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.  Ghost Busting

2.  Crowd Spotting

3.  Crab Grabbing

I’m keen to watch Wall-E, which had fab reviews. Son 1 aged 4y 10m and Son 2 aged 23m have had it a week now. They’ve seen it, The Man’s seen it, Nanna’s seen it.  This morning I sat down to watch it with the boys. Son 2 stuck it for about half an hour and then started drifting about. He posted coloured craft lolly sticks and crayons through the hole in the side of Son 1’s bass drum.  He spread small Playmobil pirate pieces all over the floor. He climbed the sofa, the Man’s chair and my chair. To the top, scaling the summit of the seat backs.  “All right,” I said “I’ll get going and have my shower.”  Son 1 tried to persuade me to stay. “You haven’t seen the ghosts yet.” “I can watch them next time.” “Do you know what you need if you see a ghost?  A magnet. Did you know that?” “No, I didn’t know that.”  Son 1 nodded. “And it has to be a strong one.”  I can only assume this is something to do with Scooby Doo.

We took the boys out. To the library to change their books, and then down to a cafe to give them chips for lunch. We picked up Glamorous Young Friend, who we’ve not seen for a while.  She’d been in The Town working on her fancy dress outfit for the Festival finale. We sat outside at the front of the cafe so we could people spot. We usually sit in a great big area at the back, usually empty, where small children have no impact on other people. The change was enough to send Son 1spiralling off into orbit. He was awful. He knew the cafe, he knew where he sat.  “Oh come on Son 1, sit here, watch the people and let’s see who’s the first to see someone we know.” It was me. Thank God our friends and his little 3 year old friend headed past. They joined us. “Rude not to,” said the Dad. Little 3 year old is so delighted because Son 2 says his name. 

We bought crabbing lines at the Discount Store, and went down to the riverside at the end of The Terrace.  We’ve had various comedy fishing trips on The Boat: “Omelette again, Mother,” and we’ve had the odd successful crabbing session on assorted quays and jetties up and down the river.  This afternoon though it was like we’d Cast Our Nets On The Other Side. The crabs almost jumped out of the water into our buckets.  Little 3 year old’s Mum was the champ - she caught a whopper.  Which did in fact jump out of our bucket into the water.  Son 1 was leaping around with excitement, barking orders, spotting crabs, tugging at lines. Little 3 year old was casting bacon with a fishing rod. Son 2 was sliding around on the slippery green river wall trying to be Big. I caught a few tiny shrimp with him and put them in a bucket so he could look at fish. The Man caught a couple of huge shrimp, which he put in our bucket. I’m pretty sure his shrimp ate our shrimps. It’s a crab-eat-crab world.  It was brilliant, but Son 2 was very hard to handle.  He wanted to lean into the water, he wanted to grab the bait hooks, he skidded and stumbled on sea weed and limpets, he wanted to carry the buckets. He wanted to catch something himself.  With a score of well over 15 crabs, not including our escapee, and two shrimps I declared for tea.  “Can we go fishing again tomorrow?” asked Son 1, as I got tea ready. I said we could. “Can we got straight after breakfast?” I said we could. I have a feeling tomorrow’s may turn into our earliest family breakfast since December 25.

1.  Pampering

2.  Partying

3.  Parading

Son 2 aged 22m lies on his nappy mat, stinking.  I clear him up.  “Wipe,” he commands.  I can’t let him have one until he is Clean. Otherwise he will start wiping himself.  I give his nose a kiss. He pulls me down towards him. I rub noses back and forth, telling him “Eskimoses Rub Their Noses.” He hoots with laughter. “Again. Again. Again. “ 

We went to a Summer Party, at the home of some friends in The Country.   Parking in their field, a massive Bouncy Castle, and another newly-mown field for the children to play on, including a goal with loads of footballs, a water slide, a playhouse and a rocket launcher.   The friend, someone I worked with years ago, carried her six-month-old around. Gorgeous. And about the size of Son 2. I do hope he’s out of the 9 - 12 month clothing before he’s two. The Man was hungover, and felt better after many burgers and sausages.  Son 1 aged 4 y 10m ate one sausage and a piece of lettuce. Son 2 said “Cake!  Cake!” Father Jack-like. Son 1 sped in, along and up the Bouncy Castle a zillion times. Son 2 made it on his own.  Although when he got to the top of the climbing wall, he sat, waiting for me to climb through and up to help him.  I made it, several times, but was inelegant scrabbling down in my black linen frock. It took me back to the days when I slid down marquee roofs wearing fancy dress…

We came home, I dashed into town shopping, taking Son 2 with me, hoping he’d have a snooze in The Big Pram. Nope.  Then we were in The Carnival.  A friend gave us a lift, his partner had made the costumers. Marlin for Son 1, Dory for her son and Nemo for Son 2. We joined our partners in the parade, secondary schoolchildren also in costume, hauling a huge whale on a boat trailer.  We watched and waited while Vikings, Pirates, penguins, fairies and cyclists gathered.  The Town Band had dressed up like the Welsh Guards in Rourke’s Drift.  We set off. Son 2 refused to walk, but just stood, peering and everyone and everything.  We walked down a steep hill towards The Town.  I was worried our whale was going to break loose, ten-pin bowl its way through the carnival procession and leap over the buildings at the bottom and into the sea like Free Willy. Son 1 held hands with his 3 year old friend all the way round, and collected a fortune in their buckets for looking cute.    Ye Olde Sweetshoppe was open, so I bought 2 Childcatcher lollipops for the boys at the end. They all crunched up. Son 2 had green food colouring all round his mouth. High as kites and off their heads with tiredness and sugar, they zinged around. 

When we got home, I showed Son 2 his reflection in the hall mirror. “Who’s that?” I asked. “Son 2!” he said.  The little lamb can say his name. Sigh.

1.  Them

2.  Vertigo

3.  True Grit

It was Early.  “Mummmeee.  Mummmmeee.”  Son 2 aged 22m. Standing in his cot.  “Boo.” He stunk. Son 1 aged 4y 10m slid out of bed as I picked up Son 2, and followed us into the Double Bedroom.  I lay Son 2 down on the Double Bed and got in. ”That gap is just the right size for me,” pronounced Son 1, squeezing himself between me and Son 2. They buzzed me like gnats.  I took Son 2 out of his sleeping bag; he wriggled off the bed and wandered off. He came back.  Son 1 went to get some toys.  He came back. The Man snored upstairs in The Big Bed. I tried sending them to see him. They came back. I went to the loo. They followed me.  I got up, and changed Son 2’s nappy.    

We are trying to make our five-level, up a cliff, concreted back garden a bit more child-friendly.  It’s lethal at the moment, blessed as we are with the vigorous, fearless and clueless climber that is Son 2. We have a patio table separated from a 20 foot drop onto a concrete yard by a rickety fence. We have flight upon flight of open concrete steps. We have loose flagging. We have rotten trellises. We have gravel, we have crumbling terrace walls. Low maintenance and perfect for the hugely-busy, child-free mostly-out couple we were when we moved here.  The Man pulled out weeds and woody clematis; I tried to keep the boys safe. Every time The Man put the secateurs down, they had them. I tried to clear the debris away from the concrete steps to make them safer; the boys followed me and tried to help.  Left to their own devices they made a snail fizz by banging on its shell with their trowels.     We marched them into the Town.

We went to a children’s craft session at The Art Gallery.  Our Neighbour The Dancer from down the Terrace greeted us. She is a volunteer, we discovered. And an artist. Two of her decorated fairground-style horses had prime exhibition space. The boys made felt hoodies. Cut out, stick on, pipe cleaners, animal prints, stickers.  Son 2 and I made a pig, but he wouldn’t wear it. Son 1 wouldn’t let me suggest what his was. It was like Boo’s monster costume in Monsters Inc. “Hers is purple,” said Son 1. His was blue. Back home we had tea on the patio. Sausage, potatoes and peas.  Further up the cliff, houses back on to us.  There is a bungalow where an ancient man used to live. When he died about five years ago it became a squat.  As we ate, the sound of loud drumming blasted across the air. “When are you going to stop?” shouted Son 1. “We are having our tea outside!  My Mummy is sitting down and having five minutes peace!  This is too loud!”  The Man and I sipped our Sauvignon Blanc.  We made a half-hearted effort to shush him. Next door but one got his lawn mower out underneath them. “When are you going to stop!”  bellowed Son 1. The drumming stopped.

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.

1.  Red Flag

2.  White Flag

3.  Chequered Flag

We finished washing up at 0130 last night. Both The Man and I must have drunk about a bottle of wine each over the course of the evening.  In our Youth that would have been a warm up.  This is not our Youth.  Fortysomething, hungover, sleep-deprived and with two under-five boys on a wet Saturday.  It was a slow, difficult day.  Son 1 aged 4y 9m and Son 2 aged 22m woke up in the same room for the first time. “Mummmeeee!”  and then, from Son 1 “Boo.”  It was 0630. I scooped them up, put them in the Big Bed and put CBeebies on. They lasted till 7. “Can we have some food?” asked Son 1.  Downstairs we went.  They cruised on fruit and breadsticks, and then didn’t want breakfast. Fine, I thought, I’d do lunch early if necessary.  1030. They wanted breakfast. 

We rounded up library books and headed out with the Big Pram and the Buggy.  Son 1 insisted on going in the Big Pram. Son 2 wouldn’t go in the Buggy. “Walk. Walk.” We went to the library and changed the books.  To the bookshop, to buy a pirate book for Son 1.  Who woke up screaming last night and had to be carried down to see the guests. “I was completely scared of the people I didn’t know.” Then to the fishmonger for salmon for tea. Son 2 slept. Son 1 didn’t.   It rained and rained.

When we got back we all piled upstairs on the Big Bed. We had The Cat In The Hat on the DVD. The Man on one side, me on the other, the boys inbetween. The Man and I were both trying to snooze. Son 1 was bashing seven bells out of Son 2. Son 1, over-tired and off the impulse-control scale, couldn’t be quiet, sit still, stop pestering Son 2, or obey any of the other commands I barked at him.   Nanna came round and gave them their Adult Attention Fix while The Man and I got tea.    We love our boys, but bedtime was a blessed relief.

1.  Clearing Off

2.  Cleaning Out

3.  Cheering Up

The First Day Of The Holidays,  Man took the boys to the Yacht Club last night. Give them a run around on the lawn, exhaust them and then we would get a lie in this morning, hooray.  Lie in my a***.  Son 1 aged 4y 9m was up and in the middle of the double bed before 6am. Eyebrowing madly http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2009/06/10/a-quiet-time-with-my-eyebrow/. I was grumpy. I’d worked late, was whacked out and wanted to sleep. He wanted to get up. An exhausting day loomed ahead, with fatigue bringing out the worst in us both… me fractious, him fizzing.  The Man took him downstairs to put the telly on.

The Parking Fairy gave me a space outside the house last night. So The Man decided to clean out my car.  My car is a source of deep shame.  It is so cruddy… sand, feathers, sticks, mud, smoothies on the upholstery, sundry berries, sweet wrappings, pieces of fruit peel, broken toys from party bags, more sand, more mud, dust, grime, smear, stains and crumbs. And most of the outside is covered in seagull poo, kiln-fired solid by the scorching heatwave.  Son 1 was keen to help, and so soon The Man had Henry the vacuum cleaner, and Son 1 had the upholstery wipes. And very industrious they both were. Then Son 2 aged 21m spotted them. “And me!  And me!”  I put him in the driver’s seat, knowing he couldn’t escape from there with me in the front and Son 1 in the back. The Man cleaned the boot.  I used glass wipes on the windows. Son 2 effortlessly commando-crawled into the back. He got the upholstery wipes and, concentrating very hard, cleaned the windows with them.  He liked the soapy smears.  Son 1 rubbed at smoothie stains.  I  did the windscreen. The wipes came up black as if I smoked.  Son 2 rubbed and rubbed. And then pulled all the wipes out of the packet. Son 1 said he wanted a drink and went back into the house. “Food!” said Son 2. Inside, I realised it was 1230. They have lunch at 12. Son 1 had pulled a chair up to the fridge and had removed a haul of two Petit Filous and two Frubes.

Neither of them would eat their lunch. I was fractious. “You eat at Nursery, and you eat for Wonder Nanny, so why don’t you eat for me?” I stomped. “You give us too much,” said Son 1.  He was right. But I didn’t let on, and went off in a sulk. The Man and I decided to go for a drive to get them to sleep and have some peace. It sort of worked.  We drove to the Beach Cafe and bought takeaway coffees, and then drove up to the Headland to drink them. Son 2’s eyes snapped open, and he stared at the boy in the next car who was eating an ice cream.  The man in the driving seat was leaning back, eyes closed, mouth open.  The woman next to him was reading. Comrades-in-parenting. And also knackered.

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.  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.  Pets

2.  Peace

3.  Perfection

Son 2 aged 21 month’s head bump looked pretty grim this morning, and I am glad I bothered to heave him into Casualty last night. He seemed fine, but tired.  We went to a Garden Centre.  Younger Sister bought the boys sunflower seed kits, and we have to pot the seedlings on, so we were looking for pots. The Garden Centre  has tropical fish, garden fish, gerbils, hamsters, chinchillas, parrots, canaries and rabbits.  Son 1 aged 4y 8m has decided that he wants a fish for his birthday. He is very excited by the idea. I have said it will help him get ready for having a dog, which he is not allowed till he is 6.  At the Garden Centre, we met the mother of a friend from Nursery.  Who has 5 dogs.  I quickly established that Nursery Friend has an older sister.     

The boys fell asleep in the car on the way back, the The Man and I drove to a beach and had coffees from a cafe. It really is such a rare treat to get them both asleep together in the daytime.  I put some litter in a bin; they woke up. We bought them chips for lunch. Unfortunately it wasn’t lunchtime, it was nearly 3pm when Nanna was coming round. We got back to see her, A Grand Old Age, sitting on the windowsill in the rain waiting for us.  Er… see http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2009/02/18/the-cuteness-of-piglets/  We made special fried rice for tea. I had a new Le Crueset serving dish for my birthday.  I put the rice in the dish on the centre of the table, place mats laid all round, serving spoons and plates in position.  Son 2 bruised down. “Tea,” he demanded. “Tea. Tea. Tea.” He climbed up on the chair, stood on it, reached over, served himself a great plateful and ate it with his fists.  He’d eaten half a plate before Son 1 came down.  I sat in the highchair and had mine.

Nanna babysat while The Man and I went down the road to the Hotel With The River View. Thank heaven for smokers, and improved outside facilities.  The Hotel WTRV now has a terrace. Plastic plants, and seagulls eating fag butts, but it was sunny, the water was flat and the longest day approaches.  We had a great time.