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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.