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.

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.

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

Services

1.  Overnight Laundry

2.  Overseas Post 

3.  Overtime Request

We’d barely switched the light out last night before Son 1 aged 5y 2m was up and in the Big Bed.  He climbed in and curled himself up small on my side. ”It’s a bit early for you to come in here,” I said. “Mummy and Daddy haven’t even gone to sleep yet. Do you want me to take you downstairs and cuddle you in your bed?”  No answer.   “Son 1!” No answer. “Oh I’ll go downstairs,” said The Man, “I want some sleep.”  Off he went. I’m so desperate for sleep I let him go and Son 1 stay. It doesn’t matter. I am a relaxed parent. In the Olden Days we’d’ve all been in bed together.  Why bother wrecking all our lives and sleep by forcing him into his own bed if he needs our Love and Cuddles?  I woke at 2am with my pyjama leg soaked.   He’d wet the bed.  Nearly a legfull. We have a massive comforter under the bottom sheet. It had soaked through that and onto a blanket covering the mattress. He’d got the quilt cover and duvet.  I got him up and took him, barely conscious, into the bathroom.  I put him in new pyjamas. “Do you want to go in your own bed, or in with Daddy?” “Mummy,” he said, sleepily. “Well go in with Daddy and I’ll get you when I’ve finished tidying up.”  Strip the bed. Washing machine on. Febreze the duvet. Re-arrange the drying washing to hang up the duvet. Tiptoe in and out of the boys’ room to get new sheets, trying not to wake a sleeping Son 2 aged 2y 2m.  Lights on and clatter about near the Double Room, hoping to wake The Man. He snored all the way through. Son 1 was fast asleep by the time I’d finished. I took the dinosaur quilt off his bed and went back upstairs to bed. 

There were storms again overnight, so I didn’t get much sleep.  Which meant we were late up, which meant I hardly saw Son 2 before Son 1 and I went pelting out.  We were late for School, but I did get to The Office on time.   In the lunch hour I went Christmas Shopping.  A couple of weeks ago, Son 1 wrote a Letter To Santa.  He was very keen on doing this, and The Man helped him.  We had a good look at the fireplace, and I couldn’t convince him that the envelope would get sucked up the flue and sent on.  “Can we post it instead?” I addressed it for him,  and off we went to the postbox.  This weekend, The Man and I realised we have no idea what he’s asked for. The Man, who wrote it, can’t remember. And yes darling, I have indeed sent the letter to the North Pole. 

Son 1 of course can remember. A rocket, a Woody and a Playmobil knights castle.  The rocket is an Early Learning Centre 18m to 5yr one which he wanted last year. He plays with it at school and nursery. “Don’t you think you’re a bit old for that now?” “Well Son 2 can play with it as well.”  Fine. I got it for him.  I’d also asked Son 2 what he wanted from Santa. “Clip clops” he said. Horses. So he has a Brio wooden train and horse stables set. A TK Maxx special.  “What do you want for Christmas?” The Man asked me.  Time. Time, time time.

Positive

1.  The School

2.  The Surgery

3.  The Shop

Son 1 aged 5y 1m went Back To School, hooray.  He was reluctant, felt poorly and couldn’t possibly manage breakfast. But then he forgot, and bounced around the kitchen, pestering Son 2 aged 2y 2m, playing with the big bunch of balloons I brought back from the concert and hollering loudly.  The School was lovely, pleased to see him, worried about him, and happy to give him his antibiotics.  I drove off, and then headed over to The City, an hour and a half away. 

Tootling back, I looked down at the clock. Five minutes till I had to pick Son 1 up.    And then I looked at the roadsigns.  Six miles from The Town.  I am Always Late For Everything.  Son 1 had been “a delight” at school, said Mrs Smiley. He also had a bright red mark on his face. I panicked. “I scratched it on my coat,” said Son 1.  In the car, I rang the Surgery for his swab result.  Strep confirmed.  Quelle Surprise. I feel very Clever Mummy for getting him up to the doctor within minutes of seeing the rash… but it’s still been a bit of a wake up call.   I’m an over-protective hypochondriac, but secretly, underneath all the fuss,  I always assume our every cough and splutter is just a cold.

I took Son 1 to Tesco after school.  We haven’t done a big shop for months, and I took ages. Son 1 was a saint. i said he could have a lego set for going back to school so well, and he was happy trailing round holding it and looking at it. At the till, the woman said “You’re a lucky boy having a toy so close to Christmas.” We told her our story. Then she told us hers.  Husband made redundant, so she has to work every shift she can.  Then her oven packed up. She went out and did a big shop because her Tesco vouchers arrived. Put it in the freezer. A day later noticed the food was soft. The freezer had packed up. Her son took a pizza to cook in the microwave, which includes a grill.  The microwave had packed up.  “Buy a lottery ticket,” I said.  “The law of averages says you’re in for a run of good luck.”  I do hope we haven’t given her scarlet fever.

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.

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.

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?

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.

I A Look

1.  A White Rabbit

2.  Halloween Bats

3.  The Enormous Crocodile

The alarm went off.  Son 1 aged 4y 11m was in the Big Bed.  I had a nice snuggy cuddle, and woke up 50 minutes later. Oh my ears and whiskers.  Poor old Son 2 aged 2 didn’t get any stories.  Got up. Breakfasted Son 1 and Son 2, showered, dressed, did face and hair, scooped up Son 1, gave him a toothbrush and told him to do his teeth in the car…  and outta the door. Hellish traffic, but I have a Rat Run. “Have you cleaned your teeth?” “Yes.” We got to School in time to park up the Muddy Path. And then I saw the toothbrush. He hadn’t touched it.  “Just clean them now.” “No.”  He cried, he stropped, he dillied, dallied and dawdled.  The doors were closed by the time we got there.  And Son 1 was very upset. “It’s my fault,” I said. “For rolling over and going back to sleep.”  

At lunchtime I went looking for Cookie Cutters for the party bags. It is a Scooby Doo party, and I’ve been after for one Nice, Lasting, Cheap Thing to go in the bags.  They are getting Halloween cutters. I haven’t yet worked out how many children we have coming.  Doesn’t matter. We like making biscuits in our house.  We do, it has to be said, have a heck of a lot of boys coming. And two girls.  I haven’t told the parents of the girls that we have a slight imbalance.  Tra la la.   When I picked Son 1 up I let him see the cookie cutters, and he of course wanted to do the party bags when he got in. Oh boy.  As a friend said to me recently: “Why don’t you just try saying ‘no?’”   

Son 1 does Activity Time with The Man each evening while I’m bathing Son 2 and putting him to bed.  Then Son 1 and I read, him snugged next to me in the Double Bed, just ahead of popping him into his own bed, in his room, where Son 2 is already asleep in the cot. The Man’s being doing Son 1’s Jolly Phonics with him. We also have a reading book with a list of words we’re supposed to help hime learn. This week it is “I” “a” and “look.”  Son 1 and I read The Enormous Crocodile. I tried to get him interested in looking at the “looks.”  “I don’t want to.  Just read it.”  Then we got onto Bugs In The Blanket.  “I’ll give you a chocolate button for each ‘look’ you can find.” I said. He went to bed with a pile of seven chocolate buttons waiting for him in the morning.