1.  Stamina

2.  Focus

3.  Energy

Son 2 aged 22m howled at 4 something am.  Which of course he hasn’t done since well well before we put him in with Son 1 aged 4y 9m.  “Mum-meeee.  Mum-mee.”  We left him.  I think he woke again.  And we…er… left him.  I think I even heard a “Sssshhh,” from Son 1.  Who pad-padded up at 0730.  There wasn’t a peep from Son 2. I never enjoy it when he sleeps late.  I dread there being a reason for it other than a lie-in. Especially after leaving him twice in the night.

Son 1 wanted to paint, so I set him up on a newspaper on the kitchen table. “And me, And me,” demanded  Son 2. They were gorgeous, sitting there side by side, Son 1 painting picture after picture, Son 2 using only the painting water to washout his pieces of paper. He tipped the water over.  He pulled the newspaper over his head. ”Boo,” he said. Granny and Granddad came round, Son 1 squash-balled off the walls, and despite the forecast of severe showers, we went out. Halfway through the Town we passed The Church.  There were service flags, uniforms, civic chains.  A band. We waited. We were rained on. We watched The Parade, Son 2 with his heavenly expression of total interest and concentration.   We followed.  “I want to hear the music,” said Son 1.

Back home we roasted a chicken, and I tried to make a tiny amount of vegetables go round four adults and two small boys. I cannot count the number of times I have had a mountain of veg box bags to go through. Today I had about four carrots, some broad beans, 125g of out-of-date asparagus and half a head of rather old greens. We got away with it. I am Nigel Slater. After the meal Son 1 decided that the ribbon from the one helium filled balloon leftover from Nanna’s birthday was the finishing tape for sports day. To start with, he and Son 2 had running races. Then, as the excitement cranked up way beyond acceptable levels for 6pm, I told him to have a slithering-like-a-snake race.  We did a sideways race, a backwards race, a crawling race, a hopping race and snapping race.  Son 2 joined in for the egg-and-spoon race, run with wooden balls from a skittle set and old silver spoons. Again, that brilliant expression of concentration, and then unbridled joy when he got his egg across the line. Son 1 used the string shopping bag as the sack in a sack race. He was of course the only competitor in most of these races, which meant that he won them all.  He loved it.

1.  Then And Now

2.  Now

3.  Now And Then

There was a problem at The Office and I needed to ring an out-of-hours helpline to get it sorted.  My mobile rang.  It was The Boy Who Broke My Heart. http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2009/06/17/fluffy-and-coupon-and-walbert/ ”Serenedays?” he said, gruffly. “It’s TBWBYH” “What, as in TBYBMH, TBYBMH?”  ”Yes. I’m the Duty Manager for The Office supplier. ” “That’s hilarious,” I said. “Is it?” he said.  It was extremely strange. Son 2 aged 22m chattered around at my feet. “Is that your little one?” he asked, as we tried to sort the problem.  “Yes, and there’s another one rattling around somewhere,” I said.  Not a peep for 25 years, then an email exchange, and now here we are, in each other’s mobiles.  Serve me right for not writing back the second time.   And imagine if we hadn’t already pinged emails…   

Back in 2009,  Granny and Granddad turned up and we walked the boys to The Square for pizza.  Son 2 walked nearly all the way, and then fell asleep in The Big Pram. I didn’t take the Buggy for Son 1 aged 4y 9m - feeling, from my Mumsnet-gained knowledge of what everyone else does, that he probably is Too Big For Pushchairs.  We had lunch, Son 1 ate well, Son 2, who woke up half way through, didn’t.  I had a glass of wine and a coffee, an achievement which always counts as a Good Thing.  Getting Son 1 back was tortuous. We should have taken the Buggy.

Granny and Granddad went back to The Hotel, we watched telly. Then Son 1 decided he wanted to cycle down to see them on his trike.  “And me, And me!” cried Son 2.  So Son 1 pedalled down, and I pushed Son 2 on his plastic scootalong car. Backbreaking. Son 2 loved it though. He scooted and steered, and smiled, smiled, smiled. At the hotel we had wine and they had pineapple juice.  We flopped in plastic chairs on the smokers’ terrace; they zinged about leaving toys for the waiters to fall over.  BC, The Man and I used to go and sit in the smoking sections of pubs and cafes to get away from other people’s children.  And now we have all been moved outside.