1.  Getting Up

2.  Stepping Out

3.  Lying Down

As always, on a Monday morning, The Man and I were clattering around downstairs while the Son 1 aged 5y 1m and Son 2 aged 2y 1m softly snored in their bedroom.   I drank coffee, and gazed blearily at the clocks.  Every clock in the house has to be fast, or I am Late For Everything.  And only a few have been put back.  So in the lounge it was 0730. In the kitchen it was 0630.  Everywhere else,  it could have been anything from 0615 to 0620.   Wonder Nanny, months ago, told me she never looks at any of our clocks and relies on her mobile phone for the time.  The boys came down.  Son 1 now turns his nose up at Coco Pops, so we’ve gone back to pancakes.  Son 2 stuffed his face. Son 1 nibbled the edge of a tiny piece like a teenaged girl in ballet school.  I nagged and nagged.   As always, on a Monday morning, I was Gloriously Grateful that Son 1 got to School on time.

At lunchtime, a colleague and I went out for a Run.  I haven’t been out since A Pan Fan.  ( Another Good Thing. I have worked out how to edit the hyperlinks…)   We were therefore both Beginners, and did 3min walking and 3 min running x 5, in bright, crisp autumn sunshine.  We went down by The River, past the Garden and the Playground and along to the Sports Field.  My colleague wanted to run on the grass to save our joints. I didn’t want to mess up my nearly new shoes.  And yet inside I still think I’m a runner…  

I collected Son 1 from After School club.  He burrowed his face into my shoulder.  “Are you tired, Son 1?” I asked. “They’re all a bit tired, today,” said the Helper. Son 1 wanted a carry.  I hitched him up, and he slumped against me. “You’re not very well, are you?”  “My throat’s sore. It hurts when I yawn. Tell Daddy I don’t think I’ll have any tea. ”   I carried him across the playground. “I’m parked right up the Muddy Path. Do you want me to leave you on the bench while I go and get the car?”  “Yes please.”  Reader, I couldn’t.  I carried the poor floppy lump quarter of a mile, in my trouser suit and three inch heels.  He only ate a Frube from his tuck box, and was asleep by the time we got home.  I took his temperature. 37.9.  Son 2, chuckling with joy at first sight of us, went nuts at the amount of attention Son 1 was getting. They were both in bed and asleep at 7pm.  Or 8pm, if you were in the lounge.

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.

1.  Dough

2.  Bread

3.  Darkness and Hail

They wanted to play with the Playdoh, and like a fool I let them.  Son 2 aged 2y 1m plays with it during the week, under Wonder Nanny’s gentle supervision.  Son 1 aged 5y 1m plays with it at school, charming teachers and Tea Club Helpers with the delight he takes in it.  Together, on the little yellow table, they were murderous.  If Son 1 rolled, Son 2 wanted the roller.  If Son 2 squodged, it was the blob Son 1 was going to use. There was snatching and scrapping and shrieking.  And finally there was a lump of blue, trod into the bottom of Son 2’s shoes… and then into the stairs, and the hall carpet, and the lino.  While we were away, the carpet cleaner came and did the lounge, which was looking a bit Jackson Pollock.  ”If one bit of Playdoh gets on the carpet upstairs, I’m throwing it all out,” I said.  We went shopping. “Is it pocket money day?” said Son 1, as I counted out coins in the fishmonger’s. I gave him a £2 coin. We had to go to the toyshop. The only thing he wanted for £2 was a Playdoh toy.  And like a fool, I let him.

We met the Vicar in M and S.  We were trying to control a tantrumming Son 2… he was wandering round with a basket, peering at the ready meals. “Is it your turn to cook?” I asked.   No. The Vicar’s Wife is going on a trip, helping one of their sons move to a town many hundreds of miles away.  “But The Church is full of great cooks,” I said. “Can’t you just work it into a conversation so that someone will arrive carrying a casserole?” “I haven’t told anyone she’s going,” he said. “I don’t like to impose.”  That’s why I like the Vicar.  One of the most imposed-upon people I have ever met… whose flock includes scores of ladies of a certain generation who would rain pies upon him if he asked… but he doesn’t like to impose. He headed off to the check out with a bottle of wine on top of his shopping, so I liked him even more.   I simply don’t have enough life to cook for The Vicar.  But I know someone who might.   I think I’ll mention it…

Son 2 finally fell asleep in The Big Pram; Son 1 and I went to change the library books; The Man strode off home with the shopping.  Son 2 woke up just as we were leaving the library, and picked up his tantrum where he left off. ”I wan’  ge’ ou’!”  “No. It takes too long to get you back in.”  I pushed him up the hill, Son 1 trailing behind us looking at his Playdoh toy.  I suddenly noticed the sky, very, very low, and very, very dark. “Son 1! Will you please hurry! There’s an enormous black cloud up there and I want to get us home now!”  He walked slowly on.  “Son 1, MOVE! That big black cloud is just about to dump everything it has on our heads.” He got the message, but he couldn’t move fast enough.  It started to rain, so I swept him under the handle of the Big Pram onto his nappy bag seat, and pushed them both up the hill so fast my heartbeat pounded in my ears.  We were 300 yards from home when the hail started machine-gunning down on us, hammering onto the road so hard it bounced back hip high.  Son 1 and Son 2 screamed.  The Big Pram is a Big Pram because it’s a three-wheeled, heavy-axled, jogging buggy, bought in the days when I thought I would still run 30 miles a week. Son 1 and I went running with it seven whole times, but Son 2’s reflux meant we never tried.  Until today.  I RAN.  It still does its stuff. We crammed ourselves into the porch, soaking.  “I wet,” said Son 2. “Big back cowd.”  It stopped his tantrum.  But I can’t quite work out if it means I’m supposed to cook something for The Vicar.

1.  Looking

2.  Listening

3.  Learning

Hell fire it was hard this morning.  Son 1aged 5y 1m has needed navy blue swimming trunks since term started.  Here we are after our three week half term, with his baggy white Monsoon shorts still damp and packed somewhere in the suitcases.  I was in Asda at 9pm last night pushing a trolley round George looking for trunks. I asked an assistant. They are, apparently, seasonal items. They come in to the store in Spring and go in the Sale in July. And that’s it.  My fallback plan was a pair of  navy and red Aged 3 swimming boxers I’d found in a bag of hand-me-downs before we went away.  But what had I done with them.  Wonder Nanny had also been sorting clothes. She’d taken my random pile and put the clothing away in the most logical place. Which was where I found them.  This was a Good Thing.  Son 2 aged 2y 1m cried and clung, but Son 1 got to School and I got to The Office on time. 

At The Office a colleague had done something so Useful and Important for me that my first morning  back was a breeze. I took her out to lunch to say thank you, blasting holes in my Holiday Resolutions of watching my spending and my eating.  I managed to offload a great pile of Nachos on to her plate in revenge.  In the afternoon, the contrasts.  The Man rang. Son 2’s Godfather is gravely ill again. And then I had a long conversation with someone I know whose young daughter, nearly three, is terminally ill.  “We never recorded her voice while she could still speak,” he said.  Wonder Nanny, who is very qualified, very competent and very caring, took Son 2 round to play there about a month ago. The father felt it was a success, so I’ll ask her to go again.  There is something very crap about the Mother who sends her Nanny round to help the desperate family.  But I just don’t know what to do. 

I picked Son 1 up in the closing minutes of After School Club.  He had his school photos, which are gorgeous.  At home, I just wanted to cut out pictures of my two gorgeous children and put them in their little cardboard frames, ready to send to Grandparents and Aunties.  The real-life versions of the two gorgeous children scrapped and screeched and shrieked for my attention.  Which they got. Words from earlier floated back:  “Her span is only going to be short so we’re trying to make sure it’s the best life possible.”  I will be less snappy with my children.

1.   Froggies

2.   Buggies

3.   Huggies

Really good, thank you, great weather, good journeys, no complaints, no complaints. Want some pictures? You’ll like this one: I dressed the boys for a 3am start in the UK, and we arrived at 12 noon our time and 25C, picked up the gleaming hire car and headed for the villa… Son 2 aged 2y 1m cried in the back, red spots burning in his cheeks, clearly overheated and distressed. “It’s ok, Son 2,” I kept saying. “We’re nearly there.” We stopped outside our destination. Vomit jetted out of him in pitiful spurts, swilling down his front and pooling in the car seat.  “I’s sick,” he said, hair plastered to his forehead.   Oh, but the swimming pool was lovely, the waiters loved children, the sun shone and the Bloody Marys racked up.  The Elegant Aunt and Golfmad Uncle had given us their timeshare, where we’ve stayed before, but had booked themselves another villa a few miles away to see the boys. “You’ll think it’s a bit Footballers’ Wives,” laughed the Elegant Aunt as she showed me around their new find.  Oh dear. I didn’t. I thought it was lovely.  Really lovely.  I didn’t dare tell her.  So we swam and went to the playground and the beach, and then this morning we trailed along the paths towards the hire car, and the boys spotted frogs in the water through the gardens. And I had a massive Pang, because we Just Don’t Get Enough Time Together As A Family.  And then I was Positive, because I know how lucky we are. And I am full of Holiday Resolutions which will Improve Our Lives.

Son 2, sitting in the back,  sang a song about his Ollday. Each verse finished on “Orl day long,” and Son 1 aged 5y 1m and I clapped each time.  Then he started to cry. “I’s sick,” he said.  “We’re nearly there, Son 2,” I said, mentally risk assessing. Garbage In = Garbage Out. He hadn’t had enough breakfast for anything untoward to happen.  The Man piled the trolley high with two suitcases, a sailbag, a hand-luggage-on-wheels-case, two car seats and assorted bits of carry-on stuff, including a Thomas The Tank Engine wheeled suitcase and an Early Learning Centre farm.  He zoomed off to return the hire car.   We paused in Departures. Son 2 threw up. Magnificently.  Great quantities of milk and bits which even I could smell.  I blotted him madly with muslins from the nappy bag, failing to notice that he was sitting in puddles of it in the buggy.  Son 1 had Euros from Golfmad Uncle in his pocket, and whined for the Sweetie Stall.     The Man returned, I broke open a case and found clean clothes. We checked in, sent the stinky buggy into the hold and sprayed ourselves in Wall-E scent from the toy bit of Duty Free.

The flight was a Total Nightmare.  Son 2 is a psychotic flyer and I Refuse To Go On A Plane With Him Again Ever.  It was worse than this: http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2009/05/17/the-land-of-the-sand/  But it was only two and half hours in a 12 hour trip, there was a sachet of Calpol they didn’t spot in the nappy bag and we dosed him with that. But next time it’s Medised.  On the way we gave Son 1 his first trip to McDonald’s. A Happy Meal. Doesn’t like burgers, doesn’t really do stringy chips, but liked the tomato sauce and the toy.  Son 2 kept up the jeopardy with “I’s sick! I’s sick!” but we put Chitty Chitty Bang Bang on the portable DVD and he seemed to forget. Back home we unpacked. And I have a Triumph. We bought too much wine out there and couldn’t drink it all. So I brought it back.  I am a Member Of Mumsnet.  We can Solve Problems.  In the suitcase, in the hold, and it didn’t break.  Wrapped in clingfilm, a carrier bag each, two of The Man’s tee-shirts which I hate so wouldn’t care if we had to throw them out… and the particular stroke of genius of which I am very proud: Son 2’s swimnappies.  One at each end of the bottles. And one turned inside out on either side in case the worse happened.  6 Euros Over There will be Very Nice Over Here.  And Kim, who is keen on the brand, and has been kind enough to comment, at last I can give you your heading…

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.

1.  Two Faces

2.  The Lone Ranger

3.  Comedy Tragedy

Best Friend’s birthday party today. We had a present and a card but no wrapping paper. So. The plan was to go into The Town with Granny and Grandad, where we would also buy a scarey mask for Son 1 aged 5y 1m, to change one of his Dressing Up outfits into a Ghost Pirate for Halloween.  Before G and G arrived, the children were Very Hard Work. They did well in playing on their own in the lounge for about an hour while I tidied and did washing and hoovered. But then Son 2 got tired, they started bickering, Son 2 started squealing and needing me… Son 1 went nuts because I was trying to be sympathetic to Son 2… and I Could Have Done Better.  G and G arrived and they were still hard work. We pushed them both into the Town, Son 2 in the Big Pram in the hope he’d sleep, Son 1 in the buggy because he refused to walk.  It was Perfect. 

I got Son 1 a Marks mask (say that fast a few times each day and keep your jawline trim.)  We pushed them down to The Square for coffee to make Son 2 fall asleep.  Son 1 was still wrecked with tiredness, and alternated between being a cuddly on-the-knee want-my-mummy’s boy and a sulky nightmare. He had a hot chocolate and an apple muffin.  Son 2 woke up. I pushed him round the Square and The Museum, remembering the scores of times we did it when I was on maternity leave, hoping he’d fall asleep. He never did. ”Do you want to go back to sleep, or go back to the cafe?” I asked. “Hot choc choc,” he said.  Son 1 fed him bits of apple muffin, and then they both sipped through straws to share Son 1’s chocolate.   They looked adorable, and Granny and Grandad both took pics.  We went back. I stopped in the fishmonger’s to get some sea bass for tea with Nanna tomorrow.  I caught up Granny and Son 1 further on. “Son 1, where’s your mask?”  He hyperventilated. “Sorry Mummy.”  I power walked the 3/4 of a mile back to the cafe, where it was still in the booth we sat in. And then, worried about Son 2, I walked home with it as fast as I could.

Grandad decided he was going to rest, but Granny came to the party with us. Son 1 wore Captain Hook and carried his new mask.  Son 2 wore the same bat costume he had last year when he was 13m: http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2008/10/26/four-candles/ Aged 1 – 2. It’s supposed to last. Son 1 and Best Friend ran round together the whole time.  I was up, down, inside, outside, following Son 2.  A mother was there I hadn’t seen for while. She had an appalling time last year, (see http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2008/04/12/the-lesson/) and I still ache in sympathy for her.  We chatted; she’s brilliant. I hope.   After the cake and candles, Son 1, Best Friend and Son 2 picked blackberries at the bottom of the playground. ”Pop” went a balloon.  Back home we said goodbye to Granny and Grandad who are leaving early in the morning.  Son 2 accidentally punched me in the eye so hard he knocked my contact lens out. “Bring me a mirror!” I begged Son 1, who brought me my Chanel compact, broke it into bits, dropped the powder on the floor and then rubbed it all into the lino.  At least I found the contact lens.

1.  Big Boys

2.  New Boys

3.  Hello Boys

The Rat Man says we can ring him if we find any more bodies, and he will come and clear them up.  This is a Good Thing, as The Man has left on another Business Trip. Unfortunately, The Man cannot remember which Rat Man we are using.  He found him in the Yellow Pages, he’s very nice, and he’s been back in his discreet, unmarked van to check his boxes and put more toxic waste in them.  But frankly I’d tolerate a van saying THIS HOUSE HAS RATS with a big arrow pointing at us if  it meant his mobile number was stencilled on the side as well.   The Man left at 3am, so yet again I am wandering around like a zombie.  Son 1 aged 5y 1m ended up in the Big Bed, and came down shortly after I got up.  He used to flit around like a little wraith.  He now sounds like a team of rugby players coming down the stairs. It was slightly spooky listening to him… knowing there was no other adult in the house and yet hearing great clunking footsteps powering down. And then a little figure in Lightning McQueen pyjamas pads in, holding his willy and rubbing his eyes. 

I had to go to The City, which is the best part of a two-hour drive away. When I’d finished, I went into The Shopping Centre, because I’d promised Son 1 I’d go to the Disney Shop to look for squirty toys to take on holiday.  And then… Hold The Front Page, Don’t Faint, Shoot Me Down In Flames… they had a set of Peter Pan figures.  Including The Children and The Dog.  This is an Excellent Thing.  I have spent hours on the internet, trying to find the children for Son 1. I have trailed around Disney Shops (Oxford Street: “Yes we’ve got them upstairs because they’re not very popular.” 20 mins later: “Sorry we’ve sold out.”)  We have plastic Peters in several sizes, a finger puppet Peter and Wendy, three or four Captain Hooks, a fair few crocodiles, several handfuls of  Indians and Lost Boys and pirates, pirates everywhere.   Son 1’s Peter Pan obsession began with a charity shop Disney book I bought for 49p in Feb 2007. He got his first Peter Pan things the following Christmas, and he has longed for John and Michael ever since.  So what I’m saying is, yes I bought him yet another toy.  No, I haven’t thrown out/sorted out any of his old ones. And yes, Son 2 aged 2y 1m had to have a Nemo squirty toy bath set to be fair. 

There were comments about more presents from Granny and Grandad, who were waiting with the boys because I was way too late for Wonder Nanny.  Never mind. The Best Thing today was The New Swimming Costume. Not the one I wanted, not one I would have picked out… but it’s slimming, it fits nicely and it was in the sale.  I was excited for a few minutes because the label said 14E.  In better light, I realised that was the Australian sizing. I’d been worried I was stuck with the skanky baggy swimsuit for the holiday. I got put off the Bravissimo website because I needed to think of a password. (Really sorry, can’t. Got a pile of passwords to remember anyway, and a head so full of Other Stuff that not one more fact can be jemmied in. )  I tried another website. Ordered a beautiful costume on Wednesday. Ticked the box for faster postage to beat the strikes. And got an email saying they’re not expecting them in till next week. Today really was my Last Chance.  I don’t think I’ve worn a halter neck in my life but Granny thinks it’s great.

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.

1.  I Don’t Have To Runday

2.  Let’s Go Make Some Noise

3.  Funday

Son 1 aged 5, and Son 2 aged 2y 1m slept through, and so did I. Son 1 stayed in his own bed.  This is a Very Good Thing, as I am Truly Knackered.  The first day of Half Term. Son 1, who has issues with Monday morning, eg: http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2009/09/29/payback/  was dancing on the Big Bed at 0630, spinning round and round with his arms out. “And me!” said Son 2, in raptures, trying to get up there.  They had breakfast. We read. We went upstairs. I read Son 2 Lost and Found and then put it on from the EPG while I had my shower. I zoomed around, they lolled. I wore a silk print frock, with that last-time-this’ll-be-out-this-year feeling. 

Back from The Office, Granny and Grandad were sitting at the table while Wonder Nanny served fruit and yoghurt for pudding. The boys, who I’d seen through the window sitting perfectly, both went into orbit.  Ran off from the table, shouted, raided the fruit I’d bought and took one bite out of everything, fell out over satsumas, shouted, snatched, pushed each other over. Son 1 span round and round.  And shouted.  Yummee.   Just for me. “They’ve been exceptionally well behaved today,” said Grandad.

I told G and G about the dead rat, and got Granny to supervise Upstairs while I took the bins out.  I somehow didn’t fancy dragging dustbins through Rat Alley in the dark. ”Grandad!” called Granny. “Are you going to help Serenedays?” “Don’t worry, I’m fine,” I called back.  But still I heard him get up from his chair.  That’s nice, I thought, he’s still coming down. Nope. Grandad, who has never previously entered a bathroom with boys in, pelted upstairs to help Granny. Not a rat man then.   I saw no critturs. I relieved Granny and Grandad, and conditioned and combed Son 1’s hair. He was not happy.  I don’t think there’s anything there, but I can’t really see. One for Wonder Nanny.  I’ll give Son 2’s a go tomorrow when The Man is back.  Lifestyle Guru Hairdresser says her children never get nits because they’re so rabidly antisocial they never put their heads near anyone else’s.  See? Even head lice can be A Good Thing. They mean your child has social skills.