1.  Under The Weather

2.  Under Surveillance

3.  Under Pressure

Son 2 aged 23m’s dramatic, croupy cough rattled out after we’d gone to bed. I couldn’t see how Son 1 aged 4y 11m could sleep through it, so way past midnight, I sent The Man downstairs into the Double Bed, scooped Son 2 up from his cot and took him up into the Big Bed with me.  Mummy Serotonin makes them get better quicker.  The idea of sleeping with Son 2 is always lovely.  I agonise over him snugging himself up in his sleeping bag in his cot - I’m sure Son 1 was in with us most nights at that age. So I dream about Son 2 and I cuddling, dozing, drowsing, in tune with each other’s sleep cycles. In reality? Even ill and exhausted, he’s always up for a party.  PUshing and towing pillows off the sides of the bed.  Feeling for nose and ear holes and sticking fingers in them. And endlessly, endlessly, turning over, crawling, pulling the quilt up, kicking the quilt off… Until: “Son 2!  If you don’t lie down and go to sleep I am going to put you back in your cot and leave you there!”  He laid his little fluffy head on the pillow and went straight to sleep. 

We’d planned lunch with Nanna.  She said she’d brave our colds, so we decided on the Big Town.  We arrived, parked, and went to TK Maxx to look for shoes for the boys. Nanna was left in charge of Son 2 in the toy section.  The Man was with Son 1 in Children’s Shoes.  There was an argument about a grey pair. “He won’t try them on,” said The Man. “I don’t like them.” “Why not?” “I want bright shoes.”  It’s TK Maxx. Their entire business plan provides leftover pairs of orange shoes for little boys like Son 1.  We got him sorted, and I looked up to see Nanna walking out of the open double door and then back in again. “Where’s Son 2?” I asked. “I’ve lost him.” She continued to look round clothes racks. “Where?” “He just ran off!”  I looked for The Man. “I’ve seen him!”  He strode off halfway across the shop.  Son 2 nearly made it back to the escalator.   We got the reins out.    The boys were heavenly at lunch.

On the way back we stopped off at fish tank shops.  The Man is looking at tanks the size of Swan Vesta matchboxes. I am looking at tanks you could pickle cows in.  This is supposed to be a joint birthday present… we have less than a fortnight before Son 2’s big day.  It took us 17 years to decide to have children.  We have asked Son 1 if he’d rather have a rabbit.

1.   True Love

2.   Little One

3.   A Swell Party

Son 2 aged 23m has a hacking cough. Son 1 aged 4y 11m is sneezing and coughing.  I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.  It’s the end of August, and because The Man has spent the summer re-fitting and painting and sanding we’ve only been out on The Boat twice. The forecast was so-so, and worse for tomorrow.  The Boat it was.  Son 1 and The Man went off to get the dinghy ready. Son 2 ran after them, a sandal in each hand, “and me!” and sobbed when they left without him.  I put him outside in the yard on the astroturf, naked,  with a bowl of warm soapy water, some washing powder jugs and two beach buckets.  I started on the sandwiches.  Son 2 toddled back in carrying the empty bowl.  “More wah wah!”  “Who tipped out the last bowl?” I asked. “Me!”  Off he went.  I carried on.  He came back in twice more for water.  I chopped vegetables. Then he came back in and pawed at his clothes. “Dest.” “You want to get dressed?”  “Yes peez.” And then “Pooo.” He pointed to the yard. There, on the sodden, soap-soaked astroturf, was a damp, squashed poo. 

Son 2 was hard work. Clingy, insistent, tearful.  He also kept falling over.  The Man and Son 1 came back and we went down to the Yacht Club.  Son 1 and Son 2 played races on the lawn. “Ready… Steady… Go!” yelled Son 1 as they pelted across it. Son 2 was still falling over.  “Try ‘Ready, Steady, Lie Down.’” I said.  “Ready, Steady, Sleep!” called Son 1, and they both fell down. In lifejackets. Stuck on their backs like upended tortoises. 

So we took the baby with his fluey cold and balance problems and put him on a motor boat in a heavy swell.  He fell over. In the cabin. Bump on the forehead. He fell over on the deck.  Bump on the forehead.  We had lunch, and then bribed the boys. If they went to sleep they could have a sweet when they woke up. They both slept.  I read the paper, The Man and I drank coffee.  When they woke up we caught crabs. The world-record for Biggest One Yet.  Barely fit in the bucket.  Son 1 was a stroppy, screeching pain all the way back. I did not cope well.  I think that’s Three Down, and The Man in charge.

1.  The Gates Of Dawn

2.  Dulce Domum

3.  Wayfarers All

I am really not well.  Weak as a kitten, hurting head full of snot, racking cough, sore chest, sore throat and ears that crack horribly everytime I swallow. I could prove it was swine flu if I could be bothered to look for our thermometer.   In the meantime I’ll assume it’s just the cold I get every time I take any leave. It’s not helped by a lack of sleep. I went out last night to our book club, and got to bed about midnight. Then I woke at 5am, my head thumping. Son 1 aged 4y 11m arrived.  I tried to get him back to sleep, and at 6am crept downstairs to make a vast pot of coffee - I’m a keen believer in caffeine for colds.  It wasn’t quite dawn, so I took my coffee to sit in the bay window and watch the sun come up over the river.  A shadow flitted in. Son 1.  We put cushions on the window seat, and hauled one of Nanna’s big blankets over ourselves to keep warm.  Camping. Son 1 loved it and snuggled up to me. We watched vans and cars drive by.  We watched the sky lighten.  “I’m bored with camping,” said Son 1 after 15 minutes.

The Man’s sunflower is now the largest, and Son 1 and I have claimed it as Ours. A yellow flower has today started to appear.  Son 1 and Wonder Nanny played pirates. Son 2 aged 23m and I went outside. He wanted to play with Wah Wah, so I put him in his swimsuit, boiled a kettle, squeezed in some washing up liquid and warmed up the rainwater for him.  I went and got myself a garden cushion so I could sit and watch him. “More,” said Son 2, trotting off to bring out all the others, one by one.  As soon as Son 1 saw the bubbles he was out there too.  Adding compost to make a potion.  The parcel for the Scooby party arrived, and Son 1 was almost sick with excitement. Wonder Nanny made minestrone soup.  We had lunch. Son 2 and I went for a sleep. 

We woke up at 3pm, and an old friend was downstairs with Wonder Nanny and Son 1.  Just on Wednesday i was looking back to Breastfeeding Group nearly five years ago, at the July baby, the September baby and the October baby. There was also an August baby, the little girl, just five, playing with Son 1, whom we haven’t seen for nearly a year.  The Man came back from The Boat and we went crabbing.  Son 2 demanded I take him to the riverside beach just as the others hauled in crab 14 to break our record. Another family joined the others, but Son 2 and I walked round to the low tide beach.  It’s covered in broken glass.  “Son 2 just pick up the shells or the stones NOT THE GLASS.”  Son 2 kept picking up the glass. The water’s edge was glass free, so I took him there,  me keeping his reins on, him with his dungarees rolled up. Son 1 joined us, but ran in the sea with his trousers on “Take them OFF! Look, you hold Son 2’s reins and I’ll help you.”  I pulled off his trousers. I turned round. He’d let go Son 2’s reins and Son 2 had strode out into the river, standing hip-high in the water,  looking back at me.   Son 1 danced in the water, naked from the waist down.  His five year old friend gazed longingly after him. “Son 1 come back! It’s not fair on Son 2 or Your Friend!”  I promised him we would come back in our swimming costumes one day and both go in. At bedtime he was so tired he lay in his bed while I was singing to Son 2. When I’d finished Son 2’s night-nights, Son 1 was fast asleep.

1.  Birds

2.  Lambs

3.   Chickens

A Clifftop Charity Day I wanted to go to.  The Man said he’d come.   The forecast was fine-ish in the morning, then rain by the afternoon, so we went off early.  The Man drove, I was in the front seat and Wonder Nanny was squashed between two car seats in the back. Son 2 aged 23m and Son 1 aged 4y 11m slept.  The Man and I were once regular visitors to The Clifftop and the countryside around.   It had been more than five years.  Bracing coastal walks, stopping to watch cliff birds through binoculars, climbing up sheer paths and over stiles, the odd pint at the odd pub… “Come on! Let’s walk lunch off!” “What’s wrong with sleeping lunch off?”  You really do forget what life was like before.

We arrived and checked out the stalls. The Man took Son 1 to a tombola.  A 5 or a 0 and you win. Son 1 won.  Sweets, and a pen with a football on the top.  He was hooked. Nag nag nag nag. “Just let him have another go and he’ll lose and learn.”  He won.  Two prizes on three tickets. Four dinner candles - for the child for whom candles mean birthdays and blowing out - and another pen with a football on top.  Nag nag nag nag nag.  It was like hook a bloody duck. “Son 1 you don’t always win. ” Nag nag nag nag.  We gave him another go. He won a calculator.  Son 1 thinks calculators are as good as candles.  ”And me!” We gave Son 2 a 50p go in the lucky dip. He won a three-way highlighter pen.  The child who likes crayoning on the furniture because of the excitement of trying to scrub it all off.

We walked down the cliffside to the Children’s Farm.  It was windy, the sea was huge and slate grey, crashing high against the rocks. The clifftops were covered in pink and purple heather and thrift and yellow gorsey flowers. It was the same as it had been for a thousand years. Apart from the Children’s Farm. Son 1 skipped from rock to rock, stopped to peer into the rabbit holes, squelched the springy grasses under his wellies.   I watched him enjoying the drama of the landscape, and shared a moment with the Old Me, standing where I used to, staring out to sea.   Our first time in the Children’s Farm. The Man bought a bag of animal food. “You’ll need two,” I said. “They’ll fight.” Son 2 is such a child of his time that as soon as he saw the animals he swung back and commanded: “Food!  Food!”  There were goats and pigs and hens and ponies and sheep and rabbits and ducks.  Even The Man enjoyed it. Back at the top Son 1 demanded another go on the tombola. The little girl in the queue ahead of him won the biggest prize.  He lost.  He did not take it well.

1.    Infection

2.    Confection

3.    Ingestion

I have a stinking cold, and there is no hope that Son 1 aged 4y 11m and Son 2 aged 23m won’t get it. Son 1 was in bed with me last night, his hands seeking my eyebrows and eyelashes, via my nose and mouth.  Son 2 spends a great deal of time with his fingers up his own nostrils, and also trying to get them up mine.  So although I’ve spent the day trying to Catch It Bin It and Kill It, I have a nasty feeling that next week, when I will be back at work after my holiday, when Son 1 starts reception and when it will all be a bit tense and fraught… I will have two littl’uns feeling awful. Never Mind.  Being Positive. I’ve had a massive stretch of time with neither of them being ill. 

We iced the cakes.  Son 1 and Son 2 on their chairs.  The liquorice allsorts, jelly sweets and sugar letters on the chopping boards.  They stuffed their faces. And spat out the liquorice.  I made icing - first time, ta da! - and they drew on it with writing pens, scattered sprinkles, and stuck sweets on. We had nine cakes, and they looked great.  “Was this as much fun as you thought it would be?” I asked Son 1. “Yes.  Can we do it again?”  Yes. But we will swap our liquorice allsorts for dolly mixtures next time. 

We went to Best Friend’s house for lunch. The whole Wednesday gang was there.  Five year old - who we’ve hardly seen this year since he started school in January, his little brother aged 3 and a half… Best Friend aged nearly 5 and his little brother who’s just three, and Son 1 and Son 2. The five elder boys formed a wolf pack. Son 2 decided to stay with me. The two younger brothers were spat out. There was screeching, strutting, chasing, shoving.  Best Friend accidentally head-butted one Wednesday Mum so hard her nose bled. Son 2 kept getting into various beds, making me think he’s already got The Bug. Five Year Old seemed incredibly grown up.   I have such a clear mental picture of him at 17 weeks old, Son 1 at 9 weeks old, Best Friend at 5 weeks old, lying on pillows at Breastfeeding Group.  Breastfed boys, organic and sugar-free in their early diets.  They polished off the fairy cakes in seconds flat.

1.  Ingedients

2.  Processing Food

3.  Sweet And Sour

7am.  Son 1 aged 4y 11m got into the Big Bed.  He was freezing.  And doing his mock-crying/mock whining thing. “What’s the matter?” “I don’t want to give our ingredients to Wednesday Mum.”  I was rabid about the loss of the sandals. And told Son 1 there would be no fairy cake making, and that all the ingredients we bought would be given to our Friends.  “We’re not going to. Mummy was probably a bit too cross yesterday. I’m sorry.” ”I’m sorry I lost my shoes.”  “I’m sorry I was so cross. But your feet are very long and thin and it took me a long time and a lot of shops to find some that fit.” “Can we still make our cakes?” “Yes we can.” “I’ll go and get the ingredients.” “From the cupboard?” “No. I hided them.” “Where?” “Behind the toilet.” Son 1 and I went downstairs.  Bicarb, sprinkles, jelly sweets, sugar letters, caster sugar, icing sugar, cake wrappers… all wedged on the floor in the cobwebs behind the U bend.    It must have taken him three or four trips. No wonder he was freezing.

We had a group trip into The Town after breakfast, and then came back and started cake-making. Son 1 and Son 2 aged 23m stood on the big chairs.  They were interested in three things: breaking eggs,  pressing the buttons on the food mixer and eating sweets.  Much disappointment when Son 1 realised the sweet stage doesn’t come till you ice them. We mixed. Son 1 broke his egg. “And me!” yelled Son 2. Ah. We only had one egg. Wonder Nanny went down the road in search of another box.   The cakes went in the oven.

We had lunch and then Son 2 and I went for a lie down. Luxury.  I think lying down for a snooze with a little child is one of the great free pleasures in life.  We slept for more than an hour - I’ve got a cold coming and am feeling pretty wrecked. When we went downstairs, Wonder Nanny and Son 1 were peeling crayons. “I’ve been meaning to do this job for ages,” said Wonder Nanny.  I didn’t even realise it needed doing. We went swimming.  The pool was almost empty. Son 1 piled up surf boards to make a surf shop.  Son 2 delighted in the surf boards. He clung baby-like in the deep end, but as soon as he had solid ground under his feet his confidence soared.  He was great.  At bedtime they slept instantly.  Wonder Nanny babysat, and The Man and I went out to the local Thai restaurant. We sat in the window. Some Eastern European men set upon a man walking up the hill directly outside. My view was bloked by the menu in the window, but The Man saw the whole thing. The police arrived. Someone came in and asked if the staff had seen anything. “No no,” said the waiter. “All in kitchen.”  No they weren’t. They watched it all.   I was a Juror.  I made The Man go and see the police to make up.

1.  Harvesting

2.  Irrigation

3.  Threshing

Nanna’s garden is blue-marbled with slug pellets. Son 2 aged 23m picks up big handfuls and puts them in his mouth, along with the melted-insides of dead snails.  So we can’t use slug pellets in our garden.  We have six sunflowers, getting bigger, The Man’s now so tall that we can only look at the flowerhead from the upstairs window. We have two tubs planted with peas.  We have some organic slug repellent gel. You pour it around the plants and it’s supposed to make barrier. It looks like dying slug trail, which is probably how it works.  We put it round the pea plants when they first sprouted, and then we couldn’t find it any more.  The slugs ate all the peas in one tub. And Son 1 aged 4y 11m, and Son 2 and I caught a snail laying eggs in our other one.  But this morning Son 1 yelled “Mummy, mummy, come and see! We’ve got peas!” We did indeed. Little pea cases.  Son 1 gobbled one, Son 2 gobbled one. We had six altogether, which they ate instantly.  Son 1 found the case of one a bit fibrous and spat it into the ice cream tub in which we’d put three tiny snails we’d caught on the plants. “They can eat it.”  We were so excited we thought we’d plant some more. And then decided to plant a pumpkin for Hallowe’en instead.  Vegetarian depressive Mummy always has pumpkin seeds. We hunted through the cupboards. Mummy had pine kernels, sunflower seeds and sesame seeds. ”Shall we grow a sesame?” I asked Wonder Nanny.

We planned to go for a swim, then come back and make fairy cakes after lunch.  Wonder Nanny’s mobile went. It was a Wednesday Mum, ringing her to arrange to meet with the children, so Son 1 could play with Best Friend. Wonderful Moments For Working Mothers, #149: When Your Friend Rings Your Nanny Because They’ve Both Forgotten You’d Be There.  We changed the plans. We would meet at The Beach Near The Garden.  It was sunny, warm-ish with a gusty wind and some clouds.  Son 2 and I walked down to the water’s edge, filled a bucket with water, walked back, and he emptied it. Many times.  Son 1 was over-excited and horrible.  The new fishing net was broken.  I left Wonder Nanny in charge and went Swimming In The Sea.  I have a new way of getting in. I walk a hundred paces without stopping.  Shoulders down, swim forward and cold, cold, cold.  I felt my rings loosen on my fingers.  The sea was flat, the beach was sandy, the water was turquoise and every now and then the sun broke through and warmed my face.  Son 1 stood on the shoreline, staring out after me.  I went back. Another family arrived to sit with us, Mother, Father and their three children.  Lunch, more play, splashing and digging in the low tide.  The Navy helicoptered by, low and loud. Play stopped, while the children waved. They waved back. ”Mummy, we got a wave!” bounced Son 1.   

Best Friend, Little Brother and Wednesday Mum left. I went for another swim.  The children made sandcastles.  Son 2 was hanging with tiredness when i got back. “Ah wanna bik bik.” The other mother was handing out iced rings.  ”Would you like one, Son 2?” “Es please.” Beautiful manners.  Gets them from his mother.  We packed up. “Son 1, where are your shoes?”  He looked blank. Wonder Nanny hadn’t seen them.  “Did you take them off in the jungle?” In the Garden, where he’d run off playing with Best Friend when we first arrived.  Yes he did.  In  vast mounds of elephant grass, the dried straw had poked his feet through his sandals. So he’d taken them off. I hunted through every bloody clump.  Gone.  There was no fairy cake making when we got home, although Son 2 got an ice pop.

1.  Peter Pan

2.  Baking Pans 

3.  Panic

Peter Pan was the DVD. Son 1 aged 4y 11m and Son 2 aged 23m were playing with the toy pirates. We bought Son 1 a new Captain Hook yesterday. He has got through 2 Disney ones, so now we’re on Toyshop Traditional.  The old Captain Hook fell to pieces.  Son 1had found a Peter-And-The-Children pin badge that I’d bought him. ”I’m a Peter Pan fan, aren’t I?”  Orwell fashion, I have come to love Peter Pan. Ignore the dodgy author and the political incorrectness, and name another children’s classic that’s as brilliant on Motherhood.  The Lost Boys and The Pirates who want Mothers, Wendy who doesn’t want to be a Mother to Peter, Mrs Darling sitting in the empty bedroom, and poor Peter, damaged by a closed window and another little boy asleep in his bed. ”If you find your mothers,” he said darkly, “I hope you will like them.”  I bought my copy new in 1972, price 25p.  And I grew up and had a son.  Who feeds pieces of broken Captain Hook to toy crocodiles. 

 A grey day, with two shattered children. We decided yesterday went askew because we got the meals wrong. We drove the Big Town to do a Big Shop. Son 2 fell asleep in the car, Son 1 was car sick. We went down to the River and parked. The Man and I had coffee, the boys ate peanut butter sandwiches for lunch.  In the supermarket, we bought heaps of cake and biscuit making ingredients. I have a week off, the forecast is not good, and I have much Uber Mother ground to make up. Son 1 longs for me to make a cake.  I find cake tins frankly baffling.  There are the ones with the clock hand things in them, presumably used for Getting Your Cake Out. And the ones that are rings with round circles at the bottom. Presumably also used for Getting Your Cake Out.  Greaseproof paper, baking paper, baking parchment. All for Getting Your Cake Out.  I’m only guessing, but is there sometimes a problem Getting Cakes Out?  But anyway. We can manage muffins. And Biscuits.  And Wonder Nanny will be here. I bet she can Get A Cake Out. 

We did a massive pile of shopping with loads of Sunday afternoon yellow stickers.  Son 1’s shopping treat was a Scooby Doo biscuit making kit. I thought it was going to be a box with biscuits for them to draw on with an icing pen. Oh no. Back home there was an egg and milk involved. I put too much milk and egg in the packet mix and ended up with gloop so sticky it glued my fingers together.  I finally fought my way out of the mixing bowl, and the boys rolled it, cut the Scooby shapes and we put them in the oven.  Son 2 washed green beans for tea.  They had roast lamb… I went for a run.

1. In Reality

2.  A Nightmare

3.  Dream Finish

Son 2 aged 23m is speaking in whole sentences, and I haven’t noticed.  “Great receptive language,” I had expertly told myself, “expressive a bit behind Son 1 now aged 4y 11m at his age.” This morning. “Ah Wah Wotsh Madda Da Da.”  I Want To Watch Madagascar.  “Ah Wah Pess Buh Buh.” While I was on my laptop. I Want To Press The Buttons.   Hey ho. There was me thinking, when I get a minute, when I remember, I’ll put all the single words he can do on my blog so I’ll have a record… including all those exciting two-word sentences like “Mummy car,” and “Me Do” (See Yesterday.)  And all the time he’s near enough on “You Must Never Go Down To The End Of THe Town Unless You Go Down With Me.”

I had another one of my anxiety dreams.  I was in the kitchen, making Jamie Oliver fish pie for tea. Son 2 wanted to stand on a chair and wash the potatoes. Son 1 insisted on doing it too. Son 1 wanted to peel the carrots, so I let him “Look! Look! My first carrot! It’s not bad, is it?”  Son 2 wanted to as well, so we had to see if he could do it. “Don’t touch the blade. Sharp. Dangerous.”  The Man said the sauce was too rich last time, so I used full cream milk, and it curdled when I added lemon juice. No matter what I did, the finished meal didn’t get any nearer the oven. Both boys were going nuts with hunger.  Son 1 was supposed to grate a big slab of cheese for my rescue sauce. He ate the lot. The boys were stroppy, The Man was stroppy, the pie still wasn’t in the oven. It was 1720 and it wasn’t a dream. ”I’ll just be five minutes and then I can get it in to cook!” I wailed. 

“I’ll take them for a walk,” said The Man.  “See if the Yacht Club’s open!” I called. “Then I can come back here and switch it off after half an hour.”  Son 2 ran for the door. “And me!”  The bar was open. The boys played with their toy golf set on the lawn. The Man had a couple of pints, I had a couple of glasses of wine. Dark grey, low clouds flew by above the river in front of us… we had a light blue patch high overhead. It was great.  A snatched al fresco playhour. We came back. The pie looked good.  The boys were too tired and wired to eat it.

1.  Fungus

2.  Fertiliser

3.  Photos

A ridiculously long, complicated day, involving a drive over to The City which meant I wasn’t home till 8pm… then a quick night night to Son 1 aged 4y 10m and Son 2 aged 23 m, who’d been kept up specially, and then zooming out again for an Office Thing. We were up daftly early though, so I did have time to read to Son 2 this morning.  He pointed at a mushroom in a picture book. “Mush mush.”  Hmmm.  I spend hours each week patiently going through piles of children’s books with Son 2. They are very heavily centred on cartoon cats and dogs, jungles and farm animals, vehicles and babies. Mushrooms don’t really come into it.  I’ve told him what they are a couple of times - on the odd occasion he’s been through the veg box before I’ve had chance to put it away. Clearly a genius. Or possibly something to do with Wonder Nanny. 

I fetched the hairbrush to brush Son 2’s hair. “Me do,”  he said firmly.  And for the poppers on his sleepsuit.  He also wants to wee in the loo. Won’t use his potty. Doesn’t want to use the booster seat.  Just wants to stand up on the plastic step and point.  I went into the bathroom to see Son 1 and Son 2, starkers, Son 2 on the step and  Son 1 beside him gently holding Son 2’s willy while he weed in the loo.  Both with beaming smiles.  Sorry, but I’m leaving that one.  I’m very happy for Son 2 to toilet train himself, and skip all the extra bits of plastic Son 1 used. I still remember having to take the Big Chair Potty to the beach under the Big Pram, because he wouldn’t go in anything else. And I can remember packing a booster seat in the suitcases to take to Portugal.   But if he wants to wee standing up he can hold his own willy. You Do. 

The Man has had some holiday pictures sent to him by the Elegant Aunt. A lovely picture of all four of us sitting on a sofa in the bar area of the holiday village, and others taken in the cafe/pool area. The Man flipped back and forth between them. “Son 2 looks different in this one.  His hair’s longer…”  “No darling, ” I said as gently as I could. “This one - ” the family shot ” - was taken last year, in May 2008. This one -  ” - Son 2 and I, on the terrace, “was taken on this year’s holiday. He’s eight months old in that one, and 20  months old in this one.”