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.

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.

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.

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.

Battlements

1.   Lice Age

2.   Sedimentary

3.   Volcanic

Tuesday’s head lice comb through was so traumatic I promised Son 1 aged 5y 2m that we’d do it differently next time. In front of the telly, watching a DVD.  Son 1 had pestered and whined and pestered and whined for Ice Age 3 during our last big shop at Tesco.  The Man had sneaked it into the shopping during a top up last weekend. ”Because this has been so horrible, I’ll get you Ice Age 3 for when we have to check you again.”  This morning, I was downstairs in the Double Bed after being woken up in the small hours by drumming rain. Son 2 aged 2y 2m cried for me; I took him out of his cot and brought him in with me. Son 1 padded down. He’d been up with The Man in the Big Bed.  He climbed into bed with us in the dark. ”Do you want to check my hair?”  A doddle.  I slathered him in conditioner, put a towel round him, sat him on a chair, parked him in front of Ice Age 3, switched on a blinding spotlight and combed and peered.  He was fine.  However. I know I wasn’t watching. I know I am clueless about popular culture.  But I am bothered by the dinosaur and the mammoth. 

After Son 1 had the all clear I went out for a run. Sort of.  Running seven minutes, walking three minutes. x 3. Sunny all the  way. I ran over to the Rockpool Beach again, where the tide was in and high, crashing on to the sea wall, shushing back and forth with piles of brown seaweed marking the high water line on the promenade above.  I went out three times this week, which is a Good Thing.  The boys went out into the back garden with The Man while I was running.  He is still pulling down and pulling up, shovelling and spreading.  The Nice Neighbour has been out to check he’s not building another shed.

Son 1 and Son 2 were their usual Sunday selves, flouncy, shrieky, crabby, shouty.  I tried to play pirates with Son 1, but as usual our game ended with me refusing to continue and packing all the toys away. At least I didn’t bellow out: “I’m not playing with you any more.” But I was close.  I really do want to be able to play his games with him.  But a large pirate ship was lobbed at force into the Tower Of Doom. Likely damage to the pirate ship and to the Tower of Doom. And deeply unhelpful because Son 2 copied and started smashing the other toys into each other.  We went out for a drive so they could get some sleep. Son 2 slept on the way out. Son 1 slept on the way back.  Then Son 2 played with his fire engine, the ladder going all the way up the Tower Of Doom. I helped him hose down the dragon.  And Son 1 and I did puzzles.   It was calmer and quieter, and the difference was they’d both had a sleep. But I would like to play pirates with him, without my being flouncy, shrieky, crabby or shouty.

Sweeties

1.  Drumming Down

2.  Splashing Round

3.  Switching On

Kept awake from 2am by thundering rain pelleting down on the velux window.  In the end I went down to the Big Bed. Still couldn’t sleep. Went downstairs. Made a cup of tea. Read paper. Hung washing out. Made another cup of tea. Went back to Double Bed. Still couldn’t sleep.  Son 2 aged 2y 2m wailed “Mummeee!” and I went and got him. “Where are you taking him?” asked a sleepy Son 1 aged 5y 2m. “Next door,” I said. “You can come if you want.” It was past 5am, and I figured I was so tired that I’d fall asleep deeply, they’d fall asleep deeply and then we’d all get a lie in.  I lay in the middle. Son 2 was lightly asleep. Son 1 eyebrowed me madly.   And still I couldn’t sleep. I must have in the end, because Son 2’s chatter woke me. “Get me out!” I couldn’t lift my head from the pillow. “Son 1, go and unzip Son 2’s sleeping bag.” “I can’t. I can’t do the zip.” “You can do zips. Go and let him out.” Son 1 tried. He couldn’t. “Oh just leave him then.” “Waaaaaaaa!”  I unzipped it. Son 2 reached for the light switch. “No! If you want the light on, go somewhere else.” They both slid away. I heard them unwrapping plastic on the landing. The Sweet Shop.

The Man did the Sweet Shop, and I stayed in bed. He brought me coffee at 0845. The Sweet Shop – full of jelly tots, dolly mixtures and wine gums – had been removed and put away.  Son 1 stomped up and down with the box. “We want our Sweet Shop back.”  We did a deal. I took out the sweets, and replaced them with Cheerios,  pine nuts, cubes of cheese, cubes of apple and hula hoops.  I put raisins and Coco Pop balls in the little jars. This was the new sweet shop.  It all went. Except the pine nuts.  On the phone to Granny, Son 1 laughed. “We’ve got a new sweet shop only we haven’t sold any sweets. We just eated them up.”  The rain hammered down. I put on my New York Marathon 2002 gilet and went running. Wet and splashy. I am now running 5 mins, walking 2.5 mins, four times.  One of my walking sections took me to the Rock Pool Beach, so down I went. The waves were loud, the rain was falling, there were piles of sodden, sopping seaweed everywhere. Just a few dog walkers and me. 

When I came back The Man had made a stew for tea and the children were still watching telly. We took them out for a walk and some air, came back, had lunch, watched more telly. Then we went into The Town for the Christmas Lights switch on.  Lanterns, children, street hawkers, Santa, and rain. Lots of rain. Son 1 went shyly up to Santa, who gave him a sweet. “Can I have one for Son 2 please? He’s my little brother.” He was given another. Son 2 was asleep. Son 1 ate it. At the end of the evening, when Son 2 was awake, we saw Santa again and again, he dished out chocolates. ”I daw Nan Ta,” Son 2 said over and over. “What do you want Santa to bring you, Son 2?” I asked. ”An An”  “Animals?” “Yes.” ”What sort of animals?” “Tye Tye. I like Tye Tye.”  Pity. Santa’s already  bought him a farm.

Signs

1.  Signs Of Love

2.  Good Intentions

3.  Warning Signs

Son 1 aged 5y 2m and Son 2 aged 2y 2m were so wiped out at bedtime yesterday that I was SURE we were heading for a lie-in this morning. Nope. 7am. Son 1, was as usual, in the Big Bed. The Man had gone Downstairs to try to get Son 2 back to sleep.   Son 2 wanted his breakfast. We were all getting up.  Son 1 was knackered. There was a lot of lying on the bed/on the floor/on the comfy chair watching telly. Son 2 was raring.  As the morning ticked on, The Man took Son 2 outside to play in the garden while he pulled down our rotten trellis.  Son 1watched more telly.  I rang Eldest Brother. Aged Aunt’s funeral is on Thursday. The Man says he’ll come.  Eldest Brother has found a box in which Aged Aunt kept every letter I ever sent her.  I am strangely, completely undone.   Eldest Brother is missing her.  “She didn’t have a bad life,” he said.  “She spent her life surrounded, or being cared for, by people who loved her,” I said. “That puts her in the top 1% of old ladies in the World.” I put my running things on, waved at The Man through the window and off I went. 

It’s the morning of the 5 mile run I did last year. five miles Tra la la. Last year I thought it was the beginning of Big Things. This year, well, I’ve been out 8 times in the last 2 weeks. I’ve realised that the point of the 10- weeks-to-get-you-to-running-12-miles-a-week training programme which I keep starting, isn’t to get you running distances… it’s to get you running 4 times a week. So. Walking 2 minutes, running 4 minutes, when every other runner in Town was doing 5 miles. Chicago, Chicago, it’s My Kind Of Town. I mentioned my Chicago Marathon Daydream to a Mum I know who rows a couple of weeks back. She went running that day, and has been seen out running since.  I have 11 months. I can still Do It.

Son 1 wanted Eggy Pie for tea, much to The Man’s disgust.  Son 2 stood on a chair and washed the potatoes. Son 1 aged 2y 2m used to wash potatoes. Yes, there was water and mud everywhere, but that was all. Son 2 threw the vegetable brush at the cactus, stretched up to press the microwave buttons, stretched for knives and scooped water from the sink with a spoon and drank it.  These are, of course, organic potatoes, with the mud and manure still attached.  Neat e coli.  Yum.  Son 1 came down to break the eggs for me. He cracks them and put the shells in the box. We need 5 eggs. We had 5 eggs. He went back upstairs for Even More Telly. I poured the mix into the pan. “I usually have more than that,” I thought. I fished in the bin. There was a whole egg in the thrown out egg box.  I cracked it into the pan and stirred it up a bit.  They all stuffed their faces, even The Man, who also had Ready Meal chicken pieces and dip I found in the freezer.  At bathtime, Son 2 reached for a Nemo toy Son 1 had left on the bathside. Son 2 didn’t realise that he needs the bathmat which covers the floor of the bath, and stepped up the bath wall.  He slipped instantly, did a half turn, slid straight down, clunked the back of his head and zoomed on his back straight under the water. I was just walking back into the bathroom as he did it, saw it, fished him out, cuddled him and let him go back in when he wanted to.  Of course I have never left him on his own in the bath before.

Tags: accident, Aged Aunt, bathtime, Chicago Marathon, e coli, Eggy Pie, Eldest Brother, five mile run, funeral, Nemo, running, training

Family Members

1.  Cleaning

2.  Keening

3.  Meaning

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

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

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

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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.

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.