1.  600 miles

2.  2330 hours

3.  140 characters

An incredibly long day - a colleague from The Office and I planned a round trip to the Teeming Metropolis for an important meeting… I went to bed at 2230 last night - early for me.  Then at midnight there was a Very Loud bump.  Son 1 aged 4y 9m had fallen out of bed and was sobbing hysterically, loud enough to wake Son 2 aged 22m, who you’ll remember is now in the same room . I got Son 1 back to sleep without waking Son 2… and then Son 2 woke up screaming “Mummmeee.”  I had to get up at 0539 to set out on our Trip. 

We had a good day - a good trip up there, the meeting was worth going to and we met some interesting people.  I drove in and out, which was brilliant for me because I very rarely drive in London.  Average speed 12mph, how hard can that be? We had a system of turning left every time we saw a large C appear on the road and we seemed to do all right.  And what’s an Emissions Zone?  We left late and drove back as the sun set, inventing pictures from the clouds in Son 1’s honour.  We got back at 2330.  The Man had left for a Business Trip and a friend was minding the boys.

400 blogs. I usually don’t notice the posting numbers, but I have today.  I like my blog.  It cheers me up, and I like looking for things to write about.    One of the twenty-somethings from The Office has shown me how to use Twitter. I might put bits on that too.  Although I really don’t have very much life left as it is, so time may kill that idea. Plus the fact that I’ll never get anything into short sentences.

1.  Red Blooded Male

2.  Mummy’s Boy

3.  Big Brother

Son 1 aged 4y 9m came screaming up the stairs at 0030.  “Mummeee. I’ve got a nose bleed.”  Blood everywhere.  All over his face, his chin, his pyjama top.  “Oklemmeclearitup…”  He flopped down on the Big Bed, a great slimey smudge of blood all over our White Company duvet cover.  The Man said nothing, and padded off downstairs like a sleepwalking bear.  Son 1 snugged up against me and passed out instantly, leaving a red slug trail across the pillow, and a blazing poppy-like stain on my silk TK Maxx nightie.

We were unambitious today.  The boys were knackered… Son 1 could not behave.  Son 2 aged 22m played in the garden in his swimsuit and then pulled at it, and came and cuddled me. ”Would you like to go to bed with Mummy?” “Yes.”   He didn’t want his sleeping bag, he wanted to sleep in the Double Bed, under the quilt, in just his pyjamas. We had a heavenly cuddle. Sometimes there are lovely advantages in the way it takes Son 2 forever to go to sleep. When he’d dropped off, I sorted out the bloody carnage that was Son 1’s bed.   A blood-soaked tissue taken from the box on the side of his bed gave me a pang.  The little treasure had tried to sort himself out before coming upstairs wailing.   

I walked Son 1 to The Discount Store, and he complained all the way, the little lardy lump. He wanted a carry, he wanted the Big Pram, his legs hurt.  Later in the afternoon we all went through The Town, Son 2 on the reins “Walk! Walk!” and Son 1 in The Big Pram. It Happens To All Mothers, I told myself.  A wail from Son 1. He’d been playing with a Gormiti and dropped it down a drain without a cover. The Man fished it out.  When we got back there was a text from one of the supper party couples.  Out having drinks by the Waterside.  ”Are they cooking?” I texted back. “No but they are pouring.”  Invitations cannot be turned down.  Bad Manners.