2.  Away

3.  Waylaid

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

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

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

2.  Resilience

3.  Tenacity

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

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

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

2.  A Warm Welcome

3.  Heat Treatment

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

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

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

2.  Wedding

3.  Family

4.  Friends

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

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

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

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

2.  Shooting Pains

3.  Shooting Party

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

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

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

2. Pellets

3. Sugar

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

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

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

2. Lambs

3. Bunnies

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

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

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

2.  Curiouser And Curiouser

3.  The Red Queen’s Race

4.  Vanishing Cats

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

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

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

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

2. Mineral

3. Animal

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

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

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

2.  Spring Scene

3.  Wet Wednesday

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

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

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