1. Lazybones

2.  Young Bones

3.  Old Bones

A lie in till 8am… mainly because I worked so late last night I couldn’t get up. Not even for Son 2 aged 21m’s “Mummeeee!”  “Mummmeee!”s.  A Day Off.  The Man vanished off to Work. Son 2 posted blueberries in the funnel of his Postman Pat steam train.  We plodded around.  Son 1 aged 4y 9m had the Moon Sand out before Wonder Nanny arrived.  Son 2 wanted to play with the Moon Sand (banished, for throwing it,) write with a pen (mainly left handed but still swapping to the right to keep us guessing) watch the Bin Men (”Up me! Up me!”) and play outside.  Son 1 watched Cars.

We took The Boat out. As soon as we got aboard, Son 1 scoffed all his cheese and marmite sandwiches while Son 2 ate hummous and pepper.  Wonder Nanny and I hovered around him all the way so he didn’t hurt himself. We had our first chat and took our eyes off him. He went running to find Son 1, fell over and cut his chin.  We anchored at Two Pirate Cave Bay. The tide was so high the caves were full.  I got in the dinghy with the boys.  Wonder Nanny, in her bikini and belly button stud, dived off The Boat and swam to the shore. The beach was shingle, with sheer cliffs heading 200 yards up, covered in greens and white flowers.  There was boat debris on the highest water marks.   We coaxed Son 1 and Son 2 down from the rocks. “Cave!” said Son 2.  

I swam in the sea, taking forever to get in, but invigorated once I was in and moving. The water was dark green today, with patches of turquoise near the shore.  I swam to The Boat just to prove I could, and then across to a big rock near the entrance to the Two Caves.  I went in one, and then went back for Son 1 and carried him round. He was in Pirate Captain heaven. “Dig for treasure, me hearties!” “Dig till you find it!”  Son 2 cried “Cold! Cold” and we put the tent up to give him a bit of warmth. He ate more.  Wonder Nanny had us all looking for Sea Glass - bits of broken glass polished round and smooth. We found greens and browns and blues.  Son 1 wasn’t that interested, but I could see PIrate Treasure potential in a good collection.    Son 1 found a twisted, dessicated tree root. “A dinosaur bone!” “Yes, it’s just like a dinosaur bone, like a foot, but it’s a tree branch that looks like  a dinosaur bone.” “No, it’s a dinosaur bone, look, it doesn’t break when I smash it.”  A great shoal of shrimp was feeding near the rocks at the water’s edge. I netted 12, and Son 2 sat, fascinated, staring at them in our yellow plastic bucket.  BAck on the boat, we had everything. “Where’s my dinosaur bone?”  The dinghy went back to get it.

1.  Good Food

2.  Good News

3.  Good Thing

Lunch With Nanna.  She’d invited us out. Son 1 aged 4y 9m picked Pizza Express. We went along with the idea. Son 1 ate no breakfast or tea on Friday.. and nothing but cake, crisps, chocolate crispies, chews, lollies and biscuits yesterday.  We figured he would probably go for their cheese and tomato pizza and dough balls. Not exactly Annabel Karmel-compliant, but at least a nod to the three major food groups. On the way to The Square we stopped off to get sandals for Son 2 aged 21m.   ”Choos.” He was delighted. He showed them to Nanna as soon as he saw her. Poor Son 1. Clarks could do nothing with his 11E slender feet.   The boys were ok during lunch. Son 1 cleared his plate, but didn’t quite stay sitting at the table, and ate quite a bit of his garlic butter with his fingers. Son 2 climbed out of his highchair (broken strap) three-quarters of the way through.  But considering what they’re capable of, a success. On the way back we saw Glamorous 22 year old Graduate. “Choos,” said Son 2.

And then at 1545 I wheeled them out again to go the Family Service at The Church. Son 1, who likes the crafts,  had decided he wanted to go.   Today we made  bricks and building and drawing houses.  A few more people there than previously.  Son 2 made a brick and a house. Son 1 coloured an orange house with a pink roof.  He then refused to go to the front of the church for the service because he wanted to make a house too. So Son 2 and I did The Wise Man Built His House Upon The Rock. And then into the Church Hall for tea.  “I made vegetarian cottage pie last time and you didn’t come,” said the chef, doling out sausage and mash and beans for the boys. Sorry, I said.  Son 1, after his lunchtime triumph, ate mash and had seconds of beans. I don’t think the sausages met his standards.    Another mother there had worked with The Man 15 years ago. 15 years ago The Man used his pet name for me in all his conversations.  She still thinks that’s my name, and that’s what she calls me. I wonder when he stopped using it. 

When the boys were in bed I went for a run.  8pm and a warm, close evening with great light.  I’ve never noticed the amount of roses in front gardens along The Terrace before. I’m still running-and-walking while I get back into it, but as usual, I’m very glad I went.  There and back I was dive-bombed by a seagull, clearly protecting a nest or fledgings. And on the final straight, the seagulls were clacking at top volume near The Hotel With The River View.  A small grey chick was perched unsteadily on the sloping slate roof.  I ran on.  A cat sat outside a house on The Terrace, staring at the gulls.  Today’s positive lesson? At least when I make a mistake parenting, no-one tries to eat the children.

1.  Party 1 

2.  Party 2

3.  Party 3

A two party day. On the calendar, it looks so achievable. The Nursery Party was at 1030, in the village hall favoured by Nursery Mums.  The Town party was at 2pm, in the church hall favoured by some Town Mums.  Party 1 had a cross children’s entertainer. A member of the Magic Circle, professional, funny, but bossy and hostile, obsessed with his line. “Don’t come in front of it. Don’t put your hands on it. Don’t move the line.” As far as I could tell he needed the children behind the line because, occasionally, he pulled his hat down over his eyes and moved around blind.  Er.. strike the hat pulling kiddo - this is a 4th birthday party and they’ve just feasted on sugar. He told Son 1 off for playing with the whoopee cushion Son 2 aged 21 m won in pass the parcel during his magic show. Imagine how well that went down with the mother who thinks her child should colour over the lines to show he’s not constrained by groupthink.  

Party 2’s entertainer was camper, warmer, with a better hair cut and had the saving grace that he clearly liked children. Before the show Son 1 fell over so badly he ripped half a toenail off on his right foot and grazed his knees and shins.  Before I got there, the Entertainer, heaving in equipment and out of costume, had stopped and bent down to see if he was ok.  Did I mention we were early for the party? Charged around like loons, two children off their trolleys from Party 1, The Man giving a commentary unstilted by drawing breath on the perils of over-scheduling, and me still struggling because Someone Lost All The Sellotape on the day we had two parties. Pushing Son 1, oldest child on Mumsnet still in a Pram, up the road, miserable because I’m Always Late For Everything, we arrived at 1420 to find the start time was 1500. Hooray. At the end, I had everyone turning the hall upside down looking for Son 2’s shoes.  I’d taken them off and put them on a radiator. Gone. Nowhere. One of the children must have tidied them up in an unrealising grown up’s bag. Yes I know they didn’t fit, but they were the only ones we had.  Back home we found the shoes.  I’d taken them off at the first party. He’d gone to The Town one in bare feet. 

After the children were in bed, The Man and I sat out back at the patio table, talking, drinking wine and dunking bread in microwaved camembert.  A neighbour has a pack of three pre-teen girls who were outside till late, clearly having some sort of sleepover.  “How many children do you think they’ve got staying?” I asked. “Just one I think,” said The Man. “It just sounds like a lot more.”  Next Door But One, who went on a Business Trip with The MAn, was putting down slug pellets and bantering back and forth with The Man.  Michael Jackson songs wafted over from somewhere else.  The light held forever.  We might do that again.

1.  Tik Man

2.  Seeing Straight

3.  Still

Son 1 aged 4y 9m has always sat patiently through scores and scores of books. I used to read about the Poor Mothers who had to read the same thing over and over, and rested content that my superior parenting skills  meant my son never obsessed over single stories. That was before Son 2 aged 21m. Enter  Stick Man.  “Tik Man.  Tik Man.”  From the minute he wakes up till our bedtime no-wriggle-room routine . “Tik Man. Tik Man.”  Stick Man has so many of Son 2’s Favourite Things. There is a dog, birds, sticks (naturally), a beach and a great section on being Stuck - another most-beloved phrase “DHUK!” “DHUK!”  “What would you like to read next darling?  Tiddler?  Feelings? PIrate-lift-the-flap? Farm-lift-the-flaps?” “Tik Man.  Tik Man.”

The MAn and I met in The Big Town to have our eyes tested. The optician is the father of one of Son 1’s best friends.  Optician’s Son 1 has impetigo. They have been told they will all get it.  “Are you all right?” he asked. “We’re all fine. I’m just worried about my eyes.  I can’t see in the dark, my distance vision is getting worse, I couldn’t see the splinter in Son 1’s finger in Kensington Gardens… I can’t see the boys’ scalps to check for lice and I can’t read ingredients or instructions on food packets.  It’ s clearly the result of too much computer-screen work, we agreed, although with everyone else it’s age-related. The Optician says I need a new pair of contact lenses because mine are scratched, and if I just go and buy a weak pair of off-the-shelf glasses they’ll help. And yes, I probably need to wear glasses with my contact lenses.  This is apparently the point where many people give up their lenses for glassses. I don’t know if I could . I’ve worn contact lenses for 31 years.

 Back home we took the  boys to the yacht club. Son 1 took his new golf set and played with Little Friend aged 4, whose mummy and daddy were also there.   The boys had a great time. At the start, Son 1 couldn’t hit a golf ball… by the time we left he had a respectable swing. Son 2 ran up and down bouncing a tennis ball. The Man and I had a couple of drinks and then came back. We put them to bed at half past nine and we are so praying we get a lie in tomorrow. Today’s fantastically good thing to top all good things was that for the third or fourth night in a row, when I left Son 2 he didn’t cry his eyes out. I  left him,said night night, walked out and  we didn’t hear a peep from him. Except through two run-throughs of Stick Man. .

1.  Roar Power

2.  Pushing Ahead

3. Raw Power

Every night, when I’ve turned off the light in the kitchen, I’ve been roared at. The first time it happened, The Man was away.  I froze and stared at the light fitting, wondering what I’d done to it to make it go so wrong.  http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2009/04/14/changing-things/ Since then, at the end of each day, I have jumped out of my skin and hoped it wasn’t a sign of an electrical fault which would burn the house down.  Eventually I worked out that the noise wasn’t coming from the light, but from the filled-in fireplace where the toys are kept. Aha. A light sensitive toy, I thought. Beyond that I was baffled.  I’d eyed the ridiculously loud fire truck suspiciously but hadn’t had time to check. Although it did keep making me jump very late at night.  This morning I managed to tidy and clear out some toys.  I put a missing tiger shape back into a wooden ELC jigsaw.  Get the shape right and the puzzle makes the right animal noise. It roared at me.  Well, now you know how those work.

Son 1 aged 4y 9m did a poo without his booster seat. “I don’t need it any more.”  Hooray hooray.  I’m very Lazy Parent over Son 1’s milestones. I waited till he was two and half before toilet training, because I couldn’t be bothered earlier. Then we did it in a week, with him learning very quickily that every wee in the potty got him a chocolate button.  We still take the old McLaren buggy out with us if we walk somewhere and think he won’t be able to walk back. I read a thread on Mumsnet discussing how old your children were when you stopped using pushchairs.  some people guiltily confessed to still having older children in them… and Son 1 was older then any of them.  I think that was about three months ago.  Son 2 aged 21m is exactly opposite and will never relax his plank-boy body long enough to strap him in the Big Pram. Unless Son 1 wants to get in, of course, in which case he won’t get out. 

The Rockpool Beach. Blue sky, light wispy cloud, but a gusting easterly wind.  Son 2 was a joy, Son 1 was trickier, but played well with Three Year Old Friend. Best Friend and Little Brother are on  holiday. We collected shells - I found a cowrie, which The Other Mother told me to keep for luck. There was a four inch black sea slug in a rock pool.  Plus a couple of fish and shrimp. I went for a swim in the sea, but it was low tide, and the waves were higher than my head when I was standing hip-deep.  I didn’t have to do my usual inching-in routine because I’d been smacked into, buffeted, knocked off balance and sprayed within a few steps. I swam out a few strokes, swimming up and over the top of the waves, and then semi-surfed back on them, but it was just too random to enjoy. Waves were breaking over my head, and I was in sunglasses (yes I know) and contact lenses.  And I was getting pounded onto rocks and seaweed in less than two feet of water.  I can’t have been in more than 10 minutes but I was breathless when I got out. It was amazing experiencing the power in the sea, and I just didn’t feel the cold…  But I can’t help thinking, having just read back what I’ve written, that it might have been…er.. a little bit dangerous.  

1. Excuse Me

2.  And Me

3.  Not Just Me

I give the boys a tub of fruit as soon as they get up, the Childcare With Serenedays principle being that I’ve always funnelled in at least one of their 5-A-Day before 7am.  So, while I was washing grapes and blueberries for Son 2 aged 21m, a little figure was pushing a green ELC chair across the kitchen. He likes to stand on a chair at the worksurfaces so he can see what Mummy is doing.  I like him standing on the chair, because at least I don’t have to carry him around. This morning, I wasn’t fast enough shutting up the dishwasher so he could get in. “Coos Me.  Coos Me,” he said, smacking the chair into my ankles.  He just is the cutest child in the world.

Son 1 aged 4y 9m doesn’t go to Nursery on Tuesday, so a sane start to a beautiful morning. The house is east-facing, so we had bright early sunshine streaming in to every room. “I wonder why Son 2 is waking up so early,” said The Man.  Both boys were lounging around in pyjamas, colouring, as I got ready.   Son 1 is great at colouring, does some amazing designs and spends ages choosing which colours and patterns to use. There are, of course, very many “Oh well done, Son 1, what a beautiful picture, I really like the way you’ve drawn that/colours you used/shapes you’ve made.   This morning, when Son 2, eyes shining,  held up his scraggy, holes gouged in it, scribbly biro-d yellow chick mask from the Environment Day, I realised the poor child has been trying to get the same response from me for ages.  Maybe when I’m less tired I’ll be smarter. 

I got back before Wonder Nanny left, which was a Good Thing. The boys were high as kites. They’d been to Nanna’s, who’d plied them with sweets and chocolate, and then to the playground in Nanna’s Village.  They were dirty and behaving badly, as they’d apparently done all day.  Son 1 tormented Son 2, and for the first time I witnessed Wonder Nanny snapping at him.  Thank God for that.  I have agonised over the quiet, reasoned, loving control she has over them.  Usually, when I come home from work, they are quiet, sedate little angels minding their ps and qs.  And then they go off like fireworks.  Because they were being so awful when I came in, there wasn’t the usual annoying disintegration for my benefit.  Son 2 sat still through his books; Son 1 was still pretty hyped but tolerable.  He gulped his bedtime milk. “Shall we ask the servant to bring us some more?” he asked. “Better not call him that,” I said.

1.  Happy Father’s Day

2.  A Family Day Out

3.  The Servant

Man I was wiped out after yesterday, celebrating Nanna’s Grand Old Age from 0830 till gone 11pm. I forgot to say, she loved the cartoon fireman mushroom Son 1 aged 4y 8m chose for her. Kitch. A language shared by the elderly and under-fives.  We really thought we were in for a lie-in, but Son 2 aged 21 m was up and roaring at 6am.  The Man went.  At 0730, when I went down to see them, sitting together on the big chair watching The Wiggles, I said “Happy Father’s Day.”  He’d forgotten. “I’d have made you get up if I’d realised.”  A silent and invisible licked finger wrote a “1″ in the air. 

The Office was at a huge environmental event. Cycle trails, hearty walking,  pond-dipping, willow-weaving, that sort of thing.  I’d said I’d go, and The Man said it was the sort of Family Thing he didn’t mind doing for Father’s Day.  Son 1 packed his golf kit, and wee headed on out. Son 2 fell asleep straightaway, Son 1 hung on until a few minutes before we arrived. We chatted to my colleagues, and went to look around. We got as far as Face Painting And Smoothie Making.  Son 1 was a pirate,. The moustache, caterpillar eyebrow and eyepatch we have seen many times before. But the fake cheek slash was a new touch. Wax-based, red blood running from it, like something off the Casualty set.   We set off round the trail and the boys were murderous.  We split into teams and played “Spot the butterflies.” They came alive. The behaviour switched, instantly. The Man and Son 1 beat me and Son 2 10 - 4.  Ah. Not hungry, tired, or hot, then. Just bored.

There were bees as well as butterflies, and dragonflies, and crickets. Foxgloves, cowslips, a lily pond. All in a scorching day, the sun baking down on the trail.  We took an hour to get to the first mile marker, and an hour back again.  Son 1 spent well over an hour in the Wildlife People’s tent, making a Father’s Day card with a butterfly on it and colouring face marks with felt tip. Son 2 tipped up all the sticker shapes, and I took him away. He had an owl mask. “Owl. Owl.”  Which meant: ” I would like to stand back on that chair and colour my owl like Son 1.”  Eventually I tempted him away with “Would you like some cake?” and we went for ice cream. The Man and Son 1 were a full half hour behind us, because the face mask had to be coloured perfectly. “Didn’t you try to get him away?” “About a thousand times.”  They played golf, and Son 1 had a quick game of pirates with a big boy in the playground.   As we left, Son 1 said “Can I have a servant?” “You’ve got a servant,” I said. “Daddy is your servant, he’s just not very good at it and I keep having to do it instead.”  “No,” insisted Son 1. “A servant. Something we buy. From the shop.”  “You mean a souvenir?”  “Yes.”  “No you can’t. You had too much yesterday.” = 2 Wiggles Activity packs, and a Disney Golf set. Back home I googled the Wiggles.  Bad News.  Liking Anthony is not original.  Good News. I do not need to be concerned about the “Spending Some Quiet Time With Dorothy,” Do-Not-Disturb signs left on the back of the theatre seats.

1.  A Big Day

2.  A Day Off

3.  A Long Day

Nanna’s Birthday.  She is A Grand Old Age.  Son 1 aged 4y 8m, Son 2 aged 21m and I picked her up and drove over to The City to watch the Wiggles.   We arrived at the same time as hoards of other under-fives. ”Food!” said Son 2, trying to rip his way into the tuck bag as soon as we got through the sliding doors. “Food! Food! Food!”  I tried to give him a sandwich. “Cips!”  “Cips!”   I wasn’t sure about the Wiggles.  A Mumsnet talkboard raved about them, they were on Nanna’s Big Day, and we needed an outing.  But I am now enslaved.   Just go. You deserve it. Don’t, whatever you do, ruin it by taking children.  Son 1 bellowed out the names as they bounded on, and I was oh-how-sweet, he knows who they are.  Afterwards, Son 1 asked: “Who’s your favourite Wiggle Mummy?” “Anthony,” I said. “Guess why.” “Because he likes to run around and have lots of fun, doesn’t he?” “Yes, yes,” said I.  Mmmm. WLTM. Abs of rock. Does Handstands. Drums. Likes children. Filthy rich.  I can now, for the first time in my life, compose a lonely hearts ad.  

On the way back, Son 1 said: “Where’s Daddy?” “Having a day off,” I said. A Father’s Day present.  I left it a few beats. “Do you think Daddy has too many days off?” I asked.  “Yes.” “Do you think it might be someone else’s turn to have a day off?”  “Yes I do. When we get back, I will say, Daddy, we will have the next day off.  It’s our turn. It’s your turn to do all the tidying.”  Oh lambo.  You are the centre of your universe and you cannot conceive of a world where grown ups long for time without you.   Oh all right, I don’t.  From every quarter I am urged to take time off from them.  But I can’t spend a minute without them when I’m not at work. 

The Man bought balloons and did an al fresco strawberries and cream tea for Nanna. We made the boys have hummous and dips, and then brought out plate upon plate of  scones, strawberries, jam and a victoria sponge.     Nanna’s mother always gave her strawberries on her birthday.  We put candles on the Victoria Sponge, and Son 1 bossily shoved Son 2 out of the way so that he could blow them out. We are out of matches, so I went downstairs to light one from the cooker. I doughtily carried it upstairs and the wind blew it out.  Eventually Son 2 followed me down the kitchen, and I let him blow out candles there. “More. More.”  We took Nanna out for dinner at The Hotel With The River View. She had chicken, I had butternut squash curry, The Man had steak.  After, we sat outside on the terrace enjoying the fine Long Evening Before The Solstice.  Nanna rang Elder Sister to tell her about her day.  “They were fantastic,” she said.  “They were on air for an hour and a half and they never stopped. They did everything, and they were so entertaining.”  Nanna knows her stuff. She has, in her time, seen  people like Judy Garland and Danny Kaye live.

1.  Fast Forward

2.  Scene Selection

3.   Pause

The Man is back, The Plumber has been, the hot water is back on, and I have had a shower.   Son 1 aged 4y 8m slept in, Son 2 aged 21m woke up and came down into the kitchen with The Man and me.  He ate blueberries and banana.  He sat at the little ELC plastic table colouring one of Son 1’s drawings.  He’s left-handed two out of three times.  The Man is left-handed, so is Granny and the Elegant Aunt.  I wonder when it settles.  Son 2 has learnt to run. The child who never stays on the floor if he can climb, cannot pass an open door without darting through it and can tank off for hundreds of yards without a backward glance can now do it all a lot faster.  Hooray.  “Daddy, you should see Son 2 run,” I said. “He’s very good at it.” Son 2 stood, a big smile on his face, and ran up and down the kitchen, overjoyed.  And then started doing little jumping attempts - stopping, swinging his arms up, springing - without yet leaving the ground. It wouldn’t surprise me if he is trying to take off. 

I took Son 1 to Nursery. Sports Day, postponed from last week in the rain. Last week I could have managed, this week I had to drive over to The City.  Son 1 fell over badly yesterday. He was given a jelly teddy sweet and came home with black and red knees.  Son 1 has a weirdie hip thing which means he can’t run fast because his legs flay out sideways.   fr http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2008/12/01/faster-legs/  His Wednesday Friends are always tearing off without him.  “I am going to run very fast,” he proclaimed as we got out of the car. “Well if you don’t run fast today, don’t forget that you fell over so you have sore knees,” I said, over-protective Mother trying to shield her child from the harsh truth of losing. In he went, off I drove.

When I got back they were watching their new Wiggles DVD (we are going to see them tomorrow.) Son 1 had run in three races. The potato race - pick a potato in your bucket, take it back, run up for the next one… the egg and spoon one “I think someone put oil on my egg because it wouldn’t stay on the spoon.” And a straight running race. Which he won. “X was winning but I runned past him.” Ah. OK. I will be less fast. To write him off.  On the camera were some pictures of Son 2 in the under-threes race. Smiling. Sun-hatted.  Clearly loving it.  With Wonder Nanny.  Pang.  Maybe, just maybe, not every other woman helping a small child in that race was the mother…

1.  Son 1.5

2.  Sinking

3.  It Seems Like Only Yesterday

Still not doing very well with the fluey cold. I woke this morning with Son 1 aged 4y 8m in bed beside me, tiptoed downstairs for coffee, and suddenly it seemed a very long and hard day ahead. Yesterday was the due date for the one we lost, and even though the following month I was pregnant with Son 2, I still wonder about that child.  The LMP date for him (I will always think of him as a boy) was Sept 11, which is Son 2’s birthday. The only person who will ever know or care about this stuff is me.   Son 2 aged 21m woke, on fine form.  “What would you like in your (snack) tub?” “Gape.”  “What else?” “Boobee.”  We read and stuck stickers upstairs. Son 1 aged 4y 8m pootled down. “I think I should have my fish when I am four, and then I can have more fish when I am five.” “You can have your fish when you’re five.” “I can’t wait that long!” Son 1 says his fish will be called Fluffy and Coupon and Walbert.  I might have to get them early just because he’s chosen such great names.

One Wednesday mother was working. We went to a playground.  The other Wednesday Mum had made sandwiches for all the boys, left on a table top in a takeaway container. A seagull pecked through the lid.  It rained. We gave up, and went back to the other family’s house.  I drove down, and as we arrived we were told that Mother had had to break into her house because she’d left the chain on the front door and gone out the back.   Son 1 and Son 2 had a good play with the three and a half year old.  My paracetamol cocktail wore off, and I started flaking out.  We came back, went into The Town because Son 1 wanted Apple Pie and Custard for tea, and then I made tortilla and buttered spinach.  Son 2 tried licking the butter off the spinach before giving in and scoffing the lot.  We are still boiling kettles for washtime, and yet again, it was very hard. Both of them machine-gunning me at top volume for attention at once, and me with zero energy craving stillness. I think the hot water is the Final Straw. They’re upset by the hole blasted in their routine, The Man being away, and me being incapable because of my bug. Bedtime was awful, and I wasn’t very nice. Being Postive, both The Plumber and The Man will be here tomorrow.

I have had an email from The Boy Who Broke My Heart When I Was 19. I logged in yesterday and there he was.  “I’m betting it’s you. You may not welcome this contact in which case tell me where to go, or ignore, else how are you?”  I replied and said don’t worry, it was fine, how was he?  He’s emailed today with a bit more detail about him.  I’m sure this is the plot of a book.  Our heroine, in relationship for 22 years, married for 18 of them, has children incredibly late, and while struggling with her work-life balance, her besotted small sons, her often-absent husband, swine flu and a major domestic crisis, is suddenly contacted by someone from half a lifetime away.  I’m also sure They All Live Happily Ever After.