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.

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.

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.

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.

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. 

Motivation

1.  Effort

2.  Results

3.  Reward

The Man let me lie in till 7am.  ”Well done for staying in your bed again Son 1!” I beamed, as I went downstairs to where he was eating his breakfast.  He beamed back. “I’ve got a sticker.  And I’m eating two breakfasts.”  ”He’s already eaten a pancake,” said The Man.  You will remember yesterday that Son 1 aged 5y 2m had four stickers to go on the breakfast line of his sticker chart.  This morning he had two.  Hence the bowl of cereal as well as the pancake.  You will also note that this process would not stand scrutiny by the Electoral Commission.  At some point yesterday, an extra sticker was stuck on the breakfast line. It wasn’t me, and it wasn’t The Man.  We don’t care; Son 1 has never in his life stuffed himself at breakfast time.   Yes I know, all your children  tuck in gratefully to rolled oats and wheatgerm with slivers of dried apricot and ground linseeds sprinkled on top.  Ours have Coco Pops Moon and Stars because we have tried EVERYTHING to get Son 1 to eat before he goes out for his 10-hour school day.  Sometimes he can’t be bothered to add milk and eats a few dry from the bowl. Sometimes he doesn’t touch them, and drinks the chocolate milk they make after soaking. And now he eats two breakfasts. Hooray.

Son 2 aged 2y 2m and I went to the Town Pool for a swim with the Wednesday Mums. Really good. I do like swimming with small children.  It’s so easy and stress-free.  The water was cold, so Son 2 headed for the Bubble Pools.  I’m a bit wary of these, as there was a lot of  “spa baths cause scarlet fever” anecdotes pinging round when Son 1 was ill. But Son 2 loves them.  He was playing with a green sea horse. I took my eye off him for a couple of seconds. “Where my see ‘orse?” It had vanished.  ”I don’t know, where is your sea horse, what have you done with it?”  I looked over the side into the swimming pool. I peered into the foaming depths of the bubble bath. I squinted along the channel running round the outside.  There was a gap in the cover.   We went back into the big pool and I told a lifeguard.  Two of them dismantled the filter and found the sea horse. Son 2 had posted it through the gap.  He swam, he played with a surf board, and he was a joy to be with.  After an hour we all got out and went for a coffee in a hotel.  The boys were all horrible, climbing over sofas and running up and down. We consoled ourselves with the thought that things would have been much worse with the elder three around. 

The Man collected Son 1 from school, because we were meeting Elder Brother and Nanna for pizza in Town. The phone rang.  Son 1. “Daddy hasn’t brought my Gormiti Egg.” “Oh dear,” I said. “It was Daddy’s job to get it.” “He says he didn’t know it was his job.”  “Silly Old Daddy.”  We agreed they would head for the other end of Town so they could get a Gormiti Egg. I’d push Son 2 in the Big Pram to see if he would sleep, and we’d see Nanna and Elder Brother in Pizza Express.  I pushed, Son 2 slept, we met the others. Son 1 turned up with his Gormiti Egg. £6. I thought it was like a Kinder Egg.  Oh boy. I am being seriously out-classed here.  Son 1 ate his food, Son 2 woke half way through and cried and grumbled. Elder Brother is leaving very early tomorrow to get to the Aged Aunt’s funeral. The Man and I were planning to drop Son 1 off at School and then drive over. We have booked Wonder Nanny to do tea, bath and bedtime.  Elder Brother says it could take six hours to get there.  Oh boy.

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Occasions

1.  A Celebration

2.  A Reunion

3.  A Parade

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

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

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

Gripping

1.  Holding Up

2.  Falling Down

3.  Clinging On

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

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

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

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.

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.