometimes.  And I Like Mumsnet. A Lot.    PS. Does anyone fancy summarising all those politicos in one sheet of A4 for the people who really, really, don’t have time… PPS. And what’s that complicated psephological term that I just don’t understand because I’m a Working Woman With Children?  “Three Way Marginal.” That was it… Silly old fluffy old me, not remembering that. 

This morning was the hairdresser’s appointment. After the Little Visitors,  Son 1 aged 5y 2m and Son 2 aged 2y 2m were going Short. They look great.   Son 2 is To Die For, with his severe fringe and his severe pout.  I explained all about the lice.  Both hairdressers were great. “Oh God, mine were alive with them. Comb through each night when they get back from school, and then you can pick off the adults as they crawl over.” And “there’s a herbal shampoo, from all the health food shops, which I used.” From the woman selling spray on repellant at £8 a time. 

The afternoon brought a Schoolfriend’s party, in the dark, wind and rain.  Son 1 bundled in with his school friends, punching, pushing, piling on top. Son 2 pretended he was shy. Who cares. I never see him in the week; I like him clingy. Hell fire, their teeth. Every single game they lost brought more rubbery sugary chews. The Headmaster’s daughters were there. The elder had the chewey chews. The younger – the same age as Son 2 – didn’t.  Oh bugger.  But Son 2 was so into every Big Child game. He had one School Mate desperate to help him/look after him – a different one from last time:  Pigs And Flamingos Son 1 was lovely, Son 2 had a great time.  I swapped head lice stories with another mother. ”Loads of them,” she said. “Miss Heavenly asked if we’d noticed him scratching his head.  They were tinging in the bath when we combed them out. We’ve had his hair cut now.”  Indeed we have.

Staring At The Stars

1.  Swimming

2.  Talking

3.  Running

My New Year Resolution is going to be Spend More Time With Son 2 Aged 2y 2m On My Day Off.  I never seem to see him.  First thing in the morning,  I’m trying to get him to sit in front of the telly without me so I can Get On.  Then we whirl around doing stuff… then I try to get him to sit in front of the telly without me so I can Get Tea.  And then I put him to bed.  So. Today I zoomed around so we could go swimming.  Tidy this, clean that, load this, fold that. I made him a post-swimming snack box. And put it in the boot. In the car, he wanted his blueberries. “They’re in the boot. You can have them when we get to the pool.” Crying. In the changing room, he stuffed his face with rice cakes. And had a tantrum when I took them off him to put them in the locker. In the pool he tantrummed, so I propped him up on the noodle in front of me and went for a swim. He wouldn’t share his toys with the Wednesday Friends.  He sulked, he pouted.  Eventually he settled down and enjoyed himself, but he wanted to get out after 45 minutes. Then he devoured his snack box.  And then he was all smiles and twinkles. For ages, I have wondered why the boys always dive bomb me when I’m making packed lunches, and eat half of it before it even gets in the bags.  And now I know.  Because they’re… er… hungry.

After swimming we went to see Friend In The Country. Her two elder boys are at school and pre-school, only the baby, nearly 1, was at home.  He was asleep when we arrived. Son 2 loved their toys, playing first with animals and dinosaurs, then cars and planes, then food. His speech is great. I love the fact that he can pick up a “jellybish”  and a “kang kang” and put them in a car for a drive. He played; we drank coffee and chatted.  (Why do I never spend time with my son on my day off? Because I’m always gossiping with my friends…)  We had lunch. Son 2 rejected pizza “Oi don’ loik i’.” FITC made him a sandwich. ”What would you like in it?” “‘am. Peez.”  Granary bread and smoked ham. “Oi don’ loik i’” The Baby Awoke. Blond, blue eyed, gorgeous. Son 2 was spooked by a Santa Jack In The Box. 

When we got back Son 2 was asleep. I put him in the Big Pram to take him shopping, and he woke up. Yellow-stickered food from M and S. And a free biscuit for Son 2, to keep him quiet. The Man and Son 1 aged 5 y 2m piled in shortly after we arrived home. I put them both in the lounge to watch a free DVD from a newspaper while I made eggy pie.  They were both allowed to watch the end of the film after tea as a special treat. The Man and I sat in our armchairs, thinking we were in for a rest. The film finished after 6 minutes. “Come on!” ordered Son 1. “You can’t just sit there and stare at the stars!”  We didn’t get down from bedtime till 8pm.  I did washing. And then I went for a very late run.  Over to the Rockpool beach. i ran along the top path, thinking it was too dark to get down the steps.  The surf crashed softly, and the beach itself was visible enough.  In the bay there were container ships and an oil rig, all with lights blazing.  But it was starting to rain, and there was too much cloud to see anything in the sky.

Parties

1.  Son 1’s Party

2.  Son 2’s Party

3.  The Office Party

Hah.  Wear Your Own Clothes Day at School and we got Son 1 aged 5y 2m there in jeans and a rugby shirt. We have two previous convictions for Failing To Notice. Here’s one:   last day of term  Can’t find the other one, which completely negates the whole Capture Their Childhood part of doing the blog.  But never mind. It’s Son 2’s School Christmas Party, and the teachers were wearing fairy wings and tinsel halos. I dropped him off and then spent the day as I’ve spent the week, racing around Late For Everything. How do people do it? On Tuesday I met a brilliant woman, younger than me, just achieved a distinction in a professional qualification in a men’s field, single mother, working full time. And of course, Christmas shopping done “I do a lot online.” “I bet you make your own cakes for birthdays and school things too,” I said, again in that place where marvelling and envy mix. “Oh no.  I just make our Christmas cake and that’s it.”

Wonder Nanny took Son 2 aged 2y 3m to the Playgroup Christmas Party. There were apparently games, dancing, Christmas lunch and Santa.  His present was glitter. He is apparently noted at playgroup for having hugely enjoyed playing with glitter pens in craft sessions. I knew that. I have taken him to Church, where they do crafting for kids ahead of the service.  Son 1 and I just made it back home before Wonder Nanny left.  There was glitter all over the floor, in Son 2’s hair, on his face and on his clothes. Several very nice glitter pictures, ideal for home-made cards – were drying on the windowsill. Wonder Nanny had a piece of glitter in her nostril.  She laughed and wiped it away.

And The Office Christmas Party.  In the middle of nowhere – 47 miles on the clock to get there. I had to leave at 6pm, to Son 2 crying real tears and stretching out starfish hands: “I don’ wan’ Mummy go party. I don’ wan’ Mummy go work. I wan’ Mummy home wi’ me.”   Cheers for that Son 2. I’ll getcha later. “Mother always makes me feel so guilty at the end of my  monthly visit to Sleepy Corner Nursing Home. “  So I walked out and left him. It was a Good Do, everybody went, good food, good entertainment, and our table won the pub quiz, thanks to our detailed and contemporaneous  study of Eighties Music.

Counting

1.  Days

2.  Blessings

3.  Calories

Mad. Busy. Busy. Mad.  Son 1 aged 5y 2m is sick with longing for Christmas. I am sick with desperation.  Between now and Christmas, there is Wonder Nanny’s birthday, Elegant Aunt’s Big Birthday, Godfather 2’s birthday, and a Wednesday Friend’s 4th birthday. And I need a card and present for Golfmad Uncle.  Whose end-of-November birthday we missed. We’re seeing them next weekend.  So we also need Christmas presents for Golfmad Uncle, Elegant Aunt, Granny and Granddad by Friday.   And a birthday tea for Wonder Nanny on Tuesday. And then Christmas presents for Nanna, Elder Sister, Elder Brother, Sister In Law, Teenaged Niece and Teenage Nephew, Younger Sister and Godfather 2 by the time Nanna leaves for her Christmas Visiting. But. Being positive. Perhaps The Man has already sorted it all out. I have bought presents for the boys. And I have bought cards for Wonder Nanny. No idea where they are though.

I had Son 1in with me when I was woken by a crying Son 2 aged 2y 3m. The Man liberated him from his cot, and he came trailing upstairs. “Mummy back from party.” We started slowly, the boys watching telly, The Man out in the garden because it wasn’t raining, and me doing everything else.  A phone call. A colleague’s teenager has been taken suddenly and dreadfully ill and is now facing paralysis. Yesterday morning their life was normal. And now it’s shattered.  Two weeks before Christmas. In my thoughts all day, and I’ve only got as far as resolving again to Stop Shouting At My Children. 

We went to the library, where Son 1 quickly piled up about 15 hard back books on The Big Pram. And then he found the Christmas Books. Son 2 pulled out paperbacks, DVDs, cushions, leaflets – anything at tot level. Then he noticed the book shelves were shaped like ladders and up he went. I took them home for lunch, Son 2 howling because he wanted a Paper Bag Pie from the Baker’s.  Then Best Friend came round. Son 1 wanted to whoop and hop and run round in excitement. Best Friend wanted to get his toys out and start playing. Son 2 wanted to trash everything the elder boys did. I tried to get him to sleep; he shrieked loudly enough to bubble the paintwork. He was exhausted, but wouldn’t sleep. At 4pm when I had bread and butter to make up for skipping lunch, he had… er… four slices.   Might have been hungry too. Best Friend was a beautifully-behaved joy. He and Son 1 played together for an hour, then I took Son 2 in, thinking I’d let him sit on my lap to watch telly so he could get some quite time. He chose a Baby Einstein DVD about animals, way too young even for him. He was glued to it. As were Son 1 and Best Friend.  Children Are Strange.

Making Pictures

1.  Sunday Morning

2.  Bathing Beauties

3.  Beady Eyes

Son 1aged 5y 2m  is lice-free. Yes I know I go on about Head Lice too much. But I am jumpy every time I see Son 1 scratch his head. I conditioned him, parked him on a chair in front of Ice Age 3 and combed and combed. He’s fine. Then I went off for a run. I’m getting there. Walking 2 mins, running 8 mins, x 3. I’m still looking at my watch too much. Yesterday, running through the crowded Town, I bumped into a woman. I got to the bottom of our Hill with the watch saying 27:30, not looking forward to running up it for 2 min 30.  I got as far as the Posh Bread shop and looked at it again. 27: 30. In the split-second bump, the woman had pressed the “pause” button on my sports watch.  Today, out before 10am, there weren’t many people around. I went out to the Rockpool Beach, ran down and ran along it.  Just a few dogwalkers, and a well-wrapped up family of four with two under-fives, out on the low tide rocks with fishing nets. Sheltered from the prevailing Arctic wind, the sky blue, the air clear and the beach clean, it was a fantastic place to be on a fantastic morning.

At home, I put Son 1 in the shower to rinse off the conditioner. And then ran a bath for Son 2 aged 2y 3m and me. Son 2 always used to sit in the bath at my feet while I had my morning shower. And then one day he started watching telly with Son 1… and that was it.  In his only child days, Son 1 and I used to bathe together all the time. I can’t remember the last time Son 2 and I had a bath together. All I know is he must have been a lot smaller. It was like having a post-marathon yoga session as I tried to fold up my legs so he could fish Nemo toys around with a three-pint jug. He is lovely, with his shining blue eyes and his perfect skin.  ”Oh no! I’m stuck in the jug! Who’s going to help me?” I threw his turtle in and rescued him with Dory.  Son 2 played on: “Who gon’ ‘elp me?  Where Nemo?”  He helped me wash my hair, he squirted me with bath toys,  he emptied great big jugs of water on me.    He didn’t want to come out.

We walked down to the Town for pies for lunch. Son 2 had fallen asleep in the Big Pram before we got to the bottom of the hill. Son 1 bought Hama beads from the Discount Store with three weeks’ pocket money. We came back and made some pictures.  He is unstoppable if he’s doing well… when he realised he’d got a row wrong he just stopped and sulked till I sorted him out.   “It’s good when we have problems because then we can show how clever we are at sorting them,” I said brightly, knowing I am supposed to Leave Him To Find His Own Solutions. Nanna came round. Son 2 wanted to make a picture. He picked out a few beads and tried putting them on a board. Then he pulled out great handfuls and dropped them on the floor. We sent him upstairs with Nanna to watch CBeebies. The Man fixed Sunday lunch. I ironed Son 1’s pictures, and finished off the lunch. We had Scooby Do crackers from the Discount store, which both boys adored. After the meal Son 1 put his Santa suit on and danced madly with Son 2. There was a banging on the windows and catcalling outside. Son 1 opened the door. Friends from far along The Terrace, on their way back from Church. They came in and drank wine. Their two girls raced around with the boys. Son 1, already exhausted, wailed “I want some quiet time now.” The seven year old disappeared into the dishwasher-box playhouse  

http://smileandwaveboys.wordpress.com/2009/04/29/well-done-mummy/

and Son 2 was allowed in with her. All the visitors left… we got the boys upstairs and told them bedtime would be shortened. Son 2 still insisted on doing 4 wees on the potty, for which he got 4 dolly mixtures. As did Son 1.

Dude

1.  False Alarm

2.  False Hope

3.  False Words

The Man needed to get up at 6am to leave on a Business Trip.  Son 1 aged 5y 2m was in the Big Bed with us. I heard The Man get up.  I got up too, thinking 0530 would give me chance to get everything ready in good time.  I padded downstairs to put the kettle on. And looked at the clock. 0245. I went back up. The Man had just headed down for the Double Bed because Son 1 was kicking him in the back and he wanted to sleep.  At 0530 proper we got up again.  The Man went off. I made lunches, cleaned, cleared up, got the boys’ breakfast out, made coffee, ate breakfast.   Not a sound from above. I put the washing machine on and had a shower.  Nothing.  I went into our bathroom, dried my hair and used my electric toothbrush. I put Milkshake telly on. Son 1 remained, still, in the Big Bed. Finally I took him up a tray with a bowl of Frosties, some strawberries and a cup of milk on it. He very slowly stirred. “Why don’t you ever do this on a Saturday or a Sunday?”  I asked. He laughed at me.

The atmosphere at The Office was grim as we heard from the Colleague whose daughter was taken so desperately ill. It’s now even worse than on Saturday.  We can think and speak of little else.  I managed to get out to get some presents for Wonder Nanny.  Photo frames, candles and chocolates.  I picked Son 1 up late, so we were way past Wonder Nanny’s leaving time when we got back. Son 2 aged 2y 3m waved from the window as I parked the car.  I had a hunt for a photo of the boys to put in one of her new picture frames. Couldn’t find the school photo pack. But I did manage to find the birthday cards. 

After Wonder Nanny had left, Son 1 got out his Hama beads.  Son 2 tried to join in, but again got frustrated and hurled beads on the floor. I went upstairs with my paper – a sure way of getting them both to come buzzing near me.  The Man is the same. “You do too much,” he says, in a critical tone. “You can’t go on like this. You have to rest.” Then if he ever catches me sitting down and reading a paper he comes up with a dozen things I ought to be doing instead.  The boys were a delight. I read to them, each had a shower and a bath, each had their teeth done and then I put them to bed. Son 2 took ages to settle. “I want my DayD,” he cried. When I at last got downstairs I found someone had picked up all the Hama beads Son 2 spilled on the floor and put them back in their tub.  Son 1, being an angel. He’s going to be so cross when he realises I’ve been doing this rather than ironing his picture.

Tags: birthday, business trip, co-sleeping, Hama beads, late waking, lie-in, Monday morning, night-waking, paralysis, The Office

Fancy

1  Fancy Footwork

2  Nothing Fancy

3  French Fancies

Another day of mad rushing.  The boys stayed in their own beds overnight. Hooray.  And Ho Hum. I am sure Son 1 aged 5y 2m wakes because he’s cold, and troops upstairs.  He’s under a 3.5 tog quilt. Which he’s always kicking off.  I tucked Nanna’s Boston Trip Pirate Quilt around him last night.  Tra la la.  Son 2 aged 2y 3m called to me as I tried to tiptoe downstairs for a solitary pot of coffee. He had his breakfast, I had mine, we read stories. “Wassat?” pointing to the pile of wrapped presents on top of the dishwasher box ice cream house.  Wonder Nanny’s birthday presents. ‘Then: “Where my Son Son?” “Still in bed. I’m going to get him up in a minute.”  “I wan’ see if Son Son orl right.” Up we went. Into their bedroom toddled Son 2 in the dark: “Son Son, are you orl right?” Son 1 burrowed deeper under his quilts. Son 2, cold in his overwashed, handmedown thin flannel pyjamas climbed up and burrowed in after him. Son 1 squealed, presumably at the first contact of fat frozen foot on snug lanky leg.  

Downstairs, Son 1 carefully wrote out the birthday card. Which was a great relief. He’s been rabidly anti Wonder Nanny for the last few weeks, sitting in the back seat on the way to School telling me how much he doesn’t like her. Not going to make her a card, not going to choose a cake for her, not going to sing her Happy Birthday. I’ve tried all manner of techniques, gentle probing, careful explaining, patient listening, devoted understanding of the transference of his anger at my absences on to the substitute carer. And now I just say “Whatever.” It’s true. They do keep you young. Although I think we used to say “So?” instead. 

Wonder Nanny arrived and there was mass present unwrapping. She didn’t do any of it.  We sang Happy Birthday.  We made ourselves unspeakably late for School.  Being positive, the traffic wasn’t too bad. But his class were still all sitting down ready for assembly by the time we got in. When I picked him up this evening  I was given his school report. It took me ages to pluck up the nerve to look, in case there was a mention of Mummy’s appalling timekeeping.   We had a crisis because I’d promised Son 1 that we’d go to the supermarket to choose a cake for Wonder Nanny’s birthday tea.  But of course I got to School too late – we had to hare back to get home before her finishing time.  Son 1 cried, but was mollified by a Frosty French Fancy from some party shopping I had managed to do. ”Can I have another one with the other pattern?” he asked hopefully.  I let him. When we got home, we discovered that French Fancies are Wonder Nanny’s favourite cake ever.   She is a Goddess.  We sent her home, and I tried to get the boys to bed. Son 2 went up the stairs ahead of me, and in the dark, stubbed his toe so hard it bled. He cried. We cuddled. He noticed someone hadn’t come running. ” I wan’ Son Son kiss me feel me better.”   I’d almost got them to bed when The Man came home.

Sleeping Through

1.  Drowsing At Dawn

2.  First Light

3.  Daytime dozing

Very late to bed last night, and wakened very early by Son 2 aged 2y 3m in his cot “Mummeeee!” Son 1 aged 5y 2m was already upstairs in the Big Bed with us, and The Man showed no sign of waking or moving. So down I went. It was just before 6am, and I took Son 2 out of his cot and lay down with him in Son 1’s bed. We both went back to sleep. It was a miracle. I woke again at 7am. Not a creature was stirring.  I went down to the kitchen and rang the phone next to the Big Bed to get The Man up. 

Off to School went The Man and Son 1, and I needed to tidy up, clean up, put the washing on, shower, dress, do make up, sort out veg box and get ready to take Son 2 out. I have heard that all you have to do is put your child in front of the telly and off you go.  Not Son 2. Every 7 minutes: “I don’ loik it!” “I don’ loik Ba Billder.” “I don’ loik Scooby Doo, Bit old for me.” “I don’ loik Wiggles.” ” I don’ loik CBeebies.”  I was spending 10 minutes with him for every minute he watched telly.  And yes of course I know that was the idea. In the end I switched the telly off, told him he wasn’t watching it and he could come downstairs and help me with the washing. He cried. He squealed. He banged down the stairs. He went up again. He switched the set back on, lay on the floor and watched CBeebies without complaint. 

We met the Wednesday Friends at the Beach by the Garden. “You can’t go to the beach in December,” said the Nice Neighbour, leaving at the same time as us. “We couldn’t go in August,” I said. “So we thought we’d go today.” It was heavenly. We all live in houses exposed to bitter Easterly winds, so we were all wrapped up and so were our boys. But the Beach is sheltered, the water was flat, the sky was blue and in the sunshine we were all overheating.  Son 2 was exhausted. “I wan’ go ‘ome. I wan’ go bed.” For the first time since he was born, I hadn’t brought the Big Pram. Which doubles up as a brilliant portable bed. In the end he sat on me and snuggled in a cave made from the coat I didn’t need it. When we got back home, he slept in The Big Bed for two hours.  A daytime sleep with Son 2 is a rare treat, and I made the most of it. Cup of tea, read the paper and then sneak back upstairs into bed with him.When he woke up he cried and clung. I took his temperature. 38.6.  Ah.  An explanation for all that out-of-character snoozing.

Far Far Away

1.  Just Like A Woman

2.  Blood On The Tracks

3.  Subterranean Homesick Blues

We have been to see The Family, Many Miles Away.  A seven hour drive there, eight hours on the way back.  No snow, no stuck trains, no plane strikes, no tour firm collapses. Just me, The Man, Son 1 aged 5y 2m and Son 2 aged 2y 3m all packed into a hatchback. Big Advantage of Having Failed Completely At Christmas Shopping: More Room In The Car For Us All.  The Elegant Aunt had a Big Birthday and we said we’d go.  Fair Play to her, as she would say, she was delighted that we bothered.  She loved her presents: organic cheese from the Veg Man, Alpaca Cushion from the Big Town Shop which will never last, and a golden scarf made from beautiful cotton. Hopefully she liked them so much that she won’t notice she didn’t get a Christmas present.

Last time we went Far Far Away bubbles Son 2, who was 10m, ended up in hospital on a drip. It was awful. A long, dark two-week walk with gastroenteritis whose legacy is found in the small bottles of antiseptic handgel on every shelf, in every bag, tub, car and pocket in our lives. Granny and Granddad had thought, and had booked us into the same hotel room in which all 4 of us barfed continuously last time we visited.  Son 2, 17m older and stronger, couldn’t settle in his cot, and despite all my resolutions, ended up sleeping with me on the sofa bed. Yesterday morning, after another night broken by his piercing, persistent cries, he woke me again with his wracking sobs.  I put out a hand and felt moisture. He had a terrible cold. “Oh Son 2, what’s the matter now?” I asked. “By dose,” he cried. I put the light on. It looked like a massacre. His face was coated in blood, the sheets were crimson, my pyjamas were stained and there was blood in his mouth, in his hair and on his hands.  Atomic nosebleed. It went on all day, and meant we were unable to travel back because every time it dried up, he stuck his little baby finger up to rake his nostril out and off it gushed again. At 8pm ish we gave up and booked in the hotel for another night. I texted my boss. I was not to worry about The Office, she replied. But shouldn’t we be seeing a doctor?

We would wait for the morning to see what kind of sleep he had, we decided. He slept all night without a murmer.  The Man was pleased he’d finally slept through. And then I confessed to giving him 2 spoonfuls of travel sickness medicine at bedtime. Bad Mother. I was tired, I needed some sleep.  And of course I stayed awake the whole time, hunkered down by his cot in the shadows, holding my breath while I listened to his…  But postively, both boys travelled well. Son 2 had his finger in its normal place: “My nose beed again!” Son 1 kept the tension up “I need a wee!”  But we spotted madly: pink car, crane, flag with a flag pole, digger, plane, christmas tree with decorations, the traffic was ok, they slept in the morning and we sang Christmas songs in the afternoon.  It is Too Far to travel with a young family. But I think you have to do it to prove it.

Moo Baa Double Quack Double Quack

1.  The Day Before

2.  SOS

3.  Mamma Mia

I haven’t got enough presents for Son 1 aged 5y 3m.  He is off his rocker with excitement. He has taken out the three cheapo feltish stockings we’ve had since he was three months old. There are two big ‘uns, each about a yard long and  a foot wide, and one little ‘un, eighteen inches long, three inches wide.  He has carefully laid the two big ‘uns over the end of his bed, and hung the littl’un on Son 2 aged 2y 3m’s cot. This evening, The Man and I retreated to our bedroom with scissors, sellotape and wrapping paper.  I burrowed in the eaves and pulled out the present pile.  And Son 2’s, with his Duplo zoo, Brio horse railway, plastic horses, plastic horsebox and Tesco playtill complete with Loyalty Card, has beaten Son 1, with his two boxes of scarey Lego, ELC rocket, painting set, crayons (recycled from birthday to see if he notices) and ELC cricket set.  And only one more day to go. And all of us frozen into our homes like Narnians. 

Not the easiest day I’ve had. There was Trouble At T’Office, which kept me busy by phone and online all morning. Deep, movie trailer voice:  It’s Worse Than Work. It’s Worse Than Looking After Children.  It’s…. Working While You’re Looking After Children. My colleague said: “How can you even think when that noise is going on?” It was Son 2.   In a previous life, he was saved from a deep gorge simply by the power of his Shout.  It melts rock. It stops rotar blades.  It changes tides and can be Heard From Space. And he can sit for ever, emitting shrieky screeches like a chick cheeping at 200 decibels.  In his high chair, in his cot, in his car seat.  It’s been so bad lately that a shadow of doubt had tiptoed across my mind.  Is there Something Wrong With Him?  He had a sleep today, and was back to his giggling, chuckling little self. He’s not crazy, he’s just been in a very bad mood for the last two years.  Maybe I was ruined with Son 1 and his silent tantrums.

Nanna’s Christmas has been destroyed by the weather. She planned to get the train cross country to Suburbia, to be met by Younger Sister, who would then drive her to their house.  A grand scheme, machine gunned by variables. If we can get her to the station on the ice rinks that are our roads, if the train runs, if Younger Sister can get her car started (RAC: at least a four hour wait; you’re at home,) if there’s no more snow, if the roads are passable…  So Nanna is coming here, which I don’t think she’ll mind.  We have a big turkey and a lot of vegetables, because a very Nice Man brings them to the door.  We have nothing else. Not even a present for her.  In fact, forget the present, we haven’t got any milk.  Please kill me if I leave my Christmas Shopping this late next year.

4 Speeds On The Christmas Tree

1.  Low Gear

2.  Sonic

3.  Heavy Going

Son 1 aged 5y 3m started the day in a sulky huddle because it wasn’t Christmas.  Outside it was bright and beautiful and freezing cold.  Do not drive unless your trip is essential, said the police, the Highways, the AA and the Met Office on the radio.  I was in Tesco in the Big Town by 9am. Their car park was so icy I could hardly stand. Inside the store was deserted. Rows of checkout women chatted in their Tesco fleeces. A friend rang. She’s just got an amazing new job.   One of those brilliant happy ends for someone who’s had an undeservedly hard time.  I stood by the pie counter, squawking in excitement. From Tesco I legged it to M and S, skating, slipping, sliding. And bought packets of pyjamas and pants for The Man. They’ll all be wrong, and I’ll have to take them all back, but at least he’ll have a pile of presents to unwrap.  Then ELC to see if there was anything which could make up Son 1’s present deficit.  Then Boots for make up for Nanna. And Waterstones for lego for Son 1. 

I went the very long way to get Nanna because i didn’t trust the roads. She came out of her house with bag upon bag upon bag upon bag of presents.  From her and Younger Sister.  The House was empty because The Man and the boys had gone to get my present.  I hauled all the shopping in and stashed the present bags.  The others came home with pies for lunch.  Some friends came round with their nearly four year old. Son 1 was a hooligan.  No amount of “he sees you when you’re sleeping; he knows when you’re awake. He knows when you’ve been bad or good so be good for goodness’ sake” could calm him.  He couldn’t remember to be good, and got very upset when he did something we felt meant Santa would miss him out.  At 10 to 3 we zoomed off to the Church for the crib service. Son 1 made a star. Son 2 aged 2y 3m played with the wooden nativity set. Son 2 wouldn’t go to the front for the service.  Son 1 talked through the prayers.  Son 2, the perspicacious little poppet, chose Mary, the manger and Baby Jesus to play with.  Then he stuck Mary’s head in his mouth and chewed and chewed. “We have four speeds on our Christmas Tree lights.” announced the vicar. “I’ve put it on the fastest one to celebrate the Good News.”

We had fajitas for tea. We put the boys to bed. We wrapped presents. I made stuffing. We hunted for the chocolate bells I bought weeks ago for Santa to hang on the Christmas Tree.  I wrapped The Man’s presents, and Nanna’s presents.  I made stuffing. At 10pm, cross and knackered, The Man and I stomped off into The Town. We had a babysitter and, barely talking but still arguing,  we were going out. For just one.  We had several.  We came back late.  Nanna had already gone to bed.  The Man ate the shortbread we left for Santa. I chopped parts of the carrots off.

The Cat’s In The Cradle

1.  Little Boy Blue

2.  Not Today, I Got A Lot To Do

3.  The Man In The Moon

Three bloody 20 am. I heard a rustling, a scuffling, a pitter-patter with cat-like tread. I went to the loo.  Son 1 aged 5y 3m appeared in the bathroom doorway. “Mummy Santa has been, there are presents under the Christmas tree and we’ve got stockings – ” His voice was rich and breathy, he was almost dancing with  excitement. “Let’s go down and see,” I whispered. His stocking had been emptied on the lounge floor. “Did Santa leave your stocking here?” “No, I brought it down.”  I told him we had to go back to bed. “But you said I could open my stocking whenever I woke up!”  “Yes but I didn’t know it would be at three in the morning…”

At 7 the house was still, but I had to get up to get the turkey in. Going down, I woke Son 2 aged 2y 3m, but had to leave him for The Man.  I’d forgotten to get any orange juice so Mummy couldn’t have her Bucks Fizz at 0730.  Christmas Morning ruined.  The boys opened their stockings in the lounge.  Son 1, high on happiness, came running down with two bags of chocolate coins. “Mummy put these in the Trick Or Treat bucket.” He stopped. “What are you doing to that chicken?”  Shoving fistfuls of sausagemeat up and under the skin on the turkey breast.   The Man can’t watch me do it.   

We had to get Nanna up to open the presents, so Son 1 yelled: “Nanna! Are you getting dressed or do you want a dressing gown?”  She wanted a dressing gown.  So. Nanna in my cuddly Portuguese towelling robe… The Man without his teeth… and me were the audience for the main event. Son 1 sorted the presents into piles.  “Son 2’s presents are all bigger than mine!”  Fortunately, on the way back with Nanna yesterday, we stopped off at a toy shop and bought a Playmobil carry case Castle. Massive box. Small castle. Everybody happy.  “I knew Santa would get it for me,” Son 1 said, contented, opening it and instantly moving onto the next one.   If only he knew. Son 2 drove him nuts by sitting down happily to play with his first present – a Hot Wheels lorry – and ignoring all the others.  Son 1 opened the Early Learning Centre rocket which he’d asked Santa for. The one which worried me, because it’s aged 18m to 5, and of course my child should be doing nothing but aged 7 – 14 Lego.  His face sparkled. “I have dreamed and dreamed of getting this!”  Wonder Nanny had bought them The Polar Express DVD so we put that on. “I don’ loik it,” said Son 2. “I scared.”  I had a new purse from the boys, and “Tender” from The Man.  The Nigel Slater cook book I asked for,  but we could pretend it’s a mark of his feelings…

From 12 onwards I fought the bloody turkey. Size of a bloody ostrich and too big for our oven, which is great at the top and doesn’t bother at the bottom.  The crackers had all been popped by two small boys who like crackers. Nanna was fading into oblivion because she hadn’t had breakfast, The Man was telling me to relax and I was worrying my little vegetarian head off.   We finally ate at 1430.  They enjoyed the turkey, the boys ate a bit of most of the vegetables. I cleared up. I put the leftovers away. I did the washing (yes, yes, but there was so much we could hardly get in the downstairs loo.)  I made cups of tea. ”Sit down, Serenedays,” said Nanna.  I got the boys crackers, carrot and cucumber for tea, and read them their Christmas present books. “Again, again,” said Son 1. 

We got them to bed and at last I collapsed on the sofa with Nigel Slater. The Man pulled out our remaining, unopened presents. The pyjamas weren’t the ones he wanted. In fact they were the ones he didn’t like. He didn’t like the lounge tops I got him to wear with them. And I don’t think he wants his boxer shorts either.  They are all back in their carrier bag waiting to be returned to Marks.   Oh well. Christmas is already cheaper than I expected.

Comfort And Joy

1.  Merry Gentlemen

2.  Tempest, Storm and Wind

3.  True Love and Brotherhood

At some point in the night I padded down to the Double Bed to Get Some Sleep. At some point in the night, Son 1 aged 5y 3m snuck in with me.  This morning when it was still dark, Son 2 aged 2y 3m woke up screaming, and The Man went to him. Son 2 screamed louder.  “NO! MUMMEEEE!”  The Man brought him in to me and Son 1 and plopped him on the bed. Even more loud screams because Son 1 was cuddling me.  I held him, he snugged. Son 1 snaked a hand over to stroke my eyebrow. “NO!” screeched Son 2. “MY EYEBROW!”  “There are two eyebrows,” I said, lying on my back and wondering whether this ever happens to anyone else. Son 1 tried going for the other eyebrow. Son 2 smacked his hand off. “Oh pack it in Son 2, you don’t even like eyebrows!” I snapped.  “Now say sorry!” ”Sowwy, Son Son,” said Son 2.  They kissed, they cuddled, they giggled, fluting peals of laughter, gorgeous flashes of first-teeth smiles. 

Son 1 wanted to go crabbing. Son 1 had wanted to go crabbing yesterday, but we had a bit of a you-just-got-all-the-toys-in-China-you-can-goddamn-well-play-with-them thing and stayed in. Wintry showers and summery spells alternated every 15 minutes.  Hail, glorious sunshine, drizzle, glorious sunshine, rain, glorious sunshine, sleet, glorious sunshine.   Rainbows appeared and disappeared across the river. The boys watched DVDs, Son 1 built Lego, Son 2 played with his trainset, his Duplo and his toy farm. There was much shouting and snatching over the ELC Rocket.  I made cauliflower soup for lunch. “You don’t want to do anything complicated after yesterday,” said Nanna.   Yes I know, but I’ve got a new Nigel Slater book and I’m going to use it.   Very nice soup.  Nigel’s recipe had creme fraiche. In the house that had no milk on Christmas Eve morning? On yer bike.   Nigel’s recipe didn’t have leftover children’s pasta blended in to make it a Bit Thicker. And Nigel’s recipe didn’t have tiny pasta stars added to Get Some Carbs Into Son 1.   But apart from that, it were brill, and I recommend the book. Son 1 sniffed at  the cabbage pot we serve soup in “it smells good.”  Son 2 ate it all. The Man, who Doesn’t Eat Soup, ate it all. Nanna had seconds. And Son 1 ate all the soup and a slice of bread.  And I know you don’t want a list of Who At What, but Jaysus, the chocolate. Son 2 has been unstoppable with the Jingle Bells on the Christmas Tree. Picks the Low Hanging Fruit and stuffs it in his mouth, with Son 1 dancing around wondering if he’s going to get told off. Son 2, deeply and sincerely couldn’t give a stuff if he is told off.  He likes choc choc.  Choc choc has been left in reach.   The choc choc is to be devoured. Son 1 can eat his own if he wants any. Which he does.  

We had to wait for the tide to drop. Nanna and the boys watched the ballet. Son 1 copied the Cossacks. We finally got down to the Quay to catch crabs. “I wan’ big net” said Son 2. It’s late December. I have no idea where our fishing nets/toy nets are.  We had one big net.  “You will have to share,” I said. Son 1 and The Man caught the crabs, Son 2 and I scooped them in the nets and put them in the bucket. Son 2 peered between the flagstones on the quay to find winkles and stones to throw in the river.  And then he started picking up broken glass. It was everywhere.  The water was clear. We could see the crabs scuttling across the riverbed between patches of seaweed. Son 2 was out in wellies for the first time, and he fell and slipped a lot. But he was on the reins, so I caught him.   I bought the boots on a Christmas Shopping trip with The Man and Son 1 aged 2y 2m on a November Tuesday in 2006. Newly pregnant, and looking for things that would do for Son 1 and a possible girl arriving in June. I started bleeding the next day while I was scrubbing organic vegetables.  The boots were size 7. Son 2 is probably not quite size 6 yet.  They fell off his feet when I carried him. When we got to 10 crabs, we put them back in the river. “Pick them up by their bottoms Son 1,” I cried. “And put them in gently!” Son 2 and I took Nanna home.  Son 2 slept in the car. Outside The House he woke up, furious he’d missed out. “I wan’ go Nanna house!”  Son 1 was watching Oliver. “Fooooood, glorious food!” he warbled.

One Of The Family

1.  Food, Glorious Food

2.  Who Will Buy?

3.  I’d Do Anything

Quelle surprise, Son 1 aged 5 y 3m was in The Big Bed when I woke up. The Man had gone down to Son 2 aged 2y 3m.  Our new plan.  Instead of getting me, Son 2’s reward for his caterwauling will be The Man. We think we may have done something similar with Son 1 at that age.  Son 2 is somewhat louder in response.  Son 1 and I lay under the quilt while a little shadow pad-padded up the stairs crying. “Mum-meeee.”  Son 2 was in a vile mood, and to stop the shrieking and slapping and thumping, I took them both downstairs for breakfast. “It’s his blood sugar levels,” I explained to Son 1. Son 2 stuffed his face with food. Son 1 ate a few flakes of Frosties.

We watched the rest of Oliver. Long film.  Needing a lot of explanation. “Man nor-tee,” said Son 2, of Bill Sykes, grasping the plot instantly. “Consider yerself,” sang Son 1. ”Oom pa pa,” sang Son 2. “Jingle bells.”  They are Liam and Noel. We rang Younger Sister.  She gave each boy an Emma Bridgewater money box. Filled with 5p pieces.  Consumer report: about £8s worth. Which is 160+ 5ps.  Thank you very much we said. Oh no, you don’t like them, she said. No we do, I said. We’re about to go shopping because Son 1 has to spend money as soon as he gets it. The Man was in the garden, digging and demolishing.  He is making it safer for the boys. There is apparently going to be a fence. He wanted a trip to the timber shop.     We set off for The Big Town. 

It was heaving. The Man took the boys to the Early Learning Centre – yes we do only have one toy shop. We miss Woolworths.  I went to Monsoon and spent the money I will get back from The Man’s rejected Christmas presents on beautiful little clothes for boys. At ELC Son 1 had chosen a Collage Kit – what the hell can it have in it to merit £10, and Son 2 settled for baby jungle animals. Back home, I tried to finish a picture I am drawing for Son 1.  Copying really.  From his Usborne Wizard book. He wants to colour it. So badly he cannot wait for me to finish drawing. Son 2, meanwhile, just wants to stand on it and scrunch it up. I hope he is not always this transparent. I made stir fry for tea. They left the turkey, gobbled noodles and peas, Son 2 ate the egg, Son 1 ate the babycorn. The Man gave them jelly for pudding. At bedtime, Son 2 sat in the bath: “Oom pa pa, oom pa pa.”  They were so tired they still both went straight to sleep.

The Turkey Casserole, 2009

1.  Absent Friends

2.  Absent Style

3.  An Absent Mind

Today was Turkey Casserole Day.   turkey casserole 2008  For years, the same seven friends have come to eat turkey casserole a few days after Christmas.  I lie. One couple joined the cast a few years ago. One of the original six married Grandly. The Happy Couple came twice, I think, but they are now several timezones and many zeroes out of our orbit. If they ever do touch down again we will of course find a bigger piece of plywood than the one we currently use to extend our six berth kitchen/diner table to nine settings.   Entertaining in the evening meant The Man was Furiously Busy from daybreak. He wanted to get to the shops before they Got Busy.  Son 1 aged 5y 3m and Son 2 aged 2y 3m wanted to watch telly and play with their toys.   I wanted them exercised, I wanted me exercised – I’ve had a stinking cold and barking cough so I haven’t run – and I wanted some fresh air.  It was 1130 and the boys were mad for food, so out we all piled, first stop pie shop for sausage rolls in bags. They wolfed them.   We bought  bits and bobs like crackers, bread sauce and the stuff I needed for the veggie option – a Pumpkin dish from my new Nigel Slater cookbook. He should have just called it 400 Things To Do With Your Veg Box.   

Back home we unloaded, and I set off for the Town again.  We couldn’t carry the booze on our first trip. And we couldn’t be bothered to drive or park just to get a few bottles of wine and beer.  So I took the Big Pram, empty.  I bumped it empty over the cobbles, aware that I was only atoms away from the barmy women who  feature in 1950s car-chases, where the hero crashes into a Silver Cross pram being pushed into the road and then we all realise it was filled with Campbell’s Soup tins.     I wheeled it round Tesco, loading up with Bud for the blokes and cut price Sauvignon Blanc.  And then wheeled it back again, laden with alcohol, with not a soul giving it a second glance.  I felt strangely comfortable, which either means I enjoy the “I have a child” badge, or that my Inner Old Dear is already seeping through, and I will soon be buying my first Pullalong Shopping Trolley. 

Here I will confess that I doped my children for the dinner party.  With some anti-allergy medicine. I told them it was to make their snotty noses – they also have streaming colds – more comfy. Well, it was. And I’m sure it did. The side effect of drowsiness was incidental.  We had them down in bed and asleep before 7pm.  The guests arrived, and we were just about sorted, although I did set my Pumpkin Thing on fire under the grill because I was  talking. Never mind. I’d gone off recipe anyway, putting a layer of Parmesan on the top just because it was leftover from the children’s tea. I just lifted the topping off and served it.  We had a great time, and discussed Christmasses, children, schools, headlice, boats, holidays and food.  We got through a lot of ice cream and wine, waved everyone off, cleared up and headed upstairs at about 1am.  One of the guests had brought Christmas Tree chocolates for the boys, so I hung them on the branches before we went to bed, to see if they’d notice in the morning.

That’s My Boys

1. Morning Kisses

2. Changing Tastes

3. Showing Teeth

A storm blasted through overnight and it woke Son 1 aged 5y 3m, who screamed and cried.  At first I thought he was frightened by the roar of the wind and the rain machine-gunning against the windows. Nope. ”I missed your party!”  We’d told him he could come down once, and once only. And then we’d given him the allergy medicine, to, er, help dry up his runny nose.   Son 1 came upstairs wailing, and his loud crying woke Son 2 aged 2y 3m.  I sent him downstairs with The Man and scooped up Son 2.  And got him back to sleep. One Good Thing in the bag and it wasn’t 6am.  I was wakened by warm little arms round my neck, a chubby soft cheek pressed against mine, and tiny lips giving me kiss upon kiss upon kiss.    I opened my eyes and Son 2 was looking down at me, smiling. “I waked Mummy.” A Perfect Child.  I opened the blind. There was a boat sunk in the river.  We went downstairs to The Man and Son 1. They pretended they were still asleep. Until we told them about the boat, when they sprang out of bed to rubber neck.  

At breakfast I made cheese on toast for Son 2. He cried. He wanted butter on toast, so he could pick and lick all the butter off. “Oi don’ wan’ cheese!” Son 1 does like melted cheese, and started picking globs of it off the rejected toast.  And then, while I was getting my breakfast, he came up to me at the worktop: “Mummy I eated a piece of toast.” Bugles sounded, the arena cheered. The child who, mysteriously, had always refused to eat toast: “I don’t like it,” suddenly did. And wholemeal bread too, another thing on his Not On Your Nelly list.   He polished off the rest. “It’s because we take turns,” he told me, inbetween mouthfuls. “Son 2 doesn’t eat toast any more so now I do. And when I stop, he’ll eat it again.”  Mmmm. I don’t remember that in Green Eggs And Ham. Fortunately Son 2’s boycott only last till the buttered slice arrived.

The Man wanted to go to the Marina to checkThe Boat.  I needed to go to the bank to sort some stuff. The Man took Son 1, I took Son 2. We met up near The Square and wandered back.  Son 1 didn’t want to walk, so he hopped up under the Big Pram handles, sat on the nappy bag and we pushed him home. We went to some friends’ house for Drinks And Nibbles. We sat in the kitchen drinking and talking and talking and drinking.  The boys trashed the rest of the house with various children.   Son 2 played with the Younger Daughter’s Best Christmas Present.  And the nativity scene. I got up at one point because I could hear a loudening, unrelenting chorus of “Son 1 is a baby, Son 1 is a baby.”  Son 1 on the stairs, faced by four girls, aged between sex and ten. ”Wow Son 1, you’ve got the attention of four beautiful women,” I said as I wafted by in a “I’ll rescue you if you want” move.  Son 1 had his teeth bared and his hands clawed, and a certain look in his eye, so I left him.  I checked again a few minutes later. The smallest girl said “We’re trying to get Son 1 to go into the cellar.”  My eyes narrowed. Son 1 was running around. The ten year old was at the bottom of the stairs in her party frock. “Son 1’s mad,” she said. “It runs in the family,” I said. “And fierce too,” she said.  Son 1 stood on the landing and roared down at us. Attaboy.

So Many Colours

1.  Red

2.  Silver

3.  Blue

Forgot to say. Yesterday morning Son 2 aged 2y 3m tootled downstairs for his breakfast. He stopped by the lounge door. He went in. He went straight to the Christmas Tree. “Choc choc,” he said, peering at one of the silver and red baubles I’d hung up after the Turkey Casserole.  Demolished instantly. Son 1 aged 5y 3m appeared, Son 2 showed him the chocolates. Demolished instantly. I shooed them off.  They couldn’t stay away.  This morning, after Son 2 had raided the tree for the third time today, I carefully untied the baubles and put them all on the upper branches, at least four foot off the ground.  While I was having my shower, Son 2 shinnied up the piano stool, climbed onto the (closed) keyboard lid and helped himself again.  He is two-and-a-quarter.  He likes chocolate. Chocolate is left within his reach. He eats it. I have taken the chocolates off the tree.

For Christmas, Son 1 was given a Lego-that-isn’t-Lego castle.  He lay on the window seat working on the first layer. And then had a tantrum. “It’s stupid, it isn’t Lego, it doesn’t work.”  I was Yummy Mummy, and sat down to do it with him. Off he wandered.  I ended up doing it all. It took forever. It wasn’t as good as Lego. It wasn’t helped by the fact they’d had the box out previously and I had to track down various bits  locked up in the Playmobil Castle.  Or Son 2 arriving at the moment I had it looking Castle-like. ”I wan’ play wiv i’ ” adding a horse to the inside. “Wow Mummy, well done, good job!” said Son 1.  When I’d finished we then had to hunt for several little Not-Lego Knights.  One arm is still missing, but Son 1, brought up on Captain Hook, is just as happy with one-armed soldiers, because they’ve clearly been in lots of battles. 

The boys went into the garden with The Man while I made minestrone soup. I’ve told Son 1 he’s making them a play area. Unfortunately, Son 1 has the wrong idea, and is expecting a playground, like Manny the mammoth makes for the new baby in Ice Age 3. “When are we getting our play things, Daddy?”  We finished lunch, The Man loaded up the car with rubble and we went to The Dump.  There was a massive rainbow. The Man and Son 1 spotted the colours in it. I sang the chorus of Flowers Are Red: “There are so many colours in the rainbow, so many colours in the morning sun, so many colours in the flowers, and I see every one.” “Sin’ dat ‘gin,” said Son 2.  I did. I did it ‘gin and ‘gin.  Son 1 picked it up, and started singing it to him.  “So man’ cowwers in RAYbo,” sang Son 2. “So man’ cowwers in morny SUN.”  We went to see some friends who live en route. Three boys, aged 5, 3 and 1 yesterday.  We took presents.  The Man and I had drinks, the boys played. Son 1 and the 5 year old used to be at nursery together, and ran round together till their faces were bright red.  The one year old – who’s a big baby - was wearing a beautiful cornflower blue jumper which has gone from Son 1 to Son 2.  Son 2 is still in the matching trousers.  Pang.  He’s 15 months older.  I might, after all,  take him to see the health visitors in the New Year.

New Year’s Eve

1.  Great Years

2.  Great Pacifics

3.  Great Expectations

I remember New Year’s Eve 1969.   A five-year-old me sat on a window sill with my four-year-old brother, looking out at the tree outside.  “This is the last day of Nineteen Sixty Nine,” I told him. “What day is tomorrow?” he asked. “Nineteen Sixty Ten,” I replied. Forty years on, Son 1 is five years and three months old.  What a difference a decade makes.  On New Year’s Eve 1999/2000 I worked late at The Office, and then joined The Man at a party in a friend’s house and boogied singing Abba songs till 4am.   This year, I rang a Wednesday Mother at 11am. ”Inspiration?” I said. “Don’t know. We’re just getting up.” We agreed on the Aquarium.

The Aquarium was fab. Son 1 was excited about seeing Best Friend, and Son 2 aged 2y 3m was excited about seeing fish.  He crouched down to peer at the rays, gazed at the turtles, and loved the seahorses.   And for a boy obsessed by octopuses, The Giant Pacific Octopus was Christmas all over again.  It was wriggling around in its tank, its suckers splayed against the glass. “Look!  Stickers!” said Son 2. :I’ve been staring at that octopus since before Son 2 was born, and I’ve never seen it move before. ”It must be hungry,” I said. ”Maybe it’s lunchtime.”  We went through into the underwater section, where skates, rays and sharks soared above our heads.  Son 2 ran back in search of Wednesday Mother. “Where are yoooo?  I’m coming!”  We were thinking about lunch when an Aquarium worker stopped. “I don’t know if you know, but we’re about to feed the Giant Octopus if you want to watch.”  Back we went. Another aquarium worker climbed a rickety step ladder up the side of the tank. The octopus flew up to the surface.  Dripping tentacles slithered out of the top and up the woman’s arm. “I don’t bruise easily,” she said. “If this was my colleagues, they’d have a bruise each place the tentacle has gripped.”  She was great. We were already Octopus Fans, and now we are Octopus Experts. ”Put Shark vs Octopus into Youtube” she said. “The octopus wins.” I just looked at it. Bleargh. Oh all right, it’s here shark vs octopus   She had trouble getting it back in the tank. Splash. “Ow. That nearly dislocated my thumb.”  She threw a live crab into the tank after it. “It’s what she eats. You don’t have to watch if you don’t want to.” 

On the way home we picked up Nanna, who was staying overnight so we could go out. The boys were knackered and badly behaved, with Son 2 having one of his screaming, screeching, squealing fits. After several spells on the naughty steps he sat on my lap, his chest heaving with sobs, slowly coming back to us and managing a bit of pizza.  After bedtime we went out for drinks, two in our local, one in a wine bar nearby, and another in a pub/nightclub. We came back before midnight – the champagne was in the fridge and we like the fireworks across the river. I woke Son 1 a few minutes before, and brought him downstairs.  He cried and clung… he just wanted to go back to bed.  I have two New Year’s Resolutions. I will cut down on or cut out all food with a “c” in it.  Fruit and veg excluded of course.  And I Ain’t Gonna Grieve No More.

New Year’s Day

1.  Dependency

2.  Co-dependents

3.  Independence

The Man and I were downstairs in the Double Bed because Nanna had our room. Son 1 aged 5y 3m still managed to find us. At 4am when I woke up, there he was, burrowed inbetween us.  I went into his bed.  At 8am Son 2 aged 2y 3m woke up screaming for me. I took him into bed, he calmed and slept again. I’ve looked it up. He is apparently at his most emotionally dependent on me for the next six months. And sibling jealousy is worse at this time too.  Yippee. Son 1 woke me up. He wanted to come in too. “Go back with Daddy and I’ll come in with you,” I told him. I went straight back to sleep. The Man said he’d had to get up, because Son 1 had just lain down on the floor outside the door waiting for me.

The weather was beautiful, a clear, cold day, blue sky, the river flat and sparkling. The Bird Park, I decided.  I wanted to do a couple of trips with the boys, as I’m horribly aware that now Son 1 is at School we simply don’t get chance any more.  The Man still wanted to get the garden sorted, so he made the packed lunch  – in case nothing was open and we ended up on a seaside bench somewhere, and Nanna and I set off with the children. The Bird Park was open, but not busy. We had a brilliant time. Son 2 waded straight in.  Big enough to climb up the soft play, come down the slide, get up and down the climbing area… and bury himself in the ball pool and get himself out. Son 1 played with him and then with a younger child. There was too much roaring for my liking – he clearly got the taste when he saw the older girls off on Tuesday.  thats my boys  We had lunch, and then I played with them in the Big Uns section.  Man I’m knackered. I must have done 10 laps. Heaving Son 2 up and down ladders, netting, climbing frames, going upstairs, coming down slides…  We finally agreed to have coffee and ice creams for some quiet time, before going off to see the animals.

The otters looked at us looking at them – lunchtime again… and we took bags of goat food down to the farm. The snake was slithering around in its tank. There were only three goats – all much bigger than Son 2, and he was too scared to feed them. But Son 1 was a champ. At the penguin pool, Son 1 was picked to feed them, and I gatecrashed Son 2 in as well. Son 1 was fab, taking turns at the fish beautifully and throwing them to the penguins. Son 2 was his usual chaotic, control-freaky self. He wouldn’t let me take the fish out of the bucket for him,  threw badly and lunged towards the water.  Too young really, silly Mummy.  And now I have to think of how to keep him out next time Son 1 does it.  Oh what the hell, Son 1 first fed the penguins when he was 2y 4m.  In the days when we could do all our trips outside school holidays…

Elizabeth Die

1.  When You Were Young…

2.  An Open Book

3.  A Job To Do

 Son 1 aged 5y 3m rolled up at about 0615, The Man instantly stomped off downstairs to the Double Bed.  Son 1 eyebrowed and cuddled and snuggled.  I refused to show any signs of life.  Son 2 aged 2y 3m cried, The Man went to him… and there was no eruption. A Good Thing. (Which has also, of course, left me worried that Son 2 Doesn’t Love Me Any More.)  Son 1 snuggled and cuddled and sat up. “I’m going to find Daddy.” I went back to sleep and woke up and got up at 0830.  A Lie In is always a Good Thing.

A friend from School had a birthday yesterday so we went to the New Play Centre.  I’ve boycotted it since last March.  substitutes The Man said he’d take them, but in the end I decided it wasn’t worth giving up a couple of hours with Son 2 for the sake of my strange principles.   Son 1 made the Birthday Boy a card while I wrapped his present.  Son 1 yelled over “How do you spell Birthday Boy’s name?”  I spelled it out… he wrote it, correctly. “How do you spell Love From?” Again, I spelled it, he got it right.  It looked great.  Oh you can’t possibly think I’m bragging; I’m recording the stages of learning to read and write because I’m Interested In Language Development.  We got in the car at midday. Son 1, who won’t eat breakfast, hardly bothers with snacks but has his lunch Each Day at 12 noon,  started eating bread crusts discarded by Son 2 yesterday on the way back from the Bird Park. No, I hadn’t been back to my car with a carrier to clean out the crumbs and the crap.  The Man returned to the house and produced ham sandwiches for each child to eat in the car.  More crumbs.  Son 1 zoomed in to the Soft Play and took over a rubber ball cannon with his friends. I had very little to do with him for the next two hours. Son 2 led me up slopes, inbetween pillars, down slides, across bridges, up ladders and into ball pools.  I drove him around in Little Tikes cars.  We built houses in the baby area, which he pulled down. We bounced on trampolines. Lunch. The boys piled cakes and biscuits up on their plates. I wanted a sign saying “they ate ham sandwiches in the car on the way,” but in the end decided I was too Big to care what Other Mothers Thought.  Son 1 and Son 2 were the only children who struggled to stay at the table.  Tum ti tum.

Afterwards I was knackered.  We’d drive back to the house, I thought, pick up The Man, drive till they fell asleep and then sit in the car drinking takeaway coffee in peace. A space outside the house on a Saturday Afternoon. When the Parking Fairy disposes, you have to accept.  We went inside. We had a visitor – one of Monday night’s guests, dropping off a Thank You card.  The Man took the children upstairs for Quiet Telly Time and I had a cup of tea. Then I went to bed for a nap.  The Man made them tea – grilled chicken, home made chips and peas.  They gobbled it up. Son 1 said: “Mummy, what does Elizabeth Die mean?” “I don’t know,  where have you seen it or heard it?”  “It’s on Shrek 3. It’s what the frogs sing when Fiona’s father dies.”  I had a vague memory of seeing the frogs singing a Paul McCartney song, but could only think of the Frog Chorus. ”Elizabeth Die! Bong, Bong,” sang Son 1.  Instantly recognisable. “Darling it’s Live And Let Die.” We took them bed, still singing Elizabeth Die. The Man made me omelette and chips for tea. Luxury.

Mostly Harmless

1.  Starlight

2.  Moonscape

3.  Sunshine

Son 1 aged 5y 3m stayed in his own bed till gone 6am.  Hip Hip Hooraaaaaaay.  Son 2 aged 2y 3m yelled… The Man went down, but today Son 2 was determined. “I wan’ Mummeee!”  Son 1 melted away. I clung to the bed. Son 2 stumbled upstairs, crying. I hauled him up into The Big Bed and we snuggled down together. He really is a great cuddler. And his little two year old kisses, showered on my cheeks and lips and nose and eyes and forehead, are like stardust first thing in the morning.  He slurped water from the pint glass on the bedside table.  He spilt in down his pyjamas. “Look what me done!”  And then: “I wan’ go danstairs.” “Ok darling, off you go.” “I wan’ Mummy come wi’ me.” 

After three cloudless, clear days it was a miserable morning. The wind howled, the rain rattled. This was the day, that after giving The Man three afternoons to Get On With His Jobs, he was supposed to be having some Family Time. The forecast said it would clear up later. I rang Son 1’s first choice of places to visit. Shut till half term.  We settled on a near alternative.  We arrived, Son 2 was cutely asleep, Son 1 was belligerent.  The wind roared and the rain hammered.  I was in a fleece so we went back for my waterproof.  By the time we got back, Son 1 was asleep, Son 2 was awake, and the rain had cleared up. We had Sunday lunch in the cafe while the wind whistled and the rain came in again. And then headed out into the Garden, with the boys heading to the under five play area. There was a slide, plastic, sopping wet. We warned Son 1 off it. I tried wiping it with a handful of tissues I had in a pocket. “Watch it!” said The Man. Son 2. Pelting down it on his back like a little toboggan.  Coat soaked, trousers wringing. Unable to get up because we had him in  leather knee-high boots and he couldn’t bend his ankles. “Can I go on it now?” said Son 1, looking at the much drier surface.  He shot off the bottom.  He loved it. He went down it sixteen times after he started counting.  Son 2 also zoomed down. The Man and I made a tunnel with our legs by straddling it at the bottom. They both thought it was hilarious. The rain threatened, but we still wandered around the Garden.  It was wet and slippery, but strangely appealing, with a spooky expanse of brown cutback gunnera  protected by dead leaves, and sepia hydrangea with black shrivelled leaves hanging down like spent matches. Another place we haven’t visited since the Spring.  good friday When we got to the Beach there was an Arctic Gale blowing straight in from the sea. It would have chilled Little People into iceblocks within minutes, so I wouldn’t let them on to the sand. Protests from Son 1: “I just want to collect shells!” We walked them back to the car, and the rain started bucketing down just as we left.

Miracle of miracles, this evening I did our paperwork. Which I haven’t been near since… last bloody March. There are disadvantages to being a diligent blogger.  It only took a search on “filing” to find out how bad things have got.   Bright Sides Deep breath. Being Positive, at least I got it done. It wasn’t anywhere near as bad as I’d thought: various unopened envelopes were harmless; we need a standing apology to the Library for all the boys’ overdue books, and I need a refresher in Which Bank Bought Who. There were piles and piles, dating back to last April. It took two and a half hours.  But it is done. Mainly because I hated the idea of Wonder Nanny coming back to work tomorrow morning and still seeing the same old stacks of paper after we’d been off for 10 days.   Just got to sort clothes, toys, photos and the Rest Of Our Lives now and we will be de-cluttered, streamlined and racing fit for 2010.  Or that may be all I do.

The More It Snows

1.  Frosty Forecast 

2.  Frosty Start

3.  Frosty Smiles

I couldn’t sleep, so left The Man in the Big Bed and padded downstairs to the Double Bed.  Eventually I dozed off, to be woken by a little figure aged 5y 3m clambering in.  Cuddles and snugs. I am so failing in my Duty To Help Him Sleep Independently. And Lordy knows what we’re going to do when his little brother aged 2y 3m is out of  his cot and on the loose at night-time. Look at Bigger Beds, I suppose.  The alarm went off upstairs and Nothing Moved. I got up. I went downstairs to the kitchen. Fished 10 snails out of the fish tank. (They wander around in the dark. When the tank light gets switched on, they make for cover at top speed. They are the fastest snails on earth. It is very Dispiriting to be Outrun By A Snail before your day has even started.) Put the kettle on. Made my packed lunch and Son 1’s tuck box.  We are Back At School.

Son 1 was a little star and got up and got ready. Son 2 has secretly been on a Career Women Make Bad Mothers course. “I don’ wan’ Mummy go work! I wan’ Mummy stay look arter me! Mummy stay ‘ere.”  I was out of the house early to try to chisel the car out of its ice block. Engine running, fans blasting, me outside chipping away at 3ins of windscreen frost while the condensation on the inside was icing over.     Son 1, wearing a splendid home-made crown atop his school uniform,  went straight over on the ice and was pretty shaken. I got him in the car and we set off, very very slowly.  It was a long, slow, bonnet to bumper procession all the way to the Big Town. At School, the children were filing in for assembly, and Son 1’s teacher, Mrs Smiley was there to meet us: “Happy New Year! You beat the weather then!”  “Bang goes the New Year’s Resolution,” I replied. There were people arriving after us. I have a rule. If we are Not Last, we are Not Late. 

Skiploads of Hassle at The Office today. Never mind, never mind.  I took The Man’s pants and pyjamas back to M and S. You remember, the ones I wrote about on Christmas Eve, saying “they’ll all be wrong, and I’ll have to take them all back.”  The boxers, £15 for 3 pairs when I bought them, are now £2 in the sale. I suppose the Savvy Shopper returns the stuff and then re-buys it after getting the full price refund.  The weather forecast got grimmer through the day. The sky got darker, and lower. At 1645 I thought “This doesn’t look good. I really had better go early and get Son 1.” Not another car at the school. Only one other child left at the Tea Club. Oh look on the Bright Side.   When he was a baby at Day Nursery he was always the last one. By a long way. I used to turn up way after closing  time, breathless, panicking, to find two Nursery Nurses with their coats on, playing with him. ”You don’t both have to stay!” I said once. “Yes we do,” they told me. “We’re not allowed to be here alone with him.”   There were ice warnings on all the roads, but we got back ok. As we got out of the car it began to snow. Son 1 almost cartwheeled with excitement: “Put your hand up if you want to make a snowman!”

Cracks

1.  Straining

2.  Splitting

3.  Cracking

I put the radio on at 0615.  Snow. Ice. Chaos.  By 0655 Son 1 aged 5y 3m’s school was on the long closure list.  He was still asleep. Son 2 aged 2y 3m was up, eating his breakfast, eating my breakfast, deciding to go upstairs: “I go see Son Son orl right.”  Son 1 got up, looking pinched and blue in his thin pyjamas. “Can we go outside and make a snowman?”  The Man, excused running Son 1 into School, had helped himself to a lie in. When he got up he distracted Son 1 with the promise of taking the Christmas tree down.

One Wednesday Friend is snowed in, the other took her Son 2 and husband to the Museum.  I got the boys out of the house and on to the ice to meet them for coffee.  Talk about setting myself up for trouble.  We left late, and I wanted to get there in time to meet up before they had to pick up a child they were looking after. Son 1 wanted to slide on the ice, and make snowballs, and take the snow off cars, and scrape the snow away to get to the pavement… and that was before he’d gone 10 yards. What is it about a wintry scene that makes a mother’s voice screaming murderously echo up and down the houses?  We got there by piling him into his Big Pram seat and pushing madly through the falling snow.  In the Museum cafe, Son 2 let out a Maximum-Volume-Both-Lung-Barrels-Shriek.  A woman behind the counter winced and curled her lip. “You want to try living with it,” I said, mildly. “He can get much louder than that.”  She hadn’t realised I was the Proud Mother, and was satisfyingly mortified.  We had a good time at the Museum, came back, and then Son 1 decided he wanted to watch Peter Pan. We have about 5 Peter Pan DVDs, and he picked “Hook.”  Mesmerised.  And then, after a glorious two week period of Lego and Hot Wheels and Playmobil Knights, he got his pirate toys out and played happily.

We had the boys in bed for 1930, and I had a text from the Wednesday Mum saying she was going to the cinema with one of her friends.  No idea what we were seeing, didn’t care. off I went.  We’d planned to meet for a drink before, but the nearest bar is shut till next week. We watched “Cracks.” Never heard of it, although I just Googled “Cracks Film”, and it has 8,000,000 entries.  Fashion, you are a Creature for People With Time.  It was pretty and predictable, but ok. We went to a bar after. Empty. We bought drinks, sat down, and discussed Important Themes Related To The Film. Like could you ever be that thin if you never ate again, or is it just good genes?  The bar suddenly filled up. Then a woman came round with laminated Karaoke songlists.  Oh dear, we thought, they must have thought we’d come in to sing. Reader, after the first blast of Green Green Grass Of Home, we drank up and left.

Baby, It’s Bad Out There

1. When It Snows, Ain’t It Thrilling?

2.  Though Your Nose Gets A Chilling

3.  We’ll Frolic And Play, The Eskimo Way

Thursdays are very busy at The Office, so I don’t usually blog.  However.  Too many adventures today not to.  We started off like yesterday, gathering round the radio in our pyjamas to see if Son 1’s school was open. Son 1 aged 5y 3m and Son 2 aged 2y 3m sang and screeched and shouted everytime we hissed “Sshhhh!”  Nope. Not on the list.  I went for my shower… The Man coaxed Son 1 into his uniform. He went outside to start the long and tedious process of getting the car out of the frost and ice.  In we went.  I stopped off for fuel, feeling it wasn’t the day to play my usual “I wonder how far it will go with the orange light on” roulette.  Little specks of snow fell as I filled up. By the time I pulled out of the garage, the specks were the size of cornflakes… then of 50ps, and then one wipe of the windscreen didn’t clear it before the next lot blotted out visibility. What A Difference A Child Makes , I wrote, nearly a year ago. I was simply not going to drive in thick sticking snow with a child in the car, so I turned round at the next roundabout and went back home.  It got worse and worse.  Son 1 chattered loudly, incessantly. “Son 1,  please be quiet, this is very difficult and Mummy really needs to think.” Son 1’s moods are linked to mine as surely as if we’d never ditched that Cord.  I’d made him nervous, so the chat got louder and more insistent. 400 yards from home, my mobile rang on the passenger seat beside me. “That’ll be Daddy trying to tell me to turn back,” I said. We pulled up outside The House.  The Man came out. “Good call.” I just rang you to tell you to come back.  Son 1 danced on the pavement and caught snowflakes in his insect gloves.

The snow stopped, the sun shone. Only make essential journeys, the police said on the radio. i put an overnight bag and my packed lunch in the boot, The Man drove me back to the Main Road, and off I went again. Jaysus what was I thinking. (Sh. To be honest, I secretly know what I was thinking. “If I’m going to get snowed in, I’d rather be at The Office than At Home.”  Don’t tell anyone. )  Two miles out, round a roundabout and then downhill on ice for more than a mile. I was in first gear in a slow snake of traffic.  We were all crawling, we were all suffering, we were well spaced.  I got on to level ground at the bottom of the Valley and the queue stopped moving.  We sat and sat and sat.  It started to snow.  Heavily.  I got out, got my briefcase out of the boot, found my phone and called The Office. “You can’t get into The Big Town, they’ve shut the road!” said my colleague. “You said you were getting the train!” “I know,” I wailed. “But it was sunny and still when I left! I thought it was over.”  I sat and sat and sat. The Man rang. “A Neighbour has rung. He set off before you, first time, and he’s just rung to say tell you he’s giving up and turning around.  He’s been stuck for two hours.” I tried calling our Neighbour.  Answerphone. Then I saw him drive past me in the opposite direction. I crawled to a roundabout and turned round.  The road was white in front of me, even with cars ahead. The snow fell too thick and fast for wipers on double speed.  It was hateful, horrible, harrowing.  Should I pull over at The Pub On The Road and wait it out? As soon as I went past I regretted not stopping. The string of cars coming down towards me were slipping, sliding and swerving. I realised it would only take one to lose it and cross over my way to wipe me out (”They’ll be all right,” I thought.)

Nearly at the top of the hill, I saw a yellow truck-like vehicle with flashing hazard lights heading across the roundabout to the by pass in the dim gloom ahead. Snow plough? Gritter? No idea, but the snow was browny, in places you could see the surface and it was a whole lot better than all the other exits.  I followed but couldn’t catch whatever it was.  I got within a mile of home, but we live at sea level; I was on the 70 mph clearway high above The Town and I just don’t know how to drive down steep hills in a blizzard on compacted ice and thick snow.  In the end I got down by doing a massive detour, slaloming in first gear, in half mile sweeps back and forth across The Town.  I cannot remember being so afraid – I couldn’t touch the brakes without losing control of the car.  My long, slow downhill route took me past The Town’s secondary school, clearly at the instant they shut it.  Teenagers were making slides in the road and tumbling across it in snowball fights. And I was chuntering towards them, in a two-tonne block of metal I had no way of stopping. I passed them, and then headed on downhill towards red traffic lights.  I stalled, skidded, grinding the handbrake, and coasted through before stopping six feet the wrong side of them.  At last I crawled along the riverside road.  Hundreds of yards from home, I saw a drive in space by the side of the road.  I switched off the engine. I was shaking. It had taken me an hour and a half to drive five miles.   Still trembling, I yomped up The Terrace back to The House. Through the snow I saw The Man walking towards me.  “He’s come to meet me because he’s realised what’s happened,” I thought. “I’m going into The Town to get something for lunch,” he said. “Do we need anything?”  I carried my own bags back to The House.

Quality Time

1.  Tripping Over

2.  Dropping In

3.  Stepping Out

Perfect Parent that I am, I read to Son 1 aged 5y 3m and Son 2 aged 2y 3m every day. No matter what. Because Some Things Are Important (Where’s My Cow? Terry Pratchett…)  I always try to work the day we’ve had into the reading material. Yesterday evening,  after my snowy train trip I did One Snowy Night, The Gruffalo’s Child, Snow Bears yadda yadda.  This morning Son 1 announced “We’re watching Scooby Doo and The Abominable Snowman because of the snow.  We watched it yesterday too.” Sigh. How I glowed with pride to see the Next Generation taking my values and making them their own.   I tried to Be With Them this morning. I left the washing, I left the cleaning.  I tried to play with Son 2 and his farm. This sent Son 1 nuts: “It’s MY farm.” He started playing with the horses, lining them up on the window seat.  Son 2 climbed up and stamped on them. Son 1 beat Son 2 up so much that I sent him to bed, and then, 15 minutes later, I  left Son 2 to watch telly while I took Son 1 up to finish a puzzle with him. Son 2 came up and tramped all over it.   I took them downstairs. I had to cross the lounge floor en pointe to avoid stepping on Playmobil Knights and Go Gos and Lego and hens and horses and Lego and cows and engines and pirates and Lego and puzzles and fish and Stinkfly and Lego.  I thinned it all out so Son 1 just had Knights and ELC monsters at one end, and Son 2 had a train track at the other.  Then I went to make lunch, ignoring the shouts, thumps, bangs and yells.

We had rice n beans n veg.  The boys ate pretty well for them, and were both allowed to get down. I opened the FT and got on with finishing mine. The Family From Along The Terrace appeared in the window, waving. In they came. Paper away, kettle on. The girls aged 7 and 4 vanished upstairs, and I heard Son 1’s voice change from snapping at his brother to an excited half-yodel half-warble.  Mother took elder daughter off for a riding lesson, Father and younger daughter stayed with us. We’d planned a chilly walk over to the Beach Cafe… they joined us.  As we headed on down into the Town, Glamorous 24 Year Old came walking up the hill. She’s moved in nearby, and was planning to drop in. She joined us too. Son 2 slept in the The Big Pram, Son 1 played up.

The Beach Cafe was packed, but we needed to get Younger Daughter fed, so we had coffee, hot chocolate and chips. i think she was supposed to have a ham and cheese toastie and salad, but the Dads ate that instead.  We went on the Beach afterwards. Oh so that’s what Windchill means. It was Siberian. Four adults, huddling, shuffling about, complaining about the cold while the three children zinged here and there. “Look Mummy. Big stone,” said Son 2, lugging half a doorstep across the beach with his bare white hands. The sky was blue, the sun was setting, turning the sea into a sheet of gold that rolled into massive surf and smashed on the shore.  We began the long haul home.  Younger Daughter looked like she was sleepwalking, so we hopped her up to ride home sitting on the Boots Nappy Bag slung inbetween the handles of The Big Pram. “Do you like my double buggy?” I asked the Father, who’s an Engineer.  “Son 1 invented it.” “What you’ve actually invented is a seat that hooks across the handles for bigger children to ride on,” he said. “It’s rather good. I’m going home to do some drawings and send off for patents.” At The House, Younger Daughter decided she was coming in for a sleepover, tried to wave goodbye to the Father, and sobbed when she was carried off.

Successful Ingredients

1.  Chocolate

2.  Pumpkin

3.  Cabbage

I rang Nanna this morning and told her The Man would come over and get her if she wanted to come to stay. “Why, do you need me to help with the children?”  “No, but it’s snowing and you last went shopping on Monday.” “Oh I’m all right, I’ve had three neighbours offering to get me things. And I’ve got lots of things left over from Christmas.”  I never know if I’m meant to insist. I can’t think why she doesn’t want to sit ankle-deep in plastic, watching children’s DVDs and eating while Son 1 aged 5y 3m and Son 2 aged 2y 3m turn their food into missiles and craft materials. We had another morning of toys and telly.  My Good Thing this morning was getting the Nitty Gritty out on Son 1.  God it was awful.  No nits… but he’s just such a nightmare. He can’t sit still. I can’t see.  We were At War. After far too long I was at last satisfied he was clear, but it cost me three chocolate coins and a Go Go Case, whatever that is. 

I made Pumpkin Scone for lunch. This is another one of our NIghtime Reading Things.  Son 2 gave Son 1 “Winnie The Witch And The Amazing Pumpkin” for Christmas.  Winnie eats Pumpkin Scones.  I got Nigel Slater’s “Tender” for Christmas.  Nigel has a Pumpkin Scone recipe. I’ve got a butternut squash and I’m not afraid to use it.  I don’t think I got the quantities right. My dough was a little sloppy, so the scone came out looking like a tortilla and tasting of bicarb.  Not cooked enough. Son 1 and The Man ate it. Son 2 wouldn’t touch it. I ate two slices and wondered how Winnie stays so thin. Must be magic.

I tried playing with the boys again. But ended up spending all the playing time tidying the bloody toys. So I gave up and we watched Ice Age 3 instead. Son 2 loves it.  I thought it was brilliant. I laughed so loudly, and so often, that Son 1, who’d climbed up onto my lap, clamped his hand over my mouth.   Various small animals on a flying dinosaur were trying to rescue Sid the Sloth from a raging river of orange molten rock. “Mummy look! They’re going to die lava-ing,” said Son 1 seriously. I got told off for laughing again. I made  Sunday dinner. I might stop cooking, I thought. Takes too long. All that washing up afterwards. Son 2 scrambled up his highchair towards his tea. “I go’ a ball! Look! A ball!” I had included a single, small sprout in his roast dinner.  He held it up! “Look Mummy! My ball!”  He made a hole in it with his finger and stuffed a piece of roast chicken in. (Think green olive and pimento.) “Look! I made a bird!” Being Positive, they did both stay at the table for most of the meal.  And they both ate all their red cabbage - with Son 2 asking for seconds. (Thinly sliced, boiled for three minutes and then dressed in extra virgin olive oil and soy sauce. My recipe.  Nigel wouldn’t be seen dead mixing extra virgin olive oil and soy sauce.)

Pangs

1.  Friends Reunited

2.  Feeding Frenzy

3.  Absent Friends

Son 1 aged 5y 3m was back at School again today, Deo gratias.  He threw a right wobbler on Sunday when I told him it was closed.  “Will you be at home with me?”  No, I’ll be at work. “Will Daddy be at home?”  No, it’ll be you, Son 2 aged 2y 4m and Wonder Nanny.  It was good to see the enormous hug he gave her last night when she said Goodbye. And this morning?  Same old same old. We set off on time and got there late. Incredible traffic.  The School was still cordoned off and marshalled because there was ice everywhere. He was collected with a few other stragglers by Mrs Briskly-Pleasant, the Head, and swept inside without a look back.

The Office was Madly Busy.  No breakfast – too busy rounding up children and their Stuff.  No lunch – no time at all.  I could feel my tolerance levels sinking through the floor with my blood sugar.  I think that’s why supermodels and pop divas have such spectacular tantrums.  They’re starving and enraged by cortisol.  “We forgot my wellies,” said Son 1, chivalrously when I collected him seconds before the After School Club shut.  We always do him a tuck box for the way home because he’s always hungry. He has a sandwich, yoghurt and fruit. The Man made it this morning. He had chocolates, hula hoops and pineapple juice. And then, still 15 minutes from home:”I’ve eaten enough now.”  Silence. “I feel sick.”  Another pause. “I’m going to be sick.”  At the point where he started making gagging noises in the backseat, I parked up near The House, hoiked him out of the car and let the biting South Easterly give his system something else to think about.  I rushed him inside the House and went back to the car for the bags. 

When I got back in, he’d gone upstairs to find The Man and Son 2. I wanted a snack to stop me being grumpy at bathtime.  I gazed in the fridge, and then heard: “Where are you Mummy? Where are you Mummy?” Son 2, trailing along the landing, peering hopefully through the bannisters, and then laughing with joy and holding out his darling little arms. How lovely to be adored.  “Hello Son 2, have you had a good day?” “Yes.” “What did you do?” “I wen’ pay goop.” “Did you? And who did you see at playgroup?” “Wond’ Nannee wen’ pay goop.” He followed me upstairs while I changed.  “I’m very hungry, Son 2. I think I’ll go down and have a snack.” “No. Mummy no’ ‘ave nack. Mummy stay ‘ere.”  Oh all right then.  During storytime Son 1 mentioned that X, a child he’s played with since Nursery, has left the School.  “They’ve moved away. They go somewhere else now.”  “How do you know they’ve moved away?”  “Mrs Briskly-Pleasant told us.”  Yesterday Son 1 was talking about the game he was playing with X and his brother.  I simply cannot tell if he’s upset, and I don’t know how to talk to him about it. I bet I’m still writing that line in 10 years’ time.

Blood And Sand

1.  Hammer

2.  Spade

3.  Pick

0130.  Scuffling, and a blocked-up voice in the dark. “Mummy I’ve got lots of snot.”  “Allrightlemmeputthelighton.”  Silvio Berlusconi aged 5y 3m. Only with more blood.  Covering his mouth, chin and upper lip. Smeared across his face, all over his pyjama top and the back of his hand.  Dripping in great globs onto the lavender carpet, professionally cleaned during our holiday. I gave him a hanky to hold on his nose and ran for tissues, loo paper, flannels.  The Man didn’t move.  Son 1 cried.  The Man rolled over and murmered “GetintobedSon1.”  Son 1, grizzling and grisly,  clambered towards him, leaving great blood-smeared slug trails all over my side.  I cleared up Son 1. I changed his pyjamas. I scrubbed at the carpet, including the  House Of Horror blood drips leading from his bed to ours.  I did the best I could with the Big Bed. Son 1 dozed off. And the Gruffalo snored and snored and snored….

A beautiful morning.  The river was flat, silvery-green.  The sky was blue. The flag on the waterside flagpole hung straight down.  We were meeting the Wednesday Friends at the Beach By The Garden.  Son 2 aged 2y 4m played with his train track in the lounge. He’s just worked out how to put it together, and makes long stretches, a la Gromit in the Wrong Trousers. I loaded up the Big Pram with beach stuff, and hunted high and low for the spades. Of course. They were used in the garden to make snowmen six days ago.  And they were used on the beach this morning to fill buckets and dig ditches.  Son 2 played without his coat.  We had Little Four Year Old, Little Three Year Old, and Best Friend, whose school is still closed because the heating doesn’t work. I have not told Son 1. 

After we said goodbye to the gang, Son 2 wanted to walk in The Garden.  Puddles.  He loved them. He walked through and back again. He kicked water up. He banged the same foot down like Gene Kelly. He charged through.  He plopped bits of gravel into a stream.  We went through The Town and bought two presents for parties in the Toy Shop.  Son 2 played with the plastic animals and knights on the stand by the door, and held up one of the larger ones. “Look Mummy. ‘Ump Back Whale.”  You will be delighted to know it was in fact a Sperm Whale.  We met The Man and went en famille to get Son 1.  At home it was his turn to pick the DVD. He held out an Australian Peter Pan. “Can we have the Choose Menu?”  Oh how far apart are our childhood worlds. I had black and white Woodentops. He has Scene Selection.  They watched the film through to the end, then chose the Disney Peter Pan, from The Bomb onwards. This may be the road to hell. At bathtime, Son 1 said he has told The Man he needs to smile more.  I will let you know.

Spring And Fall

1.  Green Shoots

2.  Retail Results

3.  The Great Crash

We were so late to School yesterday that I resolved today we would be Up and Out even earlier. Sort of.  We left on tim.  Success in prising Son 1 age 5y 3m from the house: “The flight to the Big Town is leaving now! Will all passengers with tickets for the Big Town please proceed to the boarding gate!” Son 1 came haring down the stairs, closely followed by Son 2 aged 2y 4m “I got ticket! I got ticket!” We kissed Son 2 goodbye and went out into the gloom. 10C said the dashboard. That’s more like it. “Yellow car!” yelled Son 1. At last we had time to park up the Muddy Path.  We skipped, hopped and dodged towards the School. And there, just by the road to the old building site, four or five clumps of tightly-packed, inch-high daffodil leaves. 

An Office Trade Show. I did three hours on my feet. You’d think I’d learn.  Standing in heels again. Never wanted to. What am I to do. I can’t help it.  Dropping with fatigue, I left early, and got to School just after 5pm. Still light. All the way in, all the way out.  This is no thaw. This is Spring.  Son 1 and I went to Tesco for a Big Shop.  I’d bought him a little velvety drawing thing and pens to keep him occupied, and he sat in the trolley seat colouring.  Till he got pins and needles, because he’s about three years too old for it.  We bought marked-down Peppa Pig pants for Son 2 – one day I might get round to potty training him – and vests and marked-down pyjamas for Son 1.  He was exhausted, his little face pale and his eyes tired.  He kept lying down on the shop floor.  He was also hungry. He had a gingerbread man.. and then, in the queue, a strawberry yoghurt drink thing.   He was a saint.

He fell asleep in the car on the way home.  I double-parked and heaved bag after bag of shopping in. The Man appeared in the open doorway. “Son 2’s in the bath!” he yelled, and vanished. I finished unloading the car, carried a fretful Son 1 inside and drove off to park. No spaces on the first lap. I was about to pass The House again when I saw a little figure in the bay window.  I double-parked again. Son 2, waving, blowing kisses, giggling madly. I went inside and told The Man to park the car. Son 2 trashed the shopping, and scored a melting jellytot floppy lolly and his Peppa Pig pants. “Me take my nappy off,” he said, pulling at his PJ trousers. “Not tonight, we’ll try them tomorrow.” He looked me in the eye. “Me take my nappy off.”  Rather than have He Take His Nappy Off, I put the pants on over his pyjamas. He was delighted.  “Me show Son Son.” And off he cantered.  I followed him up to the bathroom, where he had emptied the entire pants packet. “I don’ wan’ wear my nappy.”  Tough luck kid, I just bought a box of size 5.  Bedtime was overlong and bad-tempered.  Afterwards The Man and I compared elbows.  i fell over in the ice last week, and my right elbow is completely black. The Man fell down the stairs last night – do not leave folded jeans on the last-but-three stair because if anyone treads on them in the dark they act like a little one-foot sledge.  The Man is a Big Boy, and fell very heavily. He doesn’t have a bruise, but his arm is swollen.  Being Positive, at least it wasn’t me who left the jeans on the stairs…

Two Year Olds

1.  Hard Luck

2.  Soft Play

3.  Easy Choices

I so wanted to stay in bed this morning.  But Son 2 aged 2y 4m sobbed with furious disappointment when The Man went into get him from his cot. “NO!” he howled. “GO ‘WAY DADDY.” I waited and waited for The Man to bring him up. Son 1 aged 5y 3m, already in the Big Bed, snuggled down. “He sounds very cross.” In the end I went and got him.  We were going to the Tourist Attraction 30 miles away for a School party.  The Man wrapped the present. Son 1 wrote the card.  Note. There was a Present. There was a Card. There was Wrapping Paper.  There was Sellotape. Stands on the podium blinking proudly as they raise the flag and play God Save The Queen.

The Tourist Attraction has a Soft Play area. Spotting his friends, Son 1 yanked off his shoes and coat and sped off. Son 2 and I took the Big Pram upstairs.  And then. We started in the Toddler Area, where Son 2 climbed up and ran across and stepped over and slid down and squeezed through.  We played in the Ball Pool. We used the big cushion bricks to build a little house round a giggling Son 2. He kicked it down, hooting with laughter, the bricks covering him so only his little feet stuck out.  A two-year-old Haitian face with huge eyes flashed before me.  We went up the stairs to the Big Slide, gathering en route one of Son 1’s class mates.  Son 2 said “Ready, Steady, Go!” and we raced to the bottom.  She won each time.  I got her name wrong.  We did many, many laps of the Big ‘Uns area.  Son 2 can get to the top of the steep slope ‘n’ a rope. You just climb up and stick your little feet in the net at the side, and then you can more or less get anywhere you want.  Especially if you have no fear and Mummy helps you on the tricky bits on the way down.  We met a flushed and weary Son 1. “Can we play in the Baby Area now?” Down we went. Several of his friends joined him, piling in on top of him, bashing each other with cushions and throwing balls at heads. We’d come a long way since his first invitation to a party there nearly a year ago.  Party Time I eventually sent Son 1 out for Setting A Bad Example. ”Can I have an ice cream?” “No, but I’ll take you upstairs and we’ll get a drink.”

In the party room, there was squash in jugs.  But there were also two tables laid up for lunch. And in the middle of one… a beautifully iced birthday cake, with blue iced cup cakes underneath.  Like a magnet, it pulled Son 1 and Son 2 towards it.  Son 1 stood as close as he could get, staring, holding the edge of the table. Son 2 was less subtle. “Cake!” he bellowed, like Father Jack hollering for Drink. Another half hour’s play, and I had to pull Son 2 off the ice cream cabinet.  Lunch was called when Son 2 and I were on the other side of the building. We were among the last up, Son 1 was already seated, scoffing. i couldn’t get next to Son 2 so he chose his own food. Son 2 has no worries about calories, teeth, nutrition, or What People Think.  = A chocolate muffin. A pink wafer biscuit. Two mini doughnuts with chocolate on top. An iced biscuit.  I put a jam sandwich on his plate.  He took it off and tossed it on the table.

Epiphany

1.  Futility

2.  Fantasy

3.  Prophesy

Son 1 aged 5y 3m got into the Big Bed in the night; The Man got out and went downstairs.   In early darkness Son 1 woke. He eyebrowed. He fidgeted. He tried talking.  I ignored everything.  He said: “I think I’ll go and see if Daddy’s all right.” I growled “Justdon’t.wake.Son2.Iwannasleep “   He vanished. From downstairs came an atomic wailing.  Son 1 trooped back upstairs and climbed back in. He didn’t say anything.  We both lay, still. Son 2 aged 2y 4m’s distress calls got louder.  Son 1 started thumping his leg up and down on the mattress.  I lost it and sprang out of bed: “You! Go down to Daddy! I told you I wanted to sleep! I told you not to wake Son 2! I’m not speaking to you all day!” I stomped downstairs and scooped up Son 2 from his cot. I plopped him down in the Big Bed. “I wanna ge’ up.” “No. I’m going back to sleep.” “NO! Mummy no’ sleep!” From downstairs, Son 1, crying theatrically: “Mummy’s not going to talk to me all day!” “Why Son Son sad?” asked Son 2. Gone were all signs of his own hysterics. “Why Mummy no’ torking Son Son?” I lay still. “I wanna ge’ up!”  I didn’t answer. “I wan’ my Daddy!”

i recorded Nanny McPhee yesterday so Son 1 would have something to watch while I Nitty Gritty-d his hair.  No, to my knowledge he hasn’t got them this time, but I am now spending one of the precious few hours I have with my children each week conditioning and combing in case. Why can’t someone invent something decent that just gets rid of them?  Son 1’s skin is now reacting to Johnson’s baby conditioner, so if it could be something incredibly hypoallergenic that would also help. And while you’re there, can you also come up with something that cleans their bloody teeth twice a day too.  Son 1 and Son 2 were glued to Nanny McPhee. “What happened to their Mummy?” I might have to change my usual answer to this one: “She did too much work and never got any sleep and collapsed and died,” because it has recently started reducing Son 1 to tears: “I hate it when you say that! It makes me very unhappy!” Shame. It used to make me larf.

After lunch The Man went off on a Business Trip, and Son 1 started doing the hyperactive-giggling-rushing-about- thing which we have finally realised means he’s upset.   We all went back upstairs so I could watch the end of the film with them.  “I’ve seen a family with seven children,” said Son 1. Son 2 was sitting on my lap, being very cuddly. “Mummy! I said I know a family with seven children! And there’s a lady who works in a place where they sing carols. And when she was late for work she ran up a hill and sang a song.”  “I know that family too,” I said. “it’s a film. Where have you seen it?” “School.”  We watched a bit of the Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. “Where lion?” asked animal-mad Son 2, over and over. And then we went to Church.  The theme was Epiphany, so there were crowns and stars to be painted and candles to be lit. We sang We Three Kings, which I thought was a bit odd, but they’re the experts. Son 1 loves crowns and being a King, and his hand shot up to volunteer to pose as royalty at the front. The reading got onto Herod, and I started to fret. Son 1 and I haven’t done Slaughter Of The First Born.  Herod was just hearing about the New King who was a baby, when Son 1, sitting on my lap, eyes shining, hissed gleefully into my ear: “He kills them!”  I predict this will not be the first time I try and protect my son from things he already knows.

Characters

1.  Leading Light

2.  Glaring Error

3.  Sparking Interest

Ring the bells and light the beacons, we have found a breakfast cereal Son 1 aged 5y 3m likes. Sugar Puffs.   One dry puff at a time of course, and each one to be entirely finished before the next one goes in. But he finished a bowlful.   Son 1 was up early, I had to wake Son 2 aged 2y 4m in his cot.  A mad Single Mother dash to get out of the house on time, which meant I hardly saw Son 2. “Son 2! I’m going to work now!” “Bye Mummy,” he said, without turning round from CBeebies.  We kind of got Son 1 to School on time. Kinda sorta almost. We walked in as all the other children were sitting cross legged on the floor, the class list  was up on the Whiteboard and Mrs Smiley needed Son 1 to Fetch The Register.  Buglit. Forgot he was Line Leader today. I could have crowbarred him out of the House a bit quicker if I’d’ve remembered. 

I was supposed to pick him up promptly so I could get back and let Wonder Nanny go on time. A phone call overran, and yet again I was late late late. I still parked up the Muddy Path – I had promised Son 1 that morning – and we walked back to the car jousting with windfallen sticks.  “I need a wee,” he said, after I’d buckled him in and he’d started on his sandwiches.  “Well go behind a tree. I’ll find you some handgel. And hurry! We’re already late for Wonder Nanny.”  I hunted in the door pockets for the handgel, and stood up when I’d found it. Son 1, his trousers and pants at his ankles, was weeing against a tree next to the road, his body profiled and bright white in the headlights of cars turning into School. “Oh Son 1, you could have picked a tree further in!” I bellowed. I stood between him and the road to shield him from the cars. A shadowy figure hurried up the Muddy Path towards us. “Well that tree’s going to flourish now, isn’t it?” It was Mrs Smiley.   

Bathtime, and Son 1 was shattered. Needy, attention-seeking and unable to keep quiet for a second. Son 2 was gorgeous. “I lub Mummy,” he said, his soft and squodgy arms round my neck, his perfect little mouth pecking kisses on my cheek.  He just wanted to hold and be held.  “I wan’ cuddle.” Both missing their father. (I’ve put that in for the benefit of any readers abroad…)   ”I don’t want Wonder Nanny to look after us tomorrow,” said Son 1.  “It’s just for a while so I can go to the School.  Mrs Smiley and Mrs Briskly-Pleasant are going to talk to the Mummies and Daddies about learning to read. They say some little boys can get very upset if they make mistakes and feel terrible inside and they’re going to tell us what to do if that happens.” “That;s what happens to me,” said Son 1, sadly.  We’d had a car conversation this morning about cavemen living now, and I’d told him about Stig Of The Dump.  I tried reading my old 1973 edition to him after Son 2 went to sleep. He stayed with the plot for the Snarget encounter, but then yawned “It’s too old for me.” I might try and find him one with more pictures. And maybe not so many Woodbines.

Reading Lessons

1.  Thing One And Thing Two

2.  Mother Was Out Of The House For The Day

3.  All We Could Do Was To Sit! Sit! Sit! Sit!

Heaven and Earth were moved this morning so that Son 1 aged 5y 3m and I could get out of the House early and into School on time.  We done great.  Breakfast for Son 1: four pots of fromage frais, two big, two small.  The Lord helps those who help themselves, so he helped himself.  Son 2 aged 2y 4m: 2 small pots and one big one.  Aided and abetted by Son 1. Wonder Nanny in, kiss Son 2, and outside we went.  Son 1 ran like the clappers about half a mile down The Terrace. I reeled him back in. “Oh dear Son 1. Did you get blown away by the Dreadful Wind like Piglet?”  “Yes,”  he said.  In the car, we were still early.  There was none as smug as me. And then, 15 minutes of stiff traffic away from the School, a little voice from the back seat: “I need a poo.” We discussed the options, and pulled over in Sainsbury’s.  Which has a trolley escalator, up and down. Son 1 looked longingly at it. “No! We can come on the way back! We have to get to School.”  In the loo, he decided he only needed a wee.   We were there by the skin of our teeth.   

When I picked him up, Mrs Smiley said I had some laundry to do. Son 1 had had an accident. I’d told her our story from this morning… and she’d seen our Emergency Stop last night. “I’d keep an eye on him,” she said. “It might be a sign he’s not well.”  I think it’s more a sign that his Mother is always in a rush and never stops to ask him if he needs the loo. But I will of course watch out.  And then we had to go to Sainsbury’s, and ride up the escalator, and down the escalator. I wanted to do a bit of shopping, but Son 1 was too wired and wild for a supermarket. He dozed off in the car on the way home.

Poor Wonder Nanny did Books and Bath And Bed, because there was a Reading Evening at School. The Mummies and Daddies drove in on a wild, dark night and sat on uncomfortable plastic chairs to find out how they teach the children to read and See How We Can Support Them.  Blimey.  Jolly phonics, puppets, dictionaries, SATS, key stages, interactive whiteboards, computer games, record books, friezes and singsongs.  I think I just had a lined exercise book and Dr Seuss. The Cat in the Hat is still there, thank God.  Only he’s a cuddly toy as well now, sitting on top of the audio visual display control box and staring back at us.  I think I’ll get one online and take it to bed with me so I feel a bit more secure.  “Some children seem like good readers but they’re just remembering the shape of the words,” said Mrs Briskly-Pleasant.  That’ll be Son 1 then, who memorises the whole bloody book because they’re repetitive and predictable.  “And you can completely ruin classic books by letting your children see the films first.”  Oh dear.  Guilty of that as well. I can’t wait till he starts doing Maths.

School Visit

1.  An Early Start

2.  An Early Swim 

3.  Early Learning

Every day, in every way, the bar gets set just that little bit higher.  Today’s game was Get Son 1 aged 5y 3m and Son 2 aged 2y 4m dressed, fed, cleaned, toileted and brushed, with swimming things and packed lunch for Son 2 by 0745.  This is The Man’s first term-time Wednesday away, so it was all Down To Me.  With relentless, remorseless nagging I did it.  Strewth.  I am sick of the sound of my voice.  And I long ago got everything down to one word: “Breakfast!” “Clothes!” “Teeth!” ”Loo!” “Shoes!” “Coat!” “Hair!” Apart from “Come on!” which I must say 70 times a morning.   The traffic, strangely, parted to let us through, so we got to School with time to spare, which is very Unlike Us.  And gave Son 2 time to play with the Brio train set (box of track tipped out over nicely laid out train village,) the little plastic cubes (no longer orderly and sorted for colour) and the children’s nameboard (anyway up is fine.)  When I told him to say goodbye he screamed so loudly that Mrs Briskly-Pleasant appeared briefly in the doorway of the classroom next door like a woman in a weather house.  She went back in when she realised it was Son 2.  I carried him out, horizontal in my arms, every muscle in his body locked, the Shout on full blast.  When he is bad, he is Horrid.

For various boring reasons, we ended up in the Hotel Pool, but we had a grand time. Son 2 started off in the Baby Pool, but soon wanted to go in the Big Pool, and headed off in his arm bands under his own steam, happy to see where he could get to, hanging in the water to rest or whirling himself back and forth. We went to the fountains and played in the bubbles. He splashed my face and hair. “Terrible weather,” I repeated, my audience barely breathing for giggling. ”I wan’ go in Baby Pool ‘gen.” Back we went. While he was splashing, a woman doing breast stroke lengths smiled and him and said hello. He was back in the Big Pool in an eyeblink, showing her what he could do. “Are you swimming?” she said, with another great smile on her next flypass.  He buried his face in my shoulder. 

The Wednesday Friends were at The Beach By The Garden, very impressed with my being Out and about so early.  I had this theory.  I used to take Son 1 swimming First Thing on Wednesday and Sundays.  Son 1 was therefore always worn out on my days off, and an accepting, biddable toddler. Therefore. If I take Son 2 swimming First Thing, he will thenceforth be tired, and accepting and biddable. Undemanding.  The Wednesday Mothers laughed: “It’s who you get, not what you do.”  Son 2 climbed on the wall by the Garden, and sideways shuffled along, clinging to the railings. He has separation anxiety, I thought. He will stop and come back.  At 100 yards away he stopped and stared till I went towards him. When I got to 50 yards, he started away again.  In the afternoon, we watched Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and then went to School for Son 1. “Hello Son 2,” said Mrs Smiley. “Have you come to terrorise us again?” He gave her a dazzling smile and ran off with Son 1. We went to Nanna’s for tea.  Disaster. They were too tired.  They were awful. We did not part on good terms at bedtime. And I’ve just arranged for them to go round to a Wednesday Mum’s for tea tomorrow. I have however tweaked one little parameter, and now I think it will be a success.  Wonder Nanny is taking them.

Names Will Never Hurt Me

1.  Red Tape

2.  Red Letter

3.  Red Alert

Son 1 aged 5y 4m has been wearing The Wrong Trousers since Wednesday.  They are too short. And tellingly, they have “X Y,” a schoolfriend’s full name, in a nametape of red capital letters, sewn into the inside waistband.  “I think we got them muddled in PE,” said Son 1.  At School, I told Mrs Smiley that Son 1 was still in X’s trousers. “I know. It’s odd, because X’s things are always named, and so are Son 1’s.  We had them all turn their nametapes out yesterday so we could look at them but we couldn’t find Son 1’s.” She reached on top of a cupboard. “We have these, but they’re not named.”  Mrs Smiley is being too kind.  Some of Son 1’s stuff is named.  Written on the washing label with a freezer pen.  Lasts a few washes, but you have to remember to keep doing it. I looked longingly at the fabric pens in Son 1’s craft catalogue the other day, wondering if they’d wash out. We have some iron on name tapes somewhere. Iron and cool. Iron and cool. Iron and cool.  Joking. We have an iron somewhere too.   Son 1 re-claimed his trousers and went to get changed. I kissed him and left. 

I picked him up late.  He burrowed in his schoolbag and produced two badges and two certificates. Octopus 2. And a whale and a 15m certificate.  For swimming lessons, you must have a school swimming bag.  I had often watched the classes coming and going, clutching their bags, all matching.  Some of the children though have bags with badges on.  I wonder why they didn’t tell me you could get ones like that, I’d thought.    As Son 1’s little mound of badges piled higher in the wine rack, it slowly dawned on me that Something Should Be Done with them.  “Can I have my badges on my swimming bag?” asked Son 1 as he skipped through the playground.    I wonder if they’ll iron on.

I took him to Tesco. His idea, and The Man is back, so we didn’t have to rush home for Wonder Nanny and Son 2 aged 2y 4m.  Son 1 was a pain, hungry and tired.  I always do it, and I always say I’ll learn.  “Can we go to the bakery, can we go to the bakery? Bakery, bakery, bakery.”  I lifted him up and he was clearly torn between an iced doughnut and his usual favourite, the gingerbread men with Smartie buttons. ”Oh it’s so tricky.” “Please just pick one. Eat it and if you still want the other then you can have it afterwards.”  He chose the iced doughnut.  Loose, no packing. I took it to the deserted self-service tills and asked a shirty shop assistant to help me scan it. “Press B for bakery,” she said, stopping just short of an eyeroll. We poured our 55p into the slot and went on with the shopping. “I don’t like this. I want my biscuit,” said Son 1. We put the wrapper in the trolley. When Son 1 finally went nuts I pushed the trolley to the quietest till. The woman in front loaded up her trolley and moved off. “Hello,” said the Shop Assistant.  It was the Shirty One. “You are the only person in this store who knows our guilty secret about the doughnut, and now you’ve caught us with our biscuit wrapper too.”  The Shirty One was lovely.  She has a 14 month old son. Her friend has a 5 year old boy. The 14 month old copies the 5 year old friend the whole time. Only wants to play with the older one’s toys. How we compared notes. Back home, Son 2 and The Man were waiting in the bay window when I double-parked the car to unload. “Me look in bags. See what’s in bem.”  Scrabble scrabble. “See wossin bis one.” “My bavourite,” holding up, alternately, a packet of pasta, a packet of ham and a Cif bathroom cleaner. As I went out into the dark again he stood in the doorway in his pyjamas. “Me got Foobes!”

Upset

1.  No Room, No Room 

2.  The Dormouse

3.  Always Teatime

So. Having done five days without The Man and a full week at work, today was my day for Taking It Easy. I woke up at gone 4. Son 1 aged 5y 4m was on my side, comatose. The Man was on his side, comatose. I was in a 6 inch space between then. I extracted myself, went down to the Double Bed and went to sleep. What seemed like two minutes later, Son 2 aged 2y 4m woke up, wailing for Mummy.  I waited for The Man to go down. I’d already bagged my lie in.  Son 2 howled. Nothing moved. And howled. I flung back the quilt, stomped up around, and yelled up at The Man as I passed the stairs ”Thanks for the lie in.”   ”I’m really ill,” a tremulous voice came faintly after me.

I put Son 2 in the Double Bed with me. “Take my sleeping bag off.” I obeyed. “I don’ wan’ go bed. I wan’ ge’ up.” “Mummy wants to go to sleep. I want you to look after Mummy.” I got a kiss. And a  cuddle. And a little hand pulled the quilt up to my chin.  Like Zebedee, Son 1 aged 5y 4m arrived. He got in the bed on the other side from Son 2.  The Man blurred past the door. “I’ve been sick 5 times.”  Son 1 and Son 2 lay quietly. Until Son 1 decided to hold Son 2’s hands. Then there was slapping. And tickling. And prodding. And poking. And giggling. ”Go and find Daddy,” I murmered. They went. They came back. “Daddy’s in my bed,” said Son 1. “Daddy no’ ver’ well,” said Son 2.  Daddy had a stomach upset.  Vomiting. Squits. Daddy decided he’d better stay away from the boys in case they had it. He stayed in bed.  Daddy has never had a day off work through illness in his life.  

I washed and cooked and cleaned and dressed them and cleaned them and fetched them drinks and toothbrushes.  The Man wandered down for odd 5 minutes here and there, counting off every morsel he’d eaten the day before to work out how he got his bug. ”I could have got it from Son 2,” he said. “He did a poo in the bath last night before you got back, and it was very runny.”  By lunchtime Son 2 had had it. Hot, sleepy, clingy, with toxic nappies.  I gave him Calpol but all he wanted to do through the long afternoon was be carried around by me.  All four of us took to the Big Bed to watch Monsters vs Aliens. The Man was in bed and huddled up. Son 1 was in the middle and watched the whole film intently. Son 2 was leaning against me and fell asleep.  Son 1 couldn’t resist him. He kept stroking his cheek, kissing his forehead, cuddling him, hugging him…”Please leave him alone Son 1. He’s really not well. He needs to sleep to get better.” “I  know but I love him so much,” said Son 1.  We sympathised, because Son 2 is a little beauty when he’s asleep.  He was eventually wakened by Son 1’s attentions, and I spent the rest of the afternoon carrying him around because he cried if I went more than a yard away.   Tea was telly character pasta from tins – I couldn’t make anything with a toddler clamped to my shoulder. Then books, bath and bed. The Man emerged. I left Son 2 in the bath while I went next door to look at Son 1’s molluscum spots (last ones taking forever to go, thank you for asking.) “I don’ poo in the barf,” came the little voice from next door. Indeed he had.  The Man looked after Son 2 while I cleaned up. i couldn’t find any Dettol anywhere so I did it with bleach. “I can’t understand what you used to clean up yesterday,” I said. “I had to get this bleach from upstairs.” “This,” said The Man, holding up a greeny spray bottle.  “That wouldn’t have been much good. It’s for mould and mildew,”  “It says Dettol on it,” said The Man. “Presumably they make it,” I said.  “But it’s for mould. Funguses. Not bacteria.” “Same thing,” he said.

Seeing Peacocks In Sprouts

1.  Playing Possum

2.  Playing Up

3.  Playing Nice

Son 1 aged 5y 4m was in the Big Bed when Son 2 aged 2y 4m started howling. The Man, much better after his tummy upset, went down. ”No. Don’ ge’ me up. I wan’ Mummy. NO!  NO! I wan’ my Mummy! I wan’ Mummy ge’ me up.”  Mummy had other ideas. Son 1 and I cuddled,  “NO! I wan’ Mummy change my nappy!” The Man murmered something. “NO! Mummy no’ ‘avin’ lie in. I wan’ Mummy!”  There was clattering and banging and grizzling. “He’s going to be up here any minute,” said a dozy Son 1.  A cross little figure stomped over to the Big Bed. “Mum-mee! Lif’ me up!” I had a wonderful cuddle from someone who adores me. For five lovely minutes. Then: “Where Daddy! Daddy!” “Down here. Waiting for you to get bored with Mummy.” Son 2 sat up in the gloom. “I go see i’ Daddy orl right.” Off he went, followed within moments by Son 1. I tried to sleep. I tried to snooze. I tried to read my book. At 0745 I went down too.

It was a glorious day, the river was flat and shone like silver, the sky was a sharp clear blue. The only time I left the House yesterday was when I put the rubbish out and I was desperate to breathe outside air. We had some shopping to do and went out en famille, Son 1 sulking because he wanted to veg and watch telly, Son 2 sulking because we put him in the Big Pram. We let him out and put his reins on. Son 1 held him. They trotted cheerfully down the High Street, shut while the Gas Men dig holes and trenches. Someone has made big brught blue footprints all the way up.  We bought them sausage rolls and iced doughnuts for lunch.  Son 2 cried when he dropped half his iced doughnut on the floor. Son 1, the slower eater, laughed, waving his remaining 3/4 doughnut at the Pram. Half of it dropped off.   The Man and I laughed. Son 1 sulked more. On the way back I studied the footprints.  They’ve been stencilled. We are a very Arty Town.  I looked back at Son 1. He was walking up the footprints, one foot at a time.

Back home I didn’t have a successful afternoon.  The Man got going on Sunday tea.  Son 1 had lined up his Go Gos, his Ben 10 monsters, his new Bionicles and and his ELC monsters. “Will you play with me?” Son 2 had fallen asleep in the Pram. “Yes, I’ve got to put on some washing and then have some lunch and then I will.” “Have your lunch later,” he said. I agreed.  Son 2 woke up, so I took him upstairs. “Right,” said Son 1. “You get out the Captain Hook characters and the Playmobil pirates.” I said no.  Too many toys, too much for me to clear up. Now of course I feel terrible. I should have just got his pirates out and let him bomb them. I am one of the most untidy people you will ever encounter, but even I am sick to the elbows of putting their sodding toys away. Son 2 got his train track out and I made him a great long railway line. He didn’t want to play with it. “I si’ on Mummy’s knee and watch.”  The Man roasted chicken, we made Lego. I made houses. No mean feat when all Son 1’s Lego is bits of Bionicles and Mining Monsters and Pirate Rafts. “I wan’ play wi’ house,” said Son 2, going nuts as I prodded around looking for one-ers to finish my walls. Nanna arrived, tea was served. Son 2 made his sprout into a bird again. He looks at a sprout and sees a peacock.  Son 1 ate his sprouts and asked for more.  They are gorgeous.

No Regrets

1.  Drawn Out

2. The Big Draw

3.  Badly Drawn Boy

Son 1 aged 5y 4m slept in his own bed.  Yabba dabba doooo.  The Man was already up. And it felt so strange to lie awake alone… I went down and got cracking on the lunches.  The Man came down with Son 2 aged 2y 4m, smiling, in blue cotton pyjamas. Son 1 squealed and then lay at the top of the stairs crying. I scooped him up and brought him down to the table.  He moodily ate dry sugar puffs.We read his School book and he did very well. Son 2 wanted to read too.   There’d been another overnight freeze, and The Man went out to warm the car up.  Son 1 and I cruised in to  School and arrived with time to spare.  I’m driving off tomorrow night for an Office trip. I told Son 1: “Take me with you!” “There won’t be anything for you to play with.” “I’ll pack toys! It won’t take long!”  “It’s too far.” “I can watch DVDs.” “I’ve got no-one to look after you.” “I can look after myself”  “You have to go to School.” “Then you can’t go.”

I went to the City today, and got stuck on Office stuff.  45 minutes before Tea Club closed, and I was an hour and a half away.   I rang The Man to tell him I wouldn’t be back in time to collect Son 1. The first time I’ve missed it completely.    It was a strange drive home.  As I drove past the House, I looked up at the Bay Window to see if there was a little figure there. Nope.  But by the time I’d turned round and parked, there he was, standing in the window, looking down at me and waving. The Man says Son 2 has his bath, gets his pyjamas on and then is unstoppable in his determination: “I wan’ go window! I wan’ wai’ for Mummy!”

Son 1 was in the bath, damp, smiling, wonderful.  I went to change out of my Office things, and Son 2 came with me. He found a box of Disney books, and we took them downstairs. Son 2 picked out Monsters Inc. He pointed to a picture of Sully and Mike with the Abominable Snowman. “‘at’s ‘bomible nowman. Like in Scooby Doo.” There would have been no Mozart if his mother had been able to channel his boy genius skills into character recognition in children’s cartoons.

500 Miles

1.   Flats

2.   Steps

3.   Short Cuts

In the last 62 hours I have had 8 hours’ total sleep. I  have travelled more than 1000 miles.   I have had a puncture at 80mph in the outside lane of a motorway.  i have had my roots done.  I told you there is Always A Good Thing.  No idea where to begin.  A long trip for the Office, which I did by car because it’s the fastest way to get about the UK.  If you count your time in the numbers of breakfasts and bedtimes missed with small people you cannot go by train or fly.  It just takes too bloody long.  My colleague drove us back to The City.  A very long way from home indeed, there was a loud, horrible clacking noise.  Captain Sullenberger steered us across two lanes of traffic to come to a smoking, stinking halt on the hard shoulder.  Trucks the size of car ferries whizzed by feet from us.  We scrambled up the freezing embankment and took refuge on the side of a gantry for the junction far away.  I was in a black linen frock and 3 inch heels.  I went back to the car to put out the red triangle. And to burrow in the boot for a pair of sensible shoes. 

Wheels sorted and more than two hours added to the trip, we motored back through roadworks, traffic queues, rain, wind and spray.  We realised I wasn’t going to make it back home, and I checked into a hotel at 1am this morning. Crashed out, got up again at 5 and headed back. It was 0645 when I drew up outside The House. The lights were on downstairs.  The Man was in the kitchen, dressed. He put the kettle on.  Son 1 aged 5y 4m and Son 2 aged 2y 4m were upstairs watching telly.  “Mummee!  Mummeee! I’s coming!”   Little Son 2, sweet and smiling.  Son 1 not far behind, hanging back, curled up on the stair in his playing-hard-to-get pose. He suddenly sprang up.  “Can I look in your bag?”  There is always the chance of a present.

I had today off, but still needed to go into The Office. And then a visit to Lifestyle Guru Hairdresser.  LGH knows everything. The going rate for the Tooth Fairy (Son 1 thinks he has a wobbly tooth.) Whether I should be compulsively blagging party places for Son 2 for every invitation Son 1 has (she says she blags places for children she has staying with her as well.  How to beat the School Run traffic with a secret shortcut.   i collected Son 1. At home both boys were exhausted.  I dished out presents. ELC fish for Son 2. “I go bed now. I wan’ my barf.”  Ben 10 Lego for Son 1. They were in bed and asleep at 1930.   I will go up as soon as I can heave myself off this sofa.

Boomerangs Not Allowed

1.  Delicious

2.  Near Enough

3.  Better

I slept like a stone.  Didn’t hear or feel Son 1 aged 5y 4m climb over me into the Big Bed. Didn’t know The Man had gone downstairs. I woke to Son 1’s insistent fingers searching for my eyebrow. I’ve said before, this is a leftover from breastfeeding, when he used to lie there looking up at me, stroking my eyebrow.  He does it when he’s in light sleep.  He dozed. He cuddled.  And then a whisper: “Mummy. When can we get up?”  “What does the clock say?”  He stretched. “Seven hundred and…” I looked. “Seven Ten.” “When can we get up?” “When Daddy brings me my coffee.”  “I can hear Daddy snoring.” “So can I.”  I went downstairs and Son 2 called.  “I want my Coco Pops,” he said, as soon as his eyes opened.  Son 1 switched the light on by the Double Bed.  Son 2 laughed at the sight of The Man trying to stay asleep and went to biff him awake.  Son 1 stayed upstairs, Son 2 came down with me. He blagged a gingerbread biscuit and I gave him some apple and pear juice.  He drank thirstily and put the glass down. “Delicious.”  Not bad for 2y 4m.   

Party time. We had some Ben 10 lego, some Ben 10 wrapping paper, and a card, made by Son 1 and written by Son 2.  “I daw! I daw!”   I’ve spoken a few times to The Birthday Boy’s parents – more often to the Dad, and a couple of times to the Mother on the phone.   They’re both Australian, and as Mrs Smiley’s class did Australia Day this week, I thought the celebrations were vaguely appropriate.   The party was at the Tourist Attraction, 20 miles away, same venue as two weeks ago.  We were among the first there, and were greeted by Mother. We went upstairs to the Party Room. The Dad was wearing a Springboks Rugby shirt.  Oh well. Australia, South Africa, it’s all Southern Hemisphere.   Son 1 bounded off to play. Son 2 was desperate to get going, but I wanted to chat to the father of one of Son 1’s friends, someone we’re trying to get over for a playdate.  Son 2 strained and wriggled to be put down. In the end I let him go, knowing that there was a great gap he couldn’t get across. I finished my conversation. Son 2 was nowhere to be seen. I climbed up, round, down and over. Nope. I asked a few mums. Nope. I asked another mum. “Yes I just saw him run off. I tried to stop him but I think I freaked him out. ” He’d headed back to the party room, I thought. I went to the stairs. He was coming down. “Did you go up looking for me?” “Yes,” he said.

We played and we played. Son 2 insisted on going down the Big Slide on his own. Many, many times I ran down the stairs at top speed, bouncing various small climbing children out of the way, to get him at the bottom and hoik him off the mat before someone else pelted into him.  And then, as I dragged up a mat behind him again, it at last dawned on my dim, slow, clunking brain that at the Top of a slide there is a very fast way to get to the Bottom which works every time. It just takes two mats… So we raced down, his “Ready  Steady Go!” starting us off each time.  The ice at School is slowly melting. Over lunch, three dads planned a race down the Big Slide. They nabbed a party cup for their trophy. “Are you doing bets?” I asked. “Oh yes, let’s open a book,” said Birthday Boy’s dad.  Going up the stairs, I crossed a Mother I’d seen at the top of the Biggest Slide with her daughter. “She went down it!” she said. “Have you tried it?” I asked. “Son 1 made me do the Bigger Slide at the Bird Park. And then wanted me to go down again.” Feel The Fear  A couple of trips later I saw here again. “I did it!” she said triumphantly.   And then, wonders, Son 1 grabbed a mat and went up. He wouldn’t come down without Son 2 and me, but who cares.  That child has shied off Big Slides for years and years… and today He Did It. Again and again. Always waiting carefully for Son 2 and me.  He was up at the top,  sitting on his mat, waiting, when the Three Dads went for their race.  Smiling so much his dimples were fingerdeep, he zoomed down with them, cued off by Son 2’s “Ready Steady Go!”  We left soon after, both boys exhausted. Son 2 passed out shortly after we drove off; Son 1 stayed awake.  As we stopped at traffic lights in the Big Town he said: “Why are Boomerangs Not Allowed?”  “The sign doesn’t mean boomerang darling, it means ‘no right turn.’”

The Party Master

1.  House Party

2.  Party On

3.  Party Planner

Another party.  At a schoolfriend’s house.  More Ben 10 Lego.  Another sheet of Ben 10 wrapping paper.  The party house is out in the country.  No I haven’t asked for directions. I am, as usual, relying on SatNav. We set out. It snowed.  It stuck.  I crawled nervously along in low gear.  We slid over a junction.  I pulled off and rang Birthday Boy’s house. Dad answered.  The road was ok he said, someone else had just come through.  We got there, but it was horrible.  Birthday Boy’s Mum was smiling but tense. “The Children’s Entertainer hasn’t turned up. I’ve rung but there’s no answer.” “The roads are grim,” I said. ”Everyone was in first gear. We’re all traumatised from three weeks ago.”  Son 1 aged 5y 4m and Son 2 aged 2y 4m went with a pile of other children to start pulling out toys in the playroom. 

The Children’s Entertainer turned up.  It was the one who rang 10 days before the boys’ party and said he was double-booked.  alternatives  Bygones.   The Children’s Entertainer used to look after Son 2 in his first summer, at the Old Nursery.  He also worked for a neighbour for a while, so we used to see him in the street from time to time.  He showed the children bag upon bag upon bag of the lollies and sweets and chocolate bars he had to give as presents.  He showed them a 400g bar of chocolate. The prize for the child who smiled the most, who listened the most, who played the best, who was kindest and had the best manners. They started playing Dead Ant.  Like musical statues, only the children lie on their backs with their legs in the air. Son 2 loved it, and danced away, lying down carefully after the others, never straying too far from Son 1.

The games were messy, there were so many sweets that the Mothers looked ill, but you had to hand it to the Children’s Entertainer. As child after child went over the top on sugar and excitement, he warned them cheerfully, he told them he was disappointed, he told them they were miles from the chocolate bar… and then he found the tiniest thing to praise, and in every game made a point of saying how well they’d behaved.  And it worked. Each little chocolate-stealing, loud-yelping, game-spoiling thug was reformed, gazing at him adoringly and doing all they could to get another kind word.    He can probably clear rats too. However. There was a Greater Brain at work at that party.  One that clocked the chocolate bar, and ensured that every time the Children’s Entertainer looked at him, he was smiling and dancing. One that said please-may-I-have-some-more-peppers thank-you-very-much at lunch. One that handed around the grape bowl to his friends. One that carefully watched each naughty child getting told off, and was always the first to sit nicely on the mat.  At the end, the Children’s Entertainer made dogs and swords from balloons while he announced the winner: “And today’s Party Master is: Son 1!” He gave squares of chocolate to the other children and grown ups. And there was still an entire paving slab left.

Stickers

1.  Bad Parent

2.  Good Parent

3.  Dear Parent

0530. Son 1 aged 5y 4m screamed the house down. “MUMMMEEEE!” Great heaving sobs.  “MUMMMEEE!!!  I’M COLD!” On and on it went. Son 2 aged 2y 4m woke up and started crying. The Man went down. The crying continued. I was determined not to get up before 6am, and the end I yelled down. “Son 1 pack it in! I am not coming down. You come up here every single night, you can come up here now!” “I WANT YOU TO COME HERE!” He lay at the bottom of the stairs and grizzled.  I was too warm, too snug and too knackered to move.  Finally Son 2 came tottering up the stairs. “Mummy. Son Son crying.”  He clambered up. And then a sulky, sniffing Son 1 climbed in too. “What was that all about? Why didn’t you come upstairs?” “I wanted a sticker for staying in my bed all night.”  It was 0550.

Lifestyle Guru Hairdresser’s shortcut to School worked a treat. We missed out on all the traffic, we missed out on Hurry Up Hill, we got to School in time for the Muddy Path.  Son 1 thinks it’s fantastic.  And I got a Well Done sticker from Mrs Gifted,  Son 1’s Classroom Assistant.   For I have ironed on the name tapes.  On the trousers, on the tops, on the socks and on the shorts.  Of course I did an odd number of socks, and of course I found the missing one after I’d packed away the ironing board and iron.  And.. and… ta da! I sewed the swimming badges on the bags!  “Wot you doin’ Mummy?” asked Son 2, reaching for the needles and and the pins and the scissors.

An awful day at The Office.  But Lifestyle Guru Hairdresser’s shortcut got me to Afterschool Club way ahead of closing time. I might nominate her for an OBE.  Son 1 was wearing a witch’s cape and a witch’s hat and was swirling around with a gang of other witches. ”He hasn’t been very well,” said the Helper. ”He’s had a tummy ache and he’s been very quiet. Then he had a sit down and he seems better now.”  Son 1 keeps having tummy aches.  I keep waiting for something to happen.  He also had a sticker. His said: “I bumped my head today.”  I didn’t take much notice. Then, after he and Son 2 were in bed asleep, I went through his School bag.  There was a letter from Mrs Briskly-Pleasant. “Your child has bumped their head today.”  I can’t help wondering whether a little more should have been made of that when I picked him up…

Mirror Mirror

1.  Sleepy

2.  Happy

3.  Grumpy

Forces collide. My fading vision; our gold-plated childcare.  The new frugal me decided to buy a No 7 undereye concealer instead of Lancome.  I ended up with a 17 medicated concealer stick because I didn’t look properly.  Oh well, I thought, every pound counts, and used it on my undereye shadows.  It was fine.  Clearly teenage spots and the black smudges of a certain age have the same chemical cause.  It ran out. However.  I now had a Touche Eclat The Man bought me on one of his flights.  I have used Touche Eclat for years.   I’ve been using it for the last couple of weeks. And it’s given me eczema.  A raw purple patch, right on my undereye shadow. I look like someone’s punched me in the eye.  This morning I admitted it’s serious.  My eyes would have no eye cream, and I would take Son 2 aged 2y 4m swimming, and see the Wednesday Friends, with no make up.  Tra la la.  After looking in the mirror, I settled for my usual foundation, blusher and mascara. I just left everything off around my eyes.  I may pretend it was a ski-ing accident. 

I had some errands to run before we went to the pool. “I wan’ go swimming,” said Son 2. Wherever we stopped: “I wan’ go swimming.” We wen’ swimming. He was adorable. He had his Nemo toys, and scurried happily between the shallow end, the Spa baths and the ladder in the 1m plus area.  He swam in his armbands. “Look at that little boy,” said a Mummy and a Gran to a toddler in armbands. “See if you can swim like him.” Son 2 kicked out happily.  We went down to the Beach Cafe to see one of the Wednesday Mums. Booming Business Mother is in Istanbul.  It is raining there, apparently. Oh dear, poor old her. After coffee, we went back to their house for a play and a gossip. Playdoh. Go gos. Trains. Son 2 was in raptures.  He didn’t want to leave, but at the point where he slumped in a chair instead of sitting I took pity on him. 

In the afternoon we watched telly and made an Octopus’s house with Duplo. Don’t ask me, I was only following orders.  We had to watch Sinbad too. “I think that’s a bit old for you.” “i wan’ Sinbad. I’s go’ oc’pus in i’.”  The Man came home with Son 1 aged 5y 4m.  He wanted a sweet shop tea, so for a treat I did them cubed apple, pepper coins, cubes of cheese, cucumber sticks and carrot circles. They also had ham, which they ate, and garlic bread, which they didn’t. They were both loopy with tiredness, so we took them up for bed. Son 1 blasted through all the boundaries in record time and ended up with no stories, having to go to bed at the same time as Son 2. They were allowed one book.  Snow White. Son 1 on the edge of the bed, then me, then Son 2, then The Man.  ”She always did her chores with a smile,” I read, “often singing while she worked.  Just like Daddy,” I added.  I looked at Son 1. He was lying on his side, rubbing Sudacrem into his hands like handcream.  “Oh Son 1 what are you doing?” I asked. He burst into tears, and The Man took him to the bathroom to wash it off.  I read on: “She wished a handsome prince would come to the castle and carry her away.”  Get in the queue, sister.

Paving Paradise

1.  Nature Trail

2.  Natural Light

3.  The Natural

Since the days when School was just the New Nursery we have parked by the woods some distance away and Son 1 aged 5y 4m has scampered, trotted, trailed and dawdled the length of the Muddy Path to the Gate.  He kicks leaves, finds sticks for swords, hunts for mushrooms, peers in tree trunks, picks up conkers and beech nut cases, spots squirrels, checks buds, squelches in mud and jumps in puddles.   On the days when we’re too late, or it’s too wet or too dark to walk along the Muddy Path, Son 1 is instantly in a Very Bad Mood. ”I love the Muddy Path, and the Muddy Path loves me.”  Guess what. They are digging up the Muddy Path.  Cones and diggers have appeared, and there’s red and white flapping tape around a ”keep off” area.  They are putting in a pavement, and inevitably, more parking for the Mums and Dads.

But, on the Bright Side, Lifestyle Guru Hairdresser’s short cut is saving me around 15 minutes each time I do the School Run.  We were there in loadsatime this morning.   And it was daylight when I picked him up. Away from the diggers, there are primroses peeping through, and daffodils pushing their way up – with one longer stem in bud.  Son 1 wanted a Tesco trip.  I know it’s late. I know he’s weary. I know his plans include a sticky bun from the bakery…. or, as it transpired, a jam doughnut, eaten while he was walking around. He also scored 2 Petit Filou pouches, a Frube and the end of a baguette. 

He was okay though – I managed to get a lot done before he started lying on the floor in front of the cereals whining “Can we go now?”  With a trolley piled high, I coaxed and hissed and cajoled and harried him to a till.  He started to play in the nearby Photo Me Booth.  As I bagged and packed, I heard the robot voice giving him instructions, and saw him pushing at the buttons. He sidled up. “I need some money to take a picture.”  “OK. How much is it?”  Four bloody quid.  Next time ask the price before you commit.  I gave him the coins, crossing my fingers that I could press the reject button to get them back.   I saw him swaying on the spinnable stool.  I saw him fingering the glass and jabbing at buttons.  He trotted back. “I need some more.” “You can’t have any more.”  I left the shopping and peered behind his curtain. PRINTING, said the onscreen instruction.  Four pictures of Son 1 frowning, thoughtful, worried, dropped into the tray.  He loved it. He wanted more money. “Did you do that on your own?” said the checkout assistant. “We have plenty of grown ups in here who can’t use that booth.”   ”I want to do it again!”  I hurried him away, knowing I shall have to avoid that till forever. But I do love the pictures.  I’m going to get a frame.

Time Flies By

1.  The Driver Of A Train

2.  Over Bridges, Under Bridges

3.  There And Back Again

I bought the boys a £3 DVD at Tescos. Despereaux, or something. This morning, just after the paper had been delivered, and just before breakfast, I sent them upstairs with Daddy to put the new DVD on. A small price to pay, I felt, for Peace On Saturday morning.  It didn’t work.  The Man cleaned and cleaned it, tried it again and again, and gave up. Son 1 aged 5y 4m was mutinous.  However. We had been planning a train trip to the Big Town for a while, for the sake of  Son 2 aged 2y 4m, who loves his train set and keeps pestering. So we would go by train, take the DVD back… and come back in time to have tea with Nanna. Easy.  Except… both boys were worn out. The station is well over a mile away. The Man carried Son 2 on his shoulders, I pushed Son 1 in the Big Pram.  I always check the ”How-old-is-too-old-for-a-buggy?” threads on Mumsnet, in the hope there will be someone on there still pushing a child older than mine.  Nope. We are the champions. 

They LOVED the train.  It’s a sad excuse for one, a single carriage on a single track, but the line soars above the Next Town, through cuttings, through tunnels, through woods, over viaducts and across rolling fields of cartoon countryside. Son 2 couldn’t sit down… Son 1 couldn’t sit still: “I didn’t know it would be like this!” “I can see pigs!” said Son 2, pointing at a field full of black plastic.  “Sheep!” “Cows” “Horses!”  Son 2 didn’t understand the stations. “Why we stop?  Make train go! I wan’ train go!” and waved cheerfully as we pulled away from each one.  There was even another family of four, also with a mighty three-wheeler, so the Big Pram didn’t stand out too much.  Although their eldest was about three, and the youngest was still in the sling around Daddy…

The boys went on the Merry Go Round; I sprinted over to Tesco and swapped the DVD.   We went to the Early Learning Centre… we went to the Museum.  Son 1 and Son 2 played… we went into the shop for a coffee. They were tolerable.  We may be making progress on the Eating In Public front.  Back at the station, we missed a train by seconds.  Not good. Son 1 and Son 2 off their heads with tiredness, waiting half an hour. Horrible.  The train, again, was a huge success, but they couldn’t behave.  We got them home, Nanna arrived and we put the new DVD on. “I’m very sorry Mummy, it was my sticky fingers that broke the other one,” said Son 1. The Man did the pizza.  During tea, Son 1 tried jumping from his chair to The Man’s. His bottom slid off the chair… he landed awkwardly on his foot and fell backwards… and impaled the base of his spine on the corner of a granite slab we have in a disused chimney. He screamed and writhed in pain. He’d grazed his back… in the shape of the corner of a granite slab.  Ibuprofen and calpol later, he’d calmed down.  After bedtime, Nanna babysat, and we went out for a drink for the first time since New Year’s Eve.  We both agreed we’d had a good time, and we both agreed we Must Do Better.

Possession

1.  Home Win

2.  Away Win

3.  Drawn

Today was my Lie In day. I was in the Double Bed, where I’d headed in the night because Son 1 aged 5y 4m had crowded me out of the Big Bed. He then followed me down, so I woke up with him still beside me.   The Man brought Son 2 aged 2y 4m in for a nappy change. And then plopped him in the bed for a cuddle. Both boys were  busting to get up; both boys kept returning to see if I would get up. Son 2 was the most determined. He got back into bed with me. ”I’ll come down when I’ve drunk my coffee,” I said. “I wotch Mummy drink coffee,” he said.  Today’s Plan was swimming.   But Son 1said: “Do we have to go out again? I just want to be in my house.”  Poor child.  A House full of toys, and he’s never here to play with them.  We decided to stay in. Son 1 came down for a sword.  Son 2 came down: “Where my soord?  I wan’ soord.” Finally Son 1 has someone who likes sword fighting as much as he does.

The boys went into the garden with The Man while I did washing and sorted and cleaned and tidied.  Then I wanted to go to the Shops, but Son 1 wouldn’t come. He wanted to stay at home colouring with The Man.  Son 2 walked into Town. Glamorous 24 year old caught us up on her way to work, and I invited her for dinner.  Son 2 and I went into M and S. I had him on his reins. He lifted his legs off the ground. “I s’ing!” he said. “No don’t swing! I’m trying to get some shopping!”  He swung.  I put him in the Pram. We bought a big pile of yellow stickered food. Back home the boys had dips for lunch, and were so awful that we put them in the car and took them for a drive to make them sleep.  We parked at a beach, and had takeaway coffees.  Son 1 woke, and sulked all the way home. 

Son 2 woke up in a Category Five Tantrum. Wouldn’t be held, wouldn’t be touched, bright red face, tears streaming and man, the noise.  Screaming and screeching so loudly that it was like knitting needles being shoved in my ears.  In the end all I could do was put him down on the floor, say “come to Mummy for a cuddle when you feel better,” turn my back on him and start cutting up a swede.   After a few minutes, there was a tug on my trouser leg at the back of my knee.  He stood behind me, still crying.  I crouched down… he snuggled in, his little heart hammering, great gulping sobs, his fluffy hair plastered to his head.  It took forever but he finally made it back.  I wish I knew why it happens and how to stop it – it’s horrible seeing him gripped by uncontrolled pneumatic rage.  “Me go find Son Son and Daddy,” he said, toddling off upstairs. I carried on cooking. Glamorous 24 year old arrived, full of gossip and news.  We chatted, then The Man came down and she had to go through it all again.   Tea was ok… both boys ate plenty of chicken and veg, and wolfed their trifle.  Bottoms on chairs about 50% of the time.  We put the boys to bed.  I always put Son 2 down first, and then go and read to Son 1 so he has some one-to-one Mummy Time. Son 2 has recently started objecting to this. Tonight he tried a different tack: “I wan’ Daddy in Son Son’s bed.”  The Man was in there like a shot.

Worried Looks

1.    Reducing

2.    Re-using

3.    Recycling

Son 1 aged 5y 4m had his class photo today. “Smart School Uniform,” said the note from School.  Mmmm. We don’t really do Smart School Uniform.  Shoes always muddy (see previous posts about Muddy Path.)  Trousers going at the knees, but the £3 Marks and Spencer 5 – 6 years pair I have in the wardrobe could be wrapped round his skinny little waist twice.  Socks which slide down his skinny legs.  Baggy polo shirt which is never tucked in, and the School jumper, which generally, by Tuesday,  has something unidentifiable splodged on it.  All crowned with the mad stick-up stick-out hair.  Which is carefully  brushed every morning and still goes wild by the time he trots across the doormat into School.   We were there well before 0830.  I saw Lifestyle Guru Hairdresser in the playground, and thanked her for the New Route to School.  She clocked the hair goo I’d put in Son 1’s thatch to glue the straying clumps down.  It is time she solved my latest problem…  

When I collected him we wandered along the safety tape keeping us off the untarmacked pavement that used to be the Muddy Path.  Son 1 is disgusted. “They’ve dug it all up. What about the flowers?  What about the twigs? If I can’t walk on the Muddy Path, I’m going to walk in the Woods.”  Off he stomped.  The Woods are out of bounds, so I hissed at him to come back.  But as an eco-protest I thought it was ok.  Back home he zoomed in through the door and then pounced on Son 2 aged 2y 4m’s leftover tea.  He wolfed beans, roast potatoes and chicken. ”I’m having this for my tea. I’m helping myself aren’t I?”  “Do you want me to warm that up?” I asked absently, reading the notes Wonder Nanny writes each day for Son 2.  He’d been horribly sick.  She thought he might have a bug.  I looked across at Son 1, who was just finishing Son 2’s tea, which he’d eaten with the knife and fork he found on the plate. Oh hell.

Son 2 seemed ok at bathtime, playing happily in the bath, doing wee wees on the potty in exchange for sweets and choosing and enjoying his stories.  We got both boys down relatively early – Son 1 is so tired he keeps asking “Is it the weekend tomorrow?”  Son 2 kept doing a dry retching cough in his sleep.  After the fourth or fifth bout there was a silence. And then from upstairs, a little voice:  “I wet.”  Yes he was.  His pyjamas, his sleeping bag, his pillow, his sheet, his mattress cover. He wanted water but couldn’t keep it down. By our bedtime he was exhausted, floppy, and just wanted to sleep with his Mummy.

Tummy Time

  The Night Shift

2.  Day Work

3.  The Big Sleep

A grim night. I slept with Son 2 aged 2y 4m in the Double Bed. We put bath towels on the bed and covered the pillows in towels too, all in case he was sick in the night.  He really wasn’t well. He cried, he snuggled, he tossed and turned. He was hot. He frequently woke, asking for “Wa-wer.”  Veteran of galloping gastroenteritis that I am, bubbles I only let him have six or seven sips at a time.  He dozed.  I heard an explosion from his bottom.  I’ll leave it till he stirs,  I thought, he’s too tired to wake.  At the next “wa-wer,” I said “I need to change your nappy.” “No!” he howled. And then moved. “I wan’ Mummy change my nappy.” I put on the light and picked him up. There was a large golden brown stain on the bottorm sheet.  Son 2 had kicked the towels away. On the changing mat the damage was clear. He’d pooed through his nappy and his pyjamas.  It was a Very Poorly Poo, there was lots of it, and Son 2 was crying and kicking.  I called The Man down to mop up and change the bed, and left him with Son 2 while I tackled the washing machine. 

In the morning Son 2 was clingy, tetchy and loud.  He ate, he had rank nappies, but he wasn’t sick.  He clearly needed sleep, but he wasn’t interested in trying.  He wanted to be with me; I wanted to get on with the stuff I need to do on my day off. In the end I put him in the Pram and pushed him over to the Beach By The Garden, where the Wednesday Friends were.  I knew he wasn’t well enough to go out, but I figured he’d doze off in the Pram and feel better for it. Oh no.  Talked and sung all the way over. We turned off the road towards the beaches. “I see the sea! I wan’ go bishing. I wan’ go cabbing!  I awake!”  On the beach, he wouldn’t stay in the Pram, he wouldn’t get out of my arms. “I wan’ go home! I wan’ go in cafe and ‘ave ‘ot choc’late” I stayed half an hour, caught up on the news from Istanbul after  Booming Business Mother’s latest working trip, and then put Son 2 back in the Pram and set off along the sea front. He grizzled and whined and cried, and finally, at 1220 fell asleep.

I rang The Man to get him to meet me for a quick coffee.  Son 2 didn’t wake up.  Very unlike him. The Man and I used to meet for lunch when I was on maternity leave. With Son 1, we could have a pleasant lunch-with-coffee during his on-the-dot-at-12 noon two-hour nap. We thought that’s what babies do, so we tried the same with Son 2. Nope. He would smell the food and wake up, so one would eat a meal while the other held him, and then we’d swap.  This time he slept.  I took him back to the house and left him in the Pram. He slept.  I lay down for a doze on the sofa upstairs. He cried. I picked him up and took him to the sofa beside me. He went back to sleep. I gently tried to rouse him a couple of times. “No. Seep.”   He didn’t wake till The Man brought Son 1 aged 5y 4m home at 1615.   Nearly four hours.  It may be a long night.

A Lot Of It About

1.  The Dilemma

2.  The Doctor

3.  The Disturbance

Son 2 aged 2y 5m is still suffering.  He was sick again yesterday afternoon at home with Wonder Nanny after they’d picked up Son 1 aged 5y 4m from School.  I had to wake him in the evening to change his nappy, because the vile stench filled the boys’ bedroom.  He protested and cried and clung, lying on the changing mat with his legs in the weak diamond shape he only uses when he’s absolutely had it.  When I went to bed I smelled another dirty nappy. Should I wake him and change it, knowing how tired he was, knowing how late it was, knowing he’d howl the house down and wake Son 1?  Should I leave him in it, change him if he stirred in the night and risk ammonia burning the skin on his bottom off?  I asked The Man, who’d gone to bed long before.  “Ugh,” he said. I left the nappy on.  At 4am when Son 2 woke hot and crying, I changed it. His pyjamas were dirty, top and bottom, his sleeping bag was dirty, his bum was bright pink and he had dried poo superglued way up his back.  Everything had to be changed. And nothing would shift the shitty crusts until, with Son 2 screaming, wriggling, bellowing “NO!”, I reverted to baby oil and cotton wool.  Son 1 came in and plopped himself in the Double Bed.  “I think I’m going to have to sleep with Son 2 in there,” I said. “Can you go up with Daddy?”  “No.”   I told him I’d only be down two minutes to settle Son 2, and then I’d be up.  Of course I stayed down. Son 2 slept very badly, still needing water, still needing Calpol and Ibuprofen, still weak.

I didn’t go back to sleep. The morning was less rushed because I rang the School and said we’d be late… I had to fix a doctor’s appointment for Son 2. I couldn’t take him because of The Office, but I didn’t want to be The Woman Who Sent Her Nanny To The Doctor’s With Her Sick Son Because She Was Too Busy To Go Herself.  Which left The Man.  I wrote a little shopping list reminder for him. “Sick  since Tuesday, evil nappies, not eating, a snotty cold which is getting worse, temperature controlled with Calpol and Ibuprofen, and now batting  his right ear and saying it’s hurting.”  I rang from The Office. Tummy bug.  A lot of it about. Wax in both ears so the Doctor couldn’t see anything. Calpol, lots of liquids, dry food if possible. “Did you tell him everything on the list?” I asked. “I gave him the list. And Son 2 did a stinking squitty poo in the Doctor’s. And I didn’t take any changing stuff. The Doctor said: ‘Do you look after him often?’ And I said ‘No, the Nanny does, but my wife thought it would look bad sending him with her.’ He said: ‘No, we get loads of Nannies in here.’”    

Granny and Grandad arrived today.  They flew into The Airport this morning. By the time Son 1 and I got back, they were in the lounge and Son 2 was upstairs in the bath.  Son 1 chatted to them for a bit, but then vanished up to see Son 2.  Son 1 was shattered after a disturbed night and a long, full on School day.  Granny made dinner, and then she, The Man and Grandad cleared up. Bonus.  Son 2 called and cried throughout the evening and when I went up I took him in the Double Bed with me.

Hearts And Flowers

1.  Everyone’s Heart

2.  A Long Long Road

3.  He Ain’t Heavy

Son 1 aged 5y 4m came into the Big Bed at 0530.  I gave him Calpol, wiped his nose, put Vic on his chest and gave him a drink of water. Son 2 aged 2y 5m started crying at 0600. I went downstairs, got him out of his cot, brought him into the Big Bed, gave him Calpol, wiped his nose, put Vic on his chest and gave him a drink of water. Son 2 and I went downstairs for the Valentines. Son 2 gave Son 1 his. Son 1 gave Son 2 his. I gave The Man his.  I was rather pleased with it.  It thanks my husband for being a comfort and a support and a good listener.   ”Yours says ‘because you’re cute and gorgeous,’” I told Son 2. “I not gorgeous,” he said.   ”What does mine say?” asked Son 1, delighted with his.  “It says from your secret admirers,” I said.  “I think it’s from Mummy and Daddy because they’re the only ones here.” Well, from Mummy, anyway.  Granny and Grandad came round, and Son 1 gave them theirs.  Granny was very impressed by Son 1’s writing.  I didn’t get one.

Son 1 has been desperate to take us to the Garden With A Maze, which is one he’s visited with Wonder Nanny.  It’s been closed all winter. The answerphone message said it opened yesterday. Closed. So we went to the Garden With A Beach instead.  We got takeaway coffees for the grown ups and then went to the under 5 play area, where the boys played on the fort and the slide.  Last time we came, The Man and I stood across the slide to make a tunnel with our legs for Son 1 and Son 2 to slide under.  They demanded the same again, and shot down like little toboggans.  Son 2 went down on his tummy, and then Son 1, who on his own would never do anything unconventional, copied.  We trogged down through the Jungle.  There were snowdrops dotted through the woods, golden crocuses in great patches and red camellias just about unfolding from big round buds.  Down on The Beach we crunched on the stones and looked for seaglass.  Son 2 went in the buggy on the way back, Son 1 walked, but then gave up and needed a piggy back.  I carried him up the steep slopes and steps, The Man pacing off with the buggy, deaf to my calls.  Finally, 50 yards from the top of the path, he looked back. And I ended up carrying Son 2 while Son 1 went in the buggy.

Because Granny and Grandad flew in to see us, both The Man and I drove. He brought them back; I had Son 1 and Son 2. They both fell asleep.  I parked near The House and sat while they slept. Grandad brought a cup of coffee and the papers out, and I had a peaceful 20 minutes in the car.  Son 2, of course, woke first. I took him in, and then took Son 1 in, laying him down on the sofa. He went back to sleep. Son 2 lay sleepily on my chest, watching cartoons.  The Nice Neighbours banged on the door. They’d locked themselves and needed to borrow the ladders.   Son 2 was fascinated by the act of breaking in. Granny roasted a joint of beef; the boys were deliquent at tea time.  At bath time I washed their hair and combed it through on a lice hunt.  As I cleaned Son 2’s teeth, Son 1 came into the bathroom with some folded sheets of A4. “Daddy’s made you a card.” Mummy is not happy about the missing card, but pas devant les enfants and all that. “I was ill,” said The Man.  “I forgot.”  The phone went. Wonder Nanny cannot come tomorrow. She has a stomach upset.

Skaters

1.  Thin Line

2.  Thin Ice

3.  Thin Air

The plan today was a visit to the Tourist Attraction With An Ice Rink.  But I’ve got a bug – half stomach bug/half fluey/half cold. And Granny, who’s recovering from a severe chest infection, also wasn’t well.   So.  The Man had to see to Son 1 aged 5y 4m and Son 2 aged 2y 5m. I lay in bed.    Grandad came/ Son 1 decided he’d skate down to the Hotel With The River View.  He dressed in his skates, his helmet, his kneepads and his elbows. And then wobbled off, clutching the railings.  It is a bit down hill if you’re not confident, and he lasted two seconds before he took all his gear off and ran down in his brand new Lightning McQueen trainers.  The adults had coffee, the boys pineapple juice.  The boys played up. What is wrong with small children today that they won’t sit still at a coffee table while the adults chat?  Son 1 found a leaflet about the Ice Rink.  It’s under 5s tomorrow, so the new plan is we go over first thing.  Granny came down and took Son 1 and Son 2 to their bedroom.  We went back to the House, I gave the boys lunch and we decided to take them for a Drive.  So they’d sleep.

We drove for about an hour, and they both slept. Son 1 woke first and then Son 2.   Back home, we watched the Pairs on the Winter Olympics.  Son 1 loved it. Son 2 wanted to watch Merry Madagascar.  Son 1 twirled around the room. “Will I skate with a lady tomorrow?” “Yes, you can skate with me.” “Will I have to lift you up?” “Yes.” “I’ll practice!”  He tried, and then we swapped and I lifted him.  He’s bigger than he was.  Not as easy as it used to be.  Son 2 was clingy and grizzly.  The skating finished, and we put on Merry Madagascar.  Madagascar, as you can tell from various bits of this blog, is Big in our House.  At the end, Gloria the Hippo skates round a makeshift African pond on banana skins.  

I had to lie down. Son 2 cried. “Mummy feeling better! Mummy feeling better!”  The Man made tea – noodles for us, with added bacon for the boys, and yesterday’s beef reheated for him and Grandad.  “I had to make three meals!” I sprinkled sesame seeds on mine.  Son 1 and Son 2 also wanted some. Son 1 has decided he is a vegetarian, and ate platefuls of babycorn but no bacon. Son 1 is in fact an Thinairian.  He eats ridiculously small amounts of food. Except jelly and cake, which he can eat by the brickload.  I should just match him mouthful for mouthful and then I’d be Kate Moss.  Meanwhile across the table, after a week-long stomach upset, Son 2, never a big child, is skin and bone, and simply too small for the number 5 nappies I’d just started to use.

Then There Was One

1.   Enchantress

2.   Ice Queen

 3.  Warrior

“Mummy I’ve got a nosebleed.” 0530.  Son 1 aged 5y 4m.  Mopped him up, rubbed Vic on his chest, gave him Calpol.  He tossed and turned and huffed and puffed.  At whatever-past-six I gave in. “Do you want me to get you a Tub and put CBeebies on?” “Yes!”  There was a cry from downstairs.  I went and got Son 2 aged 2y 5m, who was cross and crotchety, till he realised the telly was on.  Hot ribena for them, tea for The Man, coffee for me.  Rice cakes, grapes and breadsticks in tubs.  It’s half term. I’ve given up on the breakfast battle.  They watched Milkshake, The Man nursed his cold in the double bed, I read the Enchantress of Florence. It worked for everyone.

Today was skating day at the Tourist Attraction With The Ice Rink.  Under-fives play session from 1030.  Granny is still ill, and we made her a doctor’s appointment.   I went with Wonder Nanny and the boys; The Man and Grandad went together.   The Tourist Attraction was heavingly busy, and I realised that this is now My Life.  Until they finish college, I will take my leave during school holidays and everywhere I go will be full of people.  holidays.  We went to the rink.  The toddlers don’t have skates, they just walk on the ice and their Mummies pull them around on sleds and ride-ons.  Son 1 was disappointed. We had to book him in for a skating session later on.  He pulled Son 2 around, which they thought was hilarious.  Son 2 was desperate to pull him around, which meant I had to keep shoving the sled forwards for him.  We had lunch, wandered round one of the gardens, and then went back to the rink. The Man and Wonder Nanny are the skaters, but she was still feeling icky after her stomach upset, so opted to sit it out.  The Man and Son 1 booted up and went on to the ice, clinging to the side. Son 2 screamed. “Son 2, because you’re too little to go on to the ice, would you like some sweets?” “Yes!”  Off he went with Wonder Nanny.  I took her ticket.  I got boots. I clung to the side. I caught up The Man and Son 1.  The Man, who usually swans off into the middle of the ice like Robin Bleeding Cousins, made faces at me. “Hurry up! My feet are killing me!” “I can’t hurry. I can’t skate, remember?”  It was something to do with the boots. I took over, he went back. Son 1 and I wobbled precariously.  “Lean forward,” a nice lady told him. “Put your arms out for balance, and take baby steps.” He decided to give up.  The Man lifted him over the edge.   Which left me.  Never tried skating. Never tried ski-ing. Never tried riding.   The rink was crowded, and lots of people were beginners.  Quite a good time to have a go, I thought. I leant forwards.  I put my arms out for balance. I took baby steps.  It was ok.  I still needed the side, but it was ok. I finished my first lap.  I went for another.   I managed to get by some people.  I cut a corner.  It was ok.  I did some long-ish stretches on my own.  I looked ahead, and not down. It was ok.  I did three laps and I had to get off because The Man was making more faces. Granny’s doctor’s appointment.  They’re taking down the ice rink this week, but I’m going to go back next winter.    

The boys didn’t want to go back, so we did another turn around the garden. Found some model making. Looked at some stands.  Had ice creams. It was a long heavy haul back to the car, two boys on the Big Pram and me. In the rain.  Off we drove. “Is this near home?” asked Son 1. “No… we’ve got this Town, then the Big Town, and then we’ll be on the way home.” “I’s sick,” said Son 2. “He’s sick! He’s been really sick!” He was sick. He’d been really sick.  I pulled over in Domino’s Pizza car park and undressed him and mopped him and wiped him and bagged his clothes and dressed him and febrezed the car seat.  Off we went.  There was a click and some pinging noises and a sudden red hazard triangle.  “I think I opened the door,” said Son 1.  He did. He opened the bloody door. The car has weapons-grade childlocks which someone’s switched off. That’ll be Son 1 then, pressing buttons as he sits in my seat.   Back home at last, The Man made pancakes for pudding.   

Growing Pains

1.  Silly Point

2.  Third Man

3.  Gully

A couple of weeks ago, Son 1 aged 5y 4m told me he has a loose tooth.  We had lots of little chats about him getting bigger, and new grown up teeth pushing out the baby ones.  The tooth fairy puts a pound under the pillow and then puts the tooth in a little silver box under Mummy’s pillow.   But he let me have a prod around and I couldn’t see or feel anything, so decided he was imagining it all.  Oh no.  The first little baby tooth he ever grew, which popped through on 7th May 2005 (I have a freaky memory) is now  barely attached to his mouth.   Son 1 gurns with it, dribbling gozz and delighting in our squeals of horror.  He can flip it forward, flip it backwards, make it point out when his mouth is closed and allbut get the bloody thing to spin in a 360. I have tried to get last pictures of his lovely, Peter Pan first teeth smile, but so far nothing I’ve taken’s quite captured it.   And all the time he’s worrying it and pulling at it and any minute now That Will Be It.  

A funny old day.  Granny is still suffering from her choking catarrh and rattling chest, so wasn’t up to doing very much. Their  flight wasn’t till this afternoon, so in the end we cancelled our swimming plans so Son 1 and Son 2 aged 2y 5m could hang out with their Grandparents before they went home.  Son 1 is back on the puzzles, and The Man had bought him a 500 piecer.  He lay on the floor, totally absorbed, sorting out straight bits and wobbling his tooth.  The Man and I left them to it with Wonder Nanny to referee and went into the Town shopping.  “Can you get us a couple of sausage rolls?” asked Granny. “I’ll have a sausage roll,” said Son 1, without looking up. “Me wan’ sauss’ roll!  Me loik sauss’ roll!” yapped Son 2.  We trailed round food shops, and considered stopping for a coffee… but felt The Man had better go back to his Mum. 

After lunch The Man took Granny and Granddad off to the Airport, and Wonder Nanny and I put the boys in the car to drive them to the Big Town park.  They were both exhausted, and we wanted them to have a sleep so we could have a coffee. They slept, but inconveniently woke up.  The Park was incredibly wet and muddy, and I was too hyper to let them just splosh and get on with it. In my defence, it was like a paddy field. Son 1 slipped in a mighty puddle and got his new (2nd hand) sailing coat slathered in mud.  Son 2 ran splashing through the boggy bits with a warcry. We’d taken a cricket set, but Son 1 wasn’t interested in the rules. ”You have to stop me bowling at the wicket.” He positioned his whole body in front of it. “No you can’t do that, it’s against the rules.  Step back.”  I bowled beautifully and knocked the bales off.  Son 1 strode away from the wicket. “Let’s just play bat and ball.”  Back home at bathtime Son 2 had another massive tiredness tantrum… but seemed to be able to get himself back from it faster than usual.  I wonder whether he has also grown up a weeny bit more…

The Important Visitor

1.  Chemistry

2.  Electricity

3.  Artistry

Today we were visited by the Girl Friend From School.   This has been Important for Son 1 aged 5y 4m. He has spent the whole week asking: “When’s Girl Friend coming? Is it tomorrow?” and wishing away his whole half term, despite the presence of his devoted and doting Grandparents.  Last night at bedtime we were given our orders: “You have to put me in some smart clothes for Girl Friend.  Mummy, you have to look after Son 2. Daddy, you can polish the walls.” The Man and I already have  a soft spot for Girl Friend.  Before she arrived on the scene, Son 1 had a ”Look. A girl. Kill her.” outlook which we’d kind of marked down for some later work.   And yet at some point the little All Action Boys-Can-Do-Anything Superhero stepped out of his preferred pack of small boys and made a Girl Friend who’s totally changed his way of thinking.  And we didn’t even notice it happening. 

The Important Visitor arrived, and Son 1 was so excited he started duffing up Son 2 aged 2y 5m.  He vanished upstairs with Girl Friend, and for a while I tried to persuade Son 2 to stay downstairs while I talked to Girl Friend’s mum… but he wasn’t having it. Unfortunately, as  soon as he got upstairs, the other two changed their game to “Let’s Kill The Baby.”  I kept trying to hoik Son 2 out; he kept wanting to go back. I gave up, ignored the howls and eventually it settled down with all three of them still alive.     The next crisis was the oven wouldn’t light and I was planning pizza and garlic bread for lunch.  Wonder Nanny and I yesterday used metal skewers to fish out a wooden dinosaur fridge magnet which Son 2 had posted in some slats on the cooker. It was only when The Man opened the front that I realised the slats were in front of the electrics for the pilot light.  Oops.  And then there was the Hama Beads crisis.  Thrown across every square inch and in every corner of the lounge. And they are the hardest things to pick up.  Girl Friend’s Mum did most of the donkey work while I sorted lunch.  Girl Friend’s Mum also works full-time, and also finds School Life a little beyond her.  I told her that Son 1 was the only child in Nursery who, twice, turned up in uniform on Own Clothes days.  She told me that she’d taken Girl Friend to School the day before the first day of term after Christmas.   

Lunch was ok, apart from Girl Friend’s initial “I don’t like pizza.”   The boys wouldn’t touch the salad-out-of-a-bag, but Son 2 did me proud by having a roaring tantrum because he misheard something we said, thought we had olives, wanted some and then realised we didn’t have any.   Then they did some ELC crafty toy thing… then they painted wooden Melissa and Doug treasure chests. Son 2 had a Tesco Paint your Own Mug kit I’d bought in a charity sale… but he poured his paint water into the mug, washed his paints in it and then painted his hands and the newspaper he was working on. Son 1 and Girl Friend did a good job, apart from the glitter, which was a few feet deep on the inside and outside, and will take until April to dry.  Our guests left, and The Man, who’d vanished into the garden for the whole visit, reappeared to find out how it all went.  Better than I’d hoped, I had to admit. I think I was expecting Son 1 and Girl Friend to fall out in a sobbing frenzy of fists and hair pulling.  There were fists, and there was hair pulling, but they seemed to be used to it.  Afterwards we found that Girl Friend had left her teddy, her key ring and her nail varnish, which we are hoping meant she had such a good time she forgot about them.

The Lost Smile

1.  Ivory

2.  Gems

3.  Silver

The tooth is out. The Man and I were in bed last night, in the dark, about midnight. Son 1 aged 5y 4m pitter pattered up the stairs.  The lights went on. ”My tooth has comed out! Look!  Look!”  The Man was up. “Have you got it?”  “Yes!”  Something went on in the bathroom, Son 1 clambered on board.  I am on Night Nurse for my cold, and I think I may have been asleep before the lights were switched off again. This morning when I woke up I was almost off The Man’s side of the bed.  Son 1 was sound asleep next to me.  I could hear The Man and Son 2 aged 2y 5m in battle: “I WAN’ MUMMY CHANGE MY NAPPY!” “Mummy’s still in bed.” “I WAN’ MUMMY COME DOWNSTAIRS! I WAN’ MY BESSBESS!”    ”You can have your breakfast when I’ve changed your nappy.” “I WAN’ MUMMY CHANGE MY NAPPY!”  Son 1’s hedgehog head poked up from the quilt. ”Where’s my tooth?”  We couldn’t find it in the bathroom, so down we trailed to find The Man. He’d given up on the nappy, and was in the kitchen feeding Coco Pops to Son 2.  He sent us back upstairs to look among the toothbrushes, and there it was.  Little. Unrooted.  Sort of shorn off at the bottom.  Son 1 has a little white line in his gum.  Remnants of the lost tooth?  New one coming through? I have no idea.  I am torn between my regret at not getting that last picture of the baby tooth smile, and my relief at finding, after closely peering, that the little lost baby tooth is white.  Not yellow.  No holes or brown bits.   One out of twenty has survived the sweets and chocolate and cakes and juice and biscuits and jellies and raisins which Bad Mother did not fight hard enough against.

Son 1 was very keen to go swimming.  With the Big Slide. This meant the Town Pool, and swimming in sittings – Son 2 first in the Baby and Toddler session, and then Son 1 afterwards when they let all the gadgets off.   Son 2 is lovely in the pool.  He didn’t want to swim, and it was freezing so I don’t blame him.  He played with his sea horses, sat and splashed in the shallow end, swam over to the ladder and climbed up and jumped in, holding hands, and spent a lot of time in the spa pools, which were much warmer.  He did a bit of swimming, though not much, and liked riding on my back very much.  At 20 to 11 he announced: “I binished simming,” and started striding out.  “We can’t get out till Daddy comes with Son 1,” I told him. “You’re going home with Daddy, and I’m staying here with Son 1.”  We sat in the bubbles till they arrived.  The Man and I swapped boys. Son 1 was in rash vest and shorts and was desperate to get in.  He was great value too.  We played sea creatures, he was Prince Eric washed up on a shipwreck and I was Ariel, we fought the fountains, beat back the waves and sat under the waterfalls with a surfboard as our umbrella, we went up the stairs to the flume and sped down and round and round and down.  Son 1’s swimming is great – he crossed the deep end on his own while the current was on, and kept his head above water the whole time.   After an hour, he was too floppy to swim, and decided he wanted to go home. After just three more goes on the flume.

The Man was grappling Son 2 into the Big Pram when we got back.  “You have to go with Daddy so you can have a sleep in the pram,” I told him, as he became Iron Bar Boy. Off they went.  Son 1 chose Charlotte’s Web, and wanted to ring Grandad to tell him about the tooth.  The Man and Son 2 came back. “Mummy! Look what I got!” A pack of M and S raspberries. Four left. “What happened to the rest?” I asked. “I eated them!” “Did you have a sleep?” “Ess!”  “No he didn’t,” growled The Man.  Both boys were knackered.  Son 1 did puzzles, Son 2 watched Scooby Doo.  Nanna came round for tea.  They flipped between charming and bloody awful.  They were so tired we put them both to bed together, Son 1 with his tooth in silver foil under his pillow. “Do you want to show it to Mrs Smiley tomorrow, or do you want to leave it for the tooth fairy tonight?” “I want the tooth fairy to have it.” He was asleep before I left, and I extracted the tooth and swapped it for a pound coin in foil.  The tooth is now in my purse. I am having a little silver tooth box from the christening stuff in the jeweller’s.  The tooth fairy will probably leave it under my pillow tomorrow.  If I get a lunch break tomorrow.

Mixing Well

1.  Changing Nappies

2.  Changing Rooms

3.  Changing Tastes

This morning, I had decided, I was going to have a lie in.  Son 1 aged 5y 5m stayed in his own bed all night. Hooray.  The alarm went off a few times, and The Man got up and went downstairs.  Later, I heard Son 2 aged 2y 5m hollering.  And then the loudest, longest two-hander you ever heard. “I WAN’ MUMMY CHANGE MY NAPPY.’ “I’m changing your nappy.” “NO!!!!!!  I WAN’ MUMMY CHANGE MY NAPPY!” “Mummy’s still in bed,  You need a new nappy.” “NO! I NOT POO IN MY NAPPY.  I WEE WEE. I WAN’ MUMMY!!” And it went on. And on. And on. And on.  It must have been a full 15 minutes.  I rammed my head into the pillow. I pulled the quilt over me. I did not yell down, as I wanted to: “HOW BLOODY LONG DOES IT TAKE TO CHANGE ONE TWO-YEAR-OLD’S NAPPY!”  In the end, a crying Son 2 trailed upstairs and stood at the side of the Big Bed sobbing until I burrowed out of my nest and hoiked him in with me. He had a new nappy on. But no pyjama trousers.

I decided we’d get a quickswim in before we met the Wednesday Friends.  Son 2 and I watched Kung Fu Panda – not one of my favourites. Too violent. I wish he’d stuck with the Wiggles. I cleaned and tidied, and made lunches and put the swimming things together and loaded us into the car.  Up to the Town Pool we went.  Closed. Building work. Son 2 had a tantrum and his armbands blew away. I left him hugging the pavement and ran after them.  “Never mind, we’ll go to the Hotel Pool,” I said.   As we pulled in, I noticed a Wednesday Mum’s car parked outside the Beach Cafe opposite. ”If they’re having coffee now, we’ll go and see them, and then have our swim afterwards,” I told Son 2.  I checked my phone. A text. Hotel Pool 10am? They were all inside getting changed.  Son 2 did a fair bit of swimming, but preferred playing with 4 year old’s sinking seals.  Afterwards we had coffee, and Son 2 charmed various old people at various tables in the hotel.

Son 2 fell asleep in the car on the 15 minute trip home, but I couldn’t get him to go back to sleep once we’d got in the house.  We watched the end of Finding Nemo, and then he decided he wanted to break some eggs.  I was vaguely thinking of making an eggy pie, but he wanted to make cakes, and pulled out the icing pens and sprinkles. “We have to make the fairy cakes first before you can draw on them,” I said. He pulled up a chair and nagged me to open the tub of jelly sweets. Which I didn’t.  We made a round of fairy cakes and a batch of raisin and pineapple muffins… both from our first Annabel Karmel baby book.  Son 1 came home, very annoyed that we hadn’t waited for him to do cooking. “I want the sticky bowl!” he yelled. Fortunately we were able to produce two, as Son 2 hasn’t quite learned how to lick the bowl out.  The Man decided he wanted a fairy cake. So did Son 1. He rejected the first one – Mummy hadn’t quite mixed it all up properly – and scoffed a second. Then Son 2 had two for pudding after tea.  I am baffled.  I have made loads of fairy cakes, and the boys have iced them.  Then they gobble up the icing, and leave all the cake.  The reason I wasn’t fussy about the mixture was I assumed the cakes wouldn’t get eaten. And yet I have only three big ‘uns and six littl’uns left for icing… out of an original total of 3 big and 12 small…  Both boys were barely able to keep their eyes open at bedtime. In  principle that should have meant a quiet evening, but of course Son 2 always confounds predictions, and has cried and cried and cried.

Admiral Hook

1.   Quality Time

2.   Quality Food

3.   Quality Control

I was on a train with Son 1 aged 5y 5m and Son 2 aged 2y 5m. Son 2 insisted on getting off, so I let him, but felt more and more uncomfortable about his being alone, and wished and willed and willed and wished the bus to go faster so that I could get to the finish and meet him. I ding, ding dinged the bell and the bus stopped, but I couldn’t gather up all Son 1’s food in time and the driver said he couldn’t wait any more and pulled off. I went into hysterics and tried to explain that I had to get off at that stop because I needed to get to the station because Son 2 had been on the train.  I pictured him on the platform looking for me and got more and more upset.  The bus pulled up at a zebra crossing and I forced my way through the doors and charged off with Son 1. No idea if I found Son 2 because then I woke up. I could hear the boys downstairs with The Man.  I savoured the Saturday morning feeling.  No Office. No School. No rush.  Two days with the boys.  I do worry that Son 2 is so young and sees so little of me. But you’d never be able to tell that, would you?

The Man went off to do some work on The Boat. Son 1 just wanted to do puzzles and watch telly. I had my usual round of cleaning and tidying and washing and clearing up to do.  I zoomed back and forth between bed-making and cleaning and the boys in the lounge.  Eventually I managed 5 minutes sitting in my chair, and Son 2 came and snuggled in my lap.  We went down to the kitchen and made fairy cakes, Son 1 adding the ingredients and pressing the “on” switch on the mixer… Son 2 adding the eggs and the vanilla.  There was much scraping out of the bowl.  Son 1 wanted dips for lunch, so while the cakes cooked I did them sugarsnap peas, carrot, pepper, cheese and hummous.  Son 2 tried eating the sugarsnaps, but they made him gag, so instead he ate the tiny little peas inside, one by one.  

After lunch Son 1 got into his Captain Hook costume, and Son 2 into an ELC pirate costume.  son 2 wore a Captain’s hat. So Son 1 promoted Captain Hook. He is now an Admiral. Son 1 wanted me to ring Best Friend to come round for a sword fight. “Why don’t you play Pirate Schools instead, and Son 2 can be a pupil?” We moved the easel and the little table and chairs.  Son 2 wouldn’t sit down. He wanted to draw on the easel. Son 1 was furious.  “Let’s use cuddly toys as children for the school instead,” I suggested, going upstairs to burrow under the cot and returning with Tigger, Donkey, Elmer, Tweetie, Sylvester, Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck and various bears. It worked well, I thought, and got on with my jobs.  Stepping over both boys sitting cross legged with some teddies in the hall, I heard Son 1 say: “Let’s saw off their legs and arms and take their skin off.”  It was Only Pretend.  All good, healthy educational experimenting, I decided.

They watched Wall-E on telly and then decided to decorate the cakes.  I don’t think I realised that for them, icing cakes means stuffing your face with as many of the decorations as you can get your hands on. They ate a pot of jelly diamonds, made massive inroads into some sugar letters and ate fistfuls of sprinkles. I made the icing and then gave them a cake each to ice.  Son 2 emptied the entire tub of multicoloured sprinkles on his. And then followed it up with all the chocolate ones too. i thought Hama beads were the worst thing to clear up till I discovered falling sprinkles… My plan had been for us to have a nutritionally better stir fry for tea, but some friends rang and said they were going for a bar meal. Out we went. I had soup, The Man had salad, the boys had fish and chips. On the way  back Son 2 fell and split his forehead open. He looked awful with blood streaming down his face.  Back in the house I cleaned him up, Son 1 crying in panic because of the amount of blood. Ibuprofen, an ice pack and a Jaffa Cake later and it looked better.  Son 2 has gone to sleep with a Mister Man plaster on his forehead.

Through My Eyes

1.  Cinderella

2.  Belle

3.  Perfect Peter

Still not sure about the Peacekeepers.  Son 1 aged 5y 5m and Son 2 aged 2y 5m played in the lounge watching telly waiting for me to give a two-minute warning on Leaving For School.  A fight broke out. Son 1 wailed. Son 2 came bumping down the stairs, peacekeepers in hand: “I sharing them.”  The Man and I had Creative Differences over the tidiness of the House.  He felt it was a tip and I should notice more/care more/do more.  I felt if he wants the House tidier he can do it himself.  We did not use patience and kindness in exchanging our views. I rounded up Son 1 and shut him in the car while I defrosted the windows.  “Mummy,” he said, as we pulled off. “Oh please don’t talk to me, I’m not happy and I don’t want to chat.”  “Mummy…” “I said I don’t want to talk.”  “But Mummy – ” ” – Son 1 please.  Just let Mummy drive quietly.”  Two miles down the road I was feeling a bit better. “Mummy…” I relented. “Yes darling?” “I’m not belted in.”

It was Come As A Character From A Book day at School.  Son 1 was Captain Hook, although I may have to retire the costume soon…  He still happily plays in it, but we got it just ahead of his fourth birthday and the breeches are now almost above-the-knee leaving long stretches of thin white legs sticking out.  What Character From A Book would I be, I wondered.   Winnie The Witch. She’s great. Sorts the mess out with a wave of her wand. If we were allowed Disney characters I’d be Belle. “I want adventure in the great wide somewhere. I want it more than I can tell. And for once it might be grand to have someone understand, I want so much more than they’ve got planned.”  As we walked along the muddy path with Son 1 slashing too and fro with his soft toy sword I had a moment’s panic. What if The Mother Who Sent Her Son To School In Uniform Twice On Wear Your Own Clothes Days had it wrong again?  A little pirate stepped down from a car near the School entrance.  Inside there were four pirates in total in Mrs Smiley’s class.  A Horrid Henry.  One Cinderella. One Tinkerbell, two Alices and a Where’s Wally?

I love the way that when we get in from The Office and School Son 2 comes running out squealing and beaming from ear to ear. He’s so happy to see us that he just stands and laughs.  He has to have a Duddle. He has to chase Son 1.  He’s wonderful and amazing. At bathtime THe Man and I were trying to pin down Son 1 so we could have a go at one of his verrucas. Yes, the poor child is just getting over molluscum  after months and months and now he has two verrucas on the same toe. I left Son 2 in the bath for a minute. When I went back in he was breaking up the soap into thin slivers and posting them in the holes in the overflow. Apart from the piece in his mouth. I gave him a toothbrush with toothpaste to take the taste away. He scrubbed solemnly, looking at the taps. Then he took the brush end and stuck it up into the hot tap.  Washed, and in his pyjamas, I settled down with him to look at his dinosaur books.  He pushed the bright spotlight out of the way. “Tha’s too loud for my eyes.”

When Soft Voices Die

1.   The Home Under The Ground

2.   The Little House

3.   The Return Home

A funeral for a child.  I love words and language, but there’s nothing I can say.  My mental pictures will stay with me.  The amazing father, at the front of the church, telling us about “the light of our lives.”  The damaged mother, standing alone at the head of a little open grave while her husband helped the undertakers lower the coffin. 100 people crying while pre-schoolers chortled at the back. Dry, grey, bitterly cold, with fierce icy gusts – so we’ll all remember how we said goodbye to a child who loved windy days. White tulips in the church, white snowdrops on the verges. The Grannies made cakes for afterwards.  Nothing can ever be right again.

The Man looked after Son 2 aged 2y 5m while I was away, but everything ran late and I rang a Wednesday Mum. Yes, The Man could drop Son 2 off till I could get back to collect him.  I finally got back at 1430. “He’s been brilliant,” said Wednesday Mum. “He just went upstairs with Little Brother and I made lunch. I hardly saw him.”  Son 2 played in the bedroom with the toys, and eventually began showing an interest in me again.  “I had a lubbly time at Wed Mum Mum’s house Mummy,” he said in the car as we headed over to pick up Son 1 aged 5y 5m. The School run finished in tea for the boys – spaghetti letters from a can with grated cheese – and then books and bath and bed.  So I feel I’ve barely seen Son 2.  He might have to come in the bed with me tonight so I can check his breathing.

The other Wednesday Mum rang to see how things went. She goes to Book Club every fourth Thursday.  I have been reading the books, but I’ve only made it to one meeting because I work in the evenings.  I cannot go tomorrow, but I would like my book swapped.  We are reading A S Byatt, Possession, this month. I’ve read it before, and have found I could understand and admire far more this time round.  I don’t know if novels like that are good for me.  Incredibly intelligent minds, fluent in literature and history, swapping both around for the good of the plot.  A S Byatt knows everything, and is also brilliant at making up her own poet and poetry.  Which is why the fact that I found a mistake in her book has become a Good Thing.  Page 43.  “Lights like Tinker Bell’s in Never-Never-Land.” Never Never Land is a place with hire purchase issues. Tinker Bell lived in Never Land. I know. I have read Peter Pan again and again and again for just over three years now. Having Children Makes You Brighter Than Byatt.  Discuss.

Yes I Are

1.  Puzzle

2.  Pizza

3.  Pizzazz

Saturday morning is a Good Thing.  Two free days.  No School Run.  Time with Son 1 aged 5y 5m and Son 2 aged 2y 5m.  Of course I’d normally say “And time with The Man,” but he worked today.  The boys piled down for breakfast, Son 1 grabbing the pack of fish/underwater stickers I’d bought in Tesco yesterday.  They sat eating, sticking, and listening to me reading “The Fish Who Could Wish.”  Son 2 had Alpen, with extra raisins.  Son 1 had Discount Alphabet Pasta.  We are beyond caring what he eats to start the day, so long as he eats something.  The boys watched DVDs and played  while I did the washing-and-the-cleaning-and-the-vacuuming-and-the-tidying-etc, stopping in the lounge every ten minutes or so to make sure they weren’t killing each other. They were both knackered, Son 1 lying on the carpet, Son 2 cranky and whingey.  I tried helping Son 1 with a new 1000 piece jigsaw which The Man and Granddad have bought him.  Typical blokes. He’s a child prodigy and can do 500 piece puzzles, so they had to up the ante with one which is way beyond him to blast his confidence down to earth again.  I helped him with the border, and sorted out all the blue bits for the long side at the top, which was all one colour and too hard for both of us. I went downstairs to hang up one load of washing and put the next one on.  When I came back up he’d finished the border. We had to stop though because Son 1 kept trying to sabotage the piles of pieces. Only later did I work out that he couldn’t cope with Son 1 getting attention while he had nothing to do.  After lunch I was about to take them both into The Town when The Man came back. So I put Son 2 in The Big Pram to get him to sleep.   I walked him for about a mile and a half and he stayed awake the whole time.  He’d very nearly dropped off by the time we got back, but rallied when we stopped to talk to a friend.

Nanna came and we helped her find a parking space and walked with her back to the house.  Son 2 gave her an “I lub you Nanna,” on the stairs, which made her day. I was doing pizza for tea – which means putting extra toppings on shop-bought pizzas – but I wasn’t fast enough for Son 2, who sat himself in his high chair. “I want lolly. I hungry.”  “You’re not having a lolly, your tea will be ready soon. ” “Yes I are.”  I gave him a dish of 6 black olives. “More owidge” “Your pizza will ready any minute.” “I want more owidge!” “You can’t have any more.” “Yes I are.” Yes he were.  He ate half a jar.    When the pizzas were ready, he wouldn’t eat anything. Just the mushrooms off mine. Son 1 watched him in amazement. “Why does Son 2 like all the things that I don’t?” “He’s not doing it on purpose,” I said. “But he just likes savoury things and you don’t like strong flavours.”  “You don’t even like butter any more, do you?” said The Man. “Too salty.”  “Maybe it was your butter tooth that fell out,” I said. “Like some people have a sweet tooth. Maybe you had a butter tooth.” Son 1 gave me his I-know-you’re-making-this-up-but-I’ll-stick-with-it-in-case-it’s-true look.  At bedtime Son 2 as usual screamed blue murder when I tried to clean his teeth. “It hurts!” I’ve narrowed the “it hurts” down to behind his two front teeth. When I tipped him back and made him open his mouth in front of the light I could see a big red spot there.  Oh dear.  

Nanna babysat, and The Man and I went into The Town for a drink.  Our little neighbourhood bar has been taken over, and it was empty.  More staff than customers. And music we think was odd, but it could just be our ages. Then we went into the little cocktail bar at the bottom of the hill which I’ve been dying to try.  Much better. We liked that. A group of about 10 young women came in, all wearing wedding dresses or garters, and carrying a “Girls Night Out” balloon.  No apostrophe. Definitely my age.  We headed back home at just gone ten because we didn’t want to keep Nanna up late. Minutes after she left two friends walked past on their way back from a school fund-raiser, and they came in to eat their Chinese and have some wine. We talked and drank and drank and talked, and went to bed very late.

Another Mountain

1. Moments To Remember

2. Keep On Moving

3. Sometimes You Lose

In the night, Son 1 aged 5y 5m head-butted me over to The Man’s side. “ShallIgodownstairs?” he mumbled drowsily. “Yesplease.” In the morning the alarm went off and Son 1’s little arms and legs were tendrilled round me.  Downstairs I made coffee and read Wonder Nanny’s notebook.  Son 2 aged 2y 5m is being potty trained.  He has to be taken to the potty every half hour.  She got to 10am yesterday with his nappy still dry.  Hmmm. The Man and Son 1 went off to School.   Son 2 watched Aladdin. ”I wan’ you wotch i’ wi’ me.” “I just need to go and have my shower.”  “I wan’ you stay ‘ere.”  “I won’t be long. I just need to go and get ready.” “I wan’ you wotch telly wi’ me.”  I wotched telly with him.  Well, till the Genie song. Then we went upstairs. I skipped the shower, but I did my hair and make up. Son 2 plonked himself at my feet and played with the toiletries in the cupboard under the sink. We were heading out to the Museum. Son 2 wanted to dress as Captain Hook. “I wan’ be like Son Son.”

Son 2 looked heavenly as Captain Hook and melted every heart.  One of the Museum volunteers almost carried him off.  We met up with the Wednesday Friends, the Mothers sitting chatting, the boys playing on the exhibits. Four Year Old and Little Brother soon stripped Son 2 of his hook and his sword, but he prised them back off soon enough.  Son 2 zoomed around everywhere.  I had to follow him.  Various adult heads turned as a small tot in a bright red tail coat and black felt tricorner hat with a red feather sped by, threading his way in and out of visiting school parties. Much faster than me.

We all went for lunch, and Son 2 sat in a high chair, so I got to chat. One Wednesday Mother was up every hour throughout the night, trying to get her Five Year Old and the Four Year Old out of her bed. She has been watching Super Nanny, and is Feeling Strong. The Four Year Old was so tired he fell asleep in her arms at the table.  I just cannot face the battle to get Son 1 out of our bed. And we really only have till the summer to do it, because we won’t be able to keep Son 2 in his cot much longer.  It’s never going to be a good time, and I’m just hoping he’ll grow out of it without my having to do anything.  Rather like the eyebrowing – whenever he’s tired his fingers snake to my eyebrows and eyelids and he strokes and prods for comfort. He used to do it while he was breast-feeding, and there’s already a world of difference between the soft starfish fingers of a 10 month old, and mean, keen Son 1 with his Edward Scissorhands nails.  After lunch I pushed Son 2 back home. We lay down on the sofa and he watched CBeebies while I dozed to the theme of Timmy Time.

Breakthroughs

1.  Waking Up

2.  Checking Up

3.  Mopping Up

Another night in his own bed for Son 1 aged 5y 5m. Crackalacking.  The Man was out drinking with a pal last night, and had slept downstairs in the Double Bed. So I woke up alone to Son 2 aged 2y 6m calling. “Mummeeee!  Mummmmeee!”  The Man is downstairs, I thought. I’m knackered. I will wait and he will sort the boys out and then bring me a cup of coffee.  Son 1 came up and snugged into the bed.  “I want to go and see Son 2 and Daddy.” “Go on then.” “I want you to come too.”  Off we went. The Man was lying in Son 1’s bed, next to the cot, in which Son 2 still lay, still in his sleeping bag. “I thought you were getting him up,” I said, in an unkind voice. “He wants you,” said The Man without moving. Son 2 lay on his back and looked up at me with his round blue eyes. “I wan’ you look arter me.”

I took Son 1 to The Dentist. I was supposed to take Son 2 as well, but Wonder Nanny thought potty training was enough trauma for the little mite.  “Son 1’s lost a tooth,” I told The Dentist. “And I bet the one next to it is loose as well, isn’t it?” he said, before Son 1 even opened his mouth.  Cor. How did he know that then?  That’s really clever.  Son 1 gave it a big wobble for him.  Son 1’s first new tooth is about a quarter of the way through. It looks massive. “And there’s another big one coming through behind the wobbly one,” said The Dentist, after peering in and tinging round with his tooth prod. “Let’s see,” I said, cramming in at his elbow.  There was indeed another mighty white ridge.  I am ridiculously relieved.  Son  1 is the first in reception to lose teeth.  Yes, yes, I know he’s the eldest child.  But none of our baby friends have lost teeth either, and some of them are older.  And yes, yes, I know the great white tombstone coming through in place of the missing one seems to suggest Mummy is Not Guilty. But I couldn’t shake that nasty feeling that I’d dissolved his teeth in too many Smoothies.  The Dentist said they’re all fine and gave him a sticker. I think I deserved one too.   

Son 2 is also collecting stickers for his potty training. His little Peppa Pig chart is chock-a-block.  He’s only wearing a nappy for his sleep, says Wonder Nanny.  Little beggar doesn’t have a sleep when I’m looking after him. “Oh it’s Wonder Nanny. I think I’ll just pass out for two hours and then Mummy will come home faster.”  Son 1 and I arrived home to see Son 2 coming down the stairs, wearing his jumper and pants, smiling away.  He’s great at wandering off for a wee on his potty. But you have to be quick to stop him emptying it and cleaning it as well.  I spotted him heading on upstairs with it and tried to catch him. He tore off with the mad urgency of an It’s A Knockout contestant, slopping wee left and right out of his little plastic bowl as he sped into the bathroom.

That’s Not My Chicken

1.  Peacocks

2.  Hens

3.  Pheasants

For Mother’s Day I ordered:  A Lie In. A Cup Of Coffee In Bed. A Long Bath.  Lunch at the Peacock Playground. And The Man wading in with Son 1 aged 5y 5m and Son 2 aged 2y 6m.  He did all right to begin with; after a shaky start when he couldn’t convince them to go downstairs. I was buzzed by each of them separately, but ignored them, and then heard pattering feet and stage-whispers. “You hide there, and I’ll hide here, and then we’ll thrown the cards and shout ‘Happy Mother’s Day.’” Which is what they did, laughing their little heads off.  The Man came up with my coffee. The boys gave me a present. The Sunday Times, fresh off the doormat, wrapped in Little Girl Party Paper from the Card Drawer. And I had a Mother’s Day card from The Man, which is also a Good Thing, as in previous years he’d deeply annoyed me with “Why do I need to get a card for you? You’re not my mother.”  There was then a bit of a crisis because Son 1 wouldn’t go away.  He wanted us all to watch telly together as a family.  I wanted to read the paper. He got upset. I compromised. They watched an ancient Fireman Sam video we’d made from CBeebies when Son 1 was about Son 2’s age… I read.

I was in my bath when The Man dumped Son 1 in his bedroom for hitting.  Son 1 escaped, and I let him come and sit still on the chair in the bathroom. I heard male voices downstairs.  “Daddy’s got a visitor,” I said. “I’ll go and see,” said Son 1.   The back door opened and closed. Son 1 bounded upstairs. “You’ve got to come down, there’s a chicken in the kitchen.” “What sort of a chicken?” “A real live one. With feathers.” “What’s it doing there?” “A man’s come to the door because he’s lost a chicken. And we’ve found it.”  All right. I was interested.  Of course by the time I got downstairs there was no chicken. ”I hope there was a chicken,” I said, “because I have now officially Got Out Of My Mother’s Day Bath.”  Yes, said The Man, there had been a chicken. First, there was a card through the door: LOST CHICKEN! IF YOU FIND A HEN IN YOUR BACK YARD PLEASE PHONE XXXXXXXX” Then a Near Neighbout had knocked.  One of their chickens was missing. They had put cards round, and then decided as it was supposed to have clipped wings, it really couldn’t have gone very far. Could he please check our yard?  Out they went, and there it was, huddled in the back.  I didn’t know the Near Neighbours had chickens. And guess what. Now I really, really want some.

The boys weren’t bad at lunch, considering what they’re capable of. The staff were great and brought their hot dogs instantly – this in a self-service place – and cushions for them to sit on. I was instantly worried about Son 2, but I took him for a wee before we ate and he kept everything dry.  We’d also been given a table by the sliding doors that open into the Peacock Garden.  A beautiful view, good vegetarian food and magnificent service. Only.  Every time the doors opened, which was often, one or both boys tried to escape to chase the peacocks.  After lunch we went to the Playground. The Man sat at a table with The Big Pram, and I played Hide and Seek.  I lifted Son 2 on and off slides, crawled into tunnels, counted and sought and ran and hid.  Both boys loved it, giggling, shrieking, squealing.  They both had smoothies, and I wanted a pit stop for Son 2, so we tore them away even though they were having a great time. Son 1 and I went off looking for red feathers – the Peacock Playground keeps  Golden Pheasants too.  Then The Man hissed. Son 2 had done a poo. I cleaned him up and changed him, and we headed on back.  Son 2 got through six pairs of trousers and pants today. This isn’t really potty training, it’s more me moving to washables after all this time.

Guilty Secrets

1.  Cereal Offender

2.  Fashion Victim

3.  Taking Liberties

Son 2 aged 2y 6m cried hideously during the night.  The Man had packed for a Business Trip, and I thought he was getting up at 3am. So I left Son 2 to cry himself back to sleep. Horrible, horrible, and I still feel awful about it. He is usually a good little bloke. Son 1 aged 5y 5m’s bed is next to the cot, so he was wakened by the racket.  He slid into bed beside me. “Mummy  I do want to stay in my own bed and get my sticker but I want warm cuddles as well.” Bright as day.  I, however, wasn’t. “Ssshhhh. WasswrongwithSon2?” “I don’t know.” I switched the alarm off at 0530 and got up. On my own, two boys to sort, two packed lunches, piles of washing still… I traipsed downstairs. “Where are you going?” The Man. In the Double Bed. “Getting up to start everything I need to do because you left the house at 3am.” “Nah, I’m going at quarter to six.” I made coffee and tea, hung out washing, put more on, put Son 1’s school bag together, made the lunches. The Man came down, slurped tea and went.  The boys – who woke at first light on Mother’s Day morning, bounced on the bed, switched on the telly and had coat hanger fights – slept through my shower.  In the end I had to wake them both, plop them downstairs in front of cereals and then rush back upstairs to get my suit on. When I went back down Wonder Nanny had arrived and taken charge.  Son 1 took his cereal bowl into the car and finished off his muesli as we drove to School. Where he happily told Mrs Gifted that he’d had breakfast in the car.

I’ve signed the boys up to run a mile for Sport Relief on Sunday. My running stopped in the cold weather, and I thought it might make me get Out There again.  I went to TK Maxx at lunchtime to get some T shirts to run in. Oh dear. Son 1 and Son 2 have got dear little things with hearts on them.  I have a “stylish, one-off design made with 100% Fairtrade certified cotton created by fashion icons Victoria and David, along with their boys.” It is horrible. But I saw a little Paul Costelloe Collection summer dress while I was there, and may have to visit it again tomorrow with Godmother. She is doing the Sport Relief mile as well, with Godbrother, so I bought them the grim and grisly T shirts as well.  

The Office was a hard complicated slog because I had to leave in time to pick up Son 1 and get back for Wonder Nanny’s hometime. Son 1 was a delight, desperate to go to Nanna’s because Younger Sister is down and he knows she is always good for a present  is keen to see her because he loves her.  I rang but they weren’t back. At home I peered in through the window as I headed for the front door. Son 2 peered back, and then as he recognised me his face lit up in sheer joy. I loved his smile and his dancing eyes so much I let Son 1 give him one of the chocolates he’d raided from the car – bought to give them during Sport Relief, but found a bit early.  Then I noticed the toothbrush and toothpaste on the table. I hate, hate, hate cleaning Son 2’s teeth because he’s such a sod, night after night after night.  I’ve finally handed the job to Wonder Nanny, and the first night she tries it, I gave him chocolate straight after.  She was saintly about it, but I didn’t have the nerve to ask her to do it again.

Eating Out

1.   Sweetness

2.   Savouring

3.   Bitterness

How come I get up so early and get out so late?  Son 1 aged 5y 5m came sniffing snottily into the Big Bed at 0530.  I switched the alarm off, knowing That Was It for sleep.  He eyebrowed insistently, and in the end I had to hiss “Gently!” at him, to stop him rubbing them off with his deathgrip little fingers.  I got up, went down, made lunches, did washing, had coffee, fixed schoolbag, fixed swimming kit… I went upstairs and Son 2 aged 2y 6m called “Mummeee!” and then, as I opened the blind “I wanna ge’ up!”  When Wonder Nanny arrived, Son 1 was still in his pyjamas eating his breakfast.  We left late, and got to School by the skin of our teeth.

I picked him up early because Younger Sister is down, having driven back with Nanna who stayed with her for Mother’s Day.  We’d arranged to have tea in Pizza Express.  Yes I know it’s all we do, but at least we know the boys will behave(ish) there. We got to the car park by the Square and saw Nanna, then Younger Sister.  We went in, I ordered dough balls for the boys and they arrived, before Son 2 had arrived with Wonder Nanny. And then he was there, toddling through the restaurant, cheeks and eyes shining, a huge smile on his face, squealing and laughing, and clutching home-made cards in each hand.  He and Son 1 stayed for four seconds sitting at the table, before they both burrowed under the neighbouring tables in the direction of the balloon stand.   Younger Sister and I ordered wine. Wonder Nanny said she wouldn’t stay but had a cup of tea.  Son 1 ate every scrap. Son 2 ate nothing but black olives, from his pizza and mine and Nanna’s. Oh and the toffee ice cream at the end. 

We went back to the House and The Man was home. Younger Sister and Nanna came for some bonding time with the boys.  Younger Sister had toy planes for Son 1 and toy tractors for Son 2. Son 2 didn’t want his. He wanted the build-your-own planes.  Younger Sister has been to New York on Business, and brought back breakable souvenirs for the boys. For When They’re Older.  It got way past bedtime, and as the boys because more exhausted, their energy and excitement levels went higher.  The Man and I were also exhausted.  Our energy levels sank and sank. Another one of those child-adult things that is just the wrong way round. They’re tired; they ricochet off the walls. We’re tired; we pass out on the sofa.   They don’t want to eat anything, ever, yet need fuel to grow.  We want to eat everything, always, yet need to shrink. Not Fair.

A Laughing Soul

1.  Skating

2.  Singing

3.  Waiting

Son 2 aged 2y 6m was busting to play with the bubbles Younger Sister left.  I said we’d have a go when Son 1 aged 5y 5m went to School. Son 2 almost pushed him out of the door. We waved him off and got the bubbles out.  Son 2 puffed and puffed, sending great sprays of soap down on the lino.  He did one or two bubbles at a time, and sent out occasional drifts of six or seven, and little spluts of diddy bits of foam. He laughed and laughed. I took out Son 1’s tube, and Son 2 took that off me as well.  Two wands at a time, giggles and bubbles.  Sheer joy. And then, when he’d coated the floor in soap: ”I skading” as he slid up and down.  He sent each leg in different directions like Bambi. He did comedy standing up and falling down. More bubbles. And then, his little cup runneth over, we got out the mop so he could clear the floor up.  He swished the mop around. I showed him how to squidge it in the bucket.  “Look, we mop all the water up, we squidge the water out of the mop, the water collects in the bottom of the bucket.”  And then the water goes back over the floor when Son 2 tips the bucket over so he can mop it all up again. 

The Wednesday Friends were going to the Beach By The Garden.  I decided to drive, even though it’s only just over a mile away. But even the Big Pram can’t manage a bag of beach toys, the nappy bag, the packed lunches, the TK Maxx carrier with the training seat in it and six pairs of little boy trousers and pants.  In the car, Son 2 wanted to listen to Be My Guest “Agin. Agin. Agin.”  “One By One” he sang.  He ran onto the Beach singing “Be My Gess Be My Gess.” The other Wednesday Mums sat on the bench, talking and watching Little Brother and Four Year Old play happily together.  I walked the 200 yards back and forth to the public loo with Son 2 again and again. When he wasn’t saying things like “I got we’ tow tows,” and “I done poo in by pants,” he was sprinting off; across the beach, towards the road, along the railings. All at breakneck speed. I didn’t stop.  Afterwards we went back to the Peacock Playground. I’d bought some night cream there on Sunday, as a teensy weensy Mother’s Day present.  Mouldy. Proves there were no preservatives I suppose.  Son 2 had a kip while I drove to take it back. 

Back home we watched Ice Age 2 and played with the Duplo Zoo. We built a boat for our animals.  I put the animals on; Son 2 trashed the boat.  Then the phone rang.  It was The Man. Could I please ring the School.  He was going to be a bit late picking up Son 1. ”Where are you?” He hadn’t left the Town. Son 1 would have already been waiting for him for half an hour. Mrs Briskly-Pleasant answered the phone and laughed.  “You’re the third person I’ve had today complaining about their husband.” “He’s only got to remember one day a week,” I said. “Oh my husband used to do it to me all the time.”  Son 1 eventually made it back home. He hadn’t minded. He loves After School club.  Just as well.    Son 2 went nuts with excitement and they chased each other round and round the kitchen.

Miles Too Much

1.  Sports Bags

2.  Goody Bags

3.  Party Bags

I was up at 0230 with my sore back, limping downstairs for tea and ibuprofen. In the morning The Man was being Very Concerned. I needed to rest. I needed to take it easy. Yes I did, but we were still going to Sport Relief. He was less than happy.  I made snacks, packed four pairs of trousers and pants for Son 2 aged 2y 6m – did I tell you he is a Potty Training Prodigy? - and The Man filled the car with the Big Pram and the Big Potty.  The boys looked great in their little Beckham tee shirts, and I’m afraid I have to take back everything I wrote about mine.  I went downstairs in my graffiti-sprayed Beckham Sport teeshirt and tracksters. Son 1 aged 5y 5m smiled and said: “You look good, Mummy.” And I did.   It was cut to Smooth Over A Lot Of Difficulties, even in an L. The outline was helped by the fact that I knew I wouldn’t be able to run a step, so I could wear a decent bra  instead of my usual Boudicea Chainmail.  At the Sport Relief start, a colleague from The Office shook out her new T shirt. She’d chosen the one with David’s picture on it: “I’ve always fancied the idea of Beckham across my chest.”   

Son 1 was very excited about the race, and wanted to win.  I told my colleagues I was a write-off, and they agreed to take Son 1 with them while Son 2 and I toddled around.  There were just enough other children there to make Son 1 feel absolutely at home… but Son 2 was, by a long way, the youngest entrant there.  All because Mummy couldn’t resist the 18m to 2y T-shirt.   We did a shouted out 10-9-8 countdown for the start, and then Son 1 and our pack of 5 colleagues went pelting off. Son 2 also ran like a bat out of hell.  “I running!” he told anyone who would look. “I winning!”  We were only running a mile, but I did start getting a bit worried when I realised we were running on the road and there was nothing between us and the cars heading towards us at 30mph. Son 2 was getting fed up with me telling him where he could run. At last we rounded a corner and could run on a wide grass verge. At that point Son 2 stopped racing and began a nature walk. We looked at daffodils, grasses, brambles, patches of mud, leaves and berries.  People running the six mile and three mile races lapped us. About two-thirds of the way round, we saw The Man walking towards us, carrying the boys’ coats. ”Son 1’s finished. I’ve never seen him so red in the face.”  Son 2 wanted me to carry him, but I can’t pick him up, so he rode on The Man’s shoulders.  About 200 yards from the finish, we persuaded him to run, and he trotted happily up to the finish line for his medal. He stopped with his toes on the line.  “Come on!” said everyone. “One more step!”  His One Mile Personal Best time is 29:04.  My colleagues cheered and clapped us in.  Son 1 had apparently sped off so quickly he took them by surprise, and they’d all had to move a lot faster than they intended to keep him in sight.  He’d run all the way round and finished in about 10 minutes.  All my marathons were run at 10 minute mile pace. “Can you put me down for the next race please, Mummy?” he asked in the car.  “Of course,” I said, happy that I’d started him on a Healthy Life Path.  When we stopped I realised he’d been drinking a bottle of chocolate milk. I have never admitted that chocolate milk exists.  “Who gave you that?” “I found it in my goody bag.”   

And in the afternoon it was Girl Friend’s birthday party at the Tourist Attraction.  I am now, sitting on the sofa, stiff and aching, admitting that this was all too much for one day.  But on paper, a one mile run at 10am and a party at 2pm looked achievable.  Even though the two events were nearly 50 miles apart.  The Man had to come with us, because I can’t bend or lift Son 2. By the time we got to the Tourist Attraction, I was feeling sick and a bit dizzy. Probably too much Ibuprofen and Codeine on an empty stomach and a lack of sleep. The Man took the boys in, I stayed in the car. I dozed off, till a text woke me. From The Man. ”This is hell on earth.”  I felt a bit better and so headed on in.  I spoke to Girl Friend’s Mum.  Son 1 and she had been fighting, with a pretty intense bout of wrestling. I was half-pleased to hear they were still friends, because Son 1 just doesn’t talk about her any more. But I wish he’d stop beating people up. Son 2 played in the baby area with The Man supervising. It was very nice being a spectator. I had loads of time to chat to the other parents. Usually I’m charging after Son 2.  The Man kept reminding me this was a one-off. And went off to change Son 2’s pants and trousers.  At tea, Son 2 ate nearly every pink biscuit on both tables. Son 1 sat in the corner, laughing with his friends, and telling me “I’m really tired Mummy.”  They played for an hour after tea, and we had to bribe them to go with party bags.   We put them to bed as soon as we got in, and then cleared up the breakfast things.  The Man rang Granny and Grandad, and told them how nice I looked in my Sport Relief T shirt.

One Fish, Two Fish

1.  Red Fish, Blue Fish

2.  Injury Time

3.  Remedies

The Man left Earlie In The Morning. I was up at 20 to 5. I made a huge pot of coffee and sat in the leather chair with Mansfield Park. Son 2 aged 2 y 6m cried at 0530 and I took him into the Big Bed with me. Lots of snugs and cuddles.  Son 1 aged 5y 6m came up in the dawn gloom, when Son 2 was asleep. I was in the middle, one each side.   Son 2 woke up laughing, feeling Son 1’s hand.  They are lovely. Downstairs I switched the fish tank light on and did my usual roll call. Ah.  One fish was pointing downwards into the bog wood, as if it had crash-landed at an improbable angle.  I scattered fish food.  Nine fish darted back and forth and up and down. One stayed exactly where it was at the bottom of the tank.  Son 1 howled. Son 2 howled.  I checked the survivors.  The deceased was either Holly or Star, a new arrival just before Christmas.  Star, I decided, so I could say that there was a new Star in Heaven.  I waited till the others had finished eating and fished it out with my thumb and forefinger.  Another first I didn’t know I had in me.  Son 1 and Son 2 sprang down from the breakfast table to crowd round the body. I let them have a quick look, wrapped it in foil and popped it into the freezer, ready for a burial at sea.  Son 1 planned the order of service: All Things Bright And Beautiful, Baa Baa Black Sheep and Elizabeth Die elizabeth die, and then wanted another look at poor, dead, Star. I refused, because what he hadn’t seen first time round was that one of Star’s little fishy friends had eaten its eyes out.

My poor hip/back/buttock/whatever is absolutely kaput. I can’t get in and out of the car. I can’t put the handbrake on with my left hand. I can either reach over and pull it up with my right hand or r-o-l-l. I can’t bend down. I can barely get socks or tights or trousers on. So of course I went into The Office. I had meetings I couldn’t re-arrange, I had people to see, I had maths to do, I had phone calls to sort. I sat too long and then couldn’t get up.  I couldn’t walk on my three inch heels because my pelvis can’t cope… I couldn’t walk in my flats because they’re not cushioned.  I think this might be serious. After The Office I had an appointment at The School with Mrs Smiley because I couldn’t make the Parents’ Evening. She was very nice about him, although she says she’d expect him to be making faster progress with his reading. He’s steady and he’s doing ok, but she thought he’d be faster. I told her he hates getting anything wrong. She made a note, saying she hadn’t noticed. He likes counting and high numbers. He like models but not