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.  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.  Babs In The Buck-Buck

2.  You Shall Have A Fishy

3.  Sundowners

Out to the river wall at the end of The Terrace, crabbing again.  The Man baiting two lines with bacon, Son 1 aged 4y 10m happily scooting up and down, me trying to keep Son 2 aged 23 m out of the water.   Eleven crabs.  We all caught them, including Son 2. “Bab! Bab!”  Son 2 is of course still obsessed with fish, and while crabs were ok, yearned for “Fish!  Fish!”  And he also wanted to bait the hooks. “Babon! More Babon!”  We persuaded him to feed bits of babon to the babs in the buck-bucks instead. Son 1 is going to fall in the river.  He is always right on the edge, he has no concept of the incoming tide “Son 1 you really do have to MOVE!” and he doesn’t understand that the green slimy stuff is very very slippery.   Oh well. There is one sure way of his learning…

Still on our fishy theme, we drove to the Garden Centre so Son 1 and Son 2 could have another look at the Fish Shop.  Son 1 is still keen to get a fish tank for his birthday, so we wanted him to have a good look at all the fish for sale to get an idea of what he wants.  Nemo.  Who needs warm, salt water, a tank full of difficult, expensive swaying corals and assorted sci-fi prawnie things to keep the water and the tank clean.  Main diet of prawnie things = expensive corals.   The lad behind the Fish Shop counter recommends tropical fish for a beginner. Easier than goldfish, who are too messy.  The starter tank kit was eye-wateringly expensive. “Son 2, do you want to share Son 1’s fish tank for your birthday present?”  “Yesssss.” Sorted.  They can have toys for Christmas.

They fell asleep in the car on the way back, so The Man and I drove up to the Headland for sneaky whirly whippy ice creams with chocolate flakes in.  We scoffed them guilty while they slept. Back home I went shopping with Son 2 while Son 1 and The Man watched telly.  I got tea, amid protests from Son 2, who couldn’t understand why he wasn’t allowed to wash the potatoes. Because we’re having stir fry darling.  Nanna babysat while The Man and I went out to the Hotel With The River View. We sat outside while the sky darkened and the lights across the river came on.

1.  Dealing Cards

2.  The Long Shot

3.  A Winner

So.  It was nearly 10pm by the time The Man and I got the boys to bed last night and, whacked out as we both were after heaving Son 2 aged 22m round a two-mile walking carnival, we rubbed our hands and chinked our glasses in anticipation of this morning’s lie in.  Nope.   Atomic Testing began before 7am.  The Man’s birthday, so he was allowed a Lie In, and the boys and I went downstairs to wrap the presents and write the cards. Yes I know, but I’ve been busy. Son 1 aged 4y 10m surveyed the present pile: a DVD boxed set, a DVD and three CDs. He picked the singing birthday card, the DVD boxed set and the DVD, picked the pirate wrapping paper and set about stringing sellotape round and round. It was crinkled, it was wobbly, it wouldn’t have survived the Royal Mail, but he wrapped it all himself.    Son 2 and I did three CDs, my card, his card and a singing Happy Birthday badge.  We took them all up to The Man with a cup of tea, and Son 1 unwrapped everything.  The Man was pleased with his presents, but is still planning to buy himself some essentials for The Boat. 

Son 2 was floppy, clingy, cross and impossible to please.  Son 1 aged 4y 10m wasn’t much better.  Son 2 wouldn’t be put down.  This was a Good Thing, because somewhere - probably Mumsnet - I have been reading about how babies end up with attachment disorders if they have  Distant Mothers.  Since when I have been consumed by trying to decide how clingy is Clingy Enough.   Son 1 was lying full-length on the floor, cheek on the carpet, playing sideways with his Lego.   The Man was allowed to do whatever he wanted, because it was his birthday. He wanted to go and look around DIY stores. Son 1 wanted to go to the Balloon Shop and choose balloons. I thought there was an outside chance that they would both sleep in the Pram/Buggy and then we could Do Nothing.  The Man liked the odds, so we pushed the boys into The Town. Son 2 passed out in the Big Pram, Son 1 didn’t. Back at the house, we piled them into the car and drove to the Big Town. Son 1 fell asleep, Son 2 didn’t.

We were having roast chicken for the Birthday Tea. Son 2 stood at the sink in his nappy and a Thomas The Tank Engine Apron, on a chair, cleaning potatoes with the washing up sponge, singing to himself, squeezing pools of water on the floor and pressing the buttons on the microwave.   The kitchen felt hot, and that was when I noticed I’d had the chicken roasting at Gas Mark 7 for more than an hour.  I whacked the gas down and improvised. The bird was fine, and I cut 20 minutes off the cooking time. Nanna came for tea, the boys ate well, and we popped party poppers. The boys blew out the candles on the Colin The Caterpillar smartie cake. Many times.   At bedtime we read Birthday Stories. Mr Birthday. Ziggy’s Birthday. Happy Birthday Winnie The Witch. Little Rabbit Gets Lost.  Little Rabbit’s birthday present is a trip to Rabbit World. Rabbit World has rabbit roller coasters, a rabbit pirate ship, carrot pedal boats and a rabbit rocket ship.  Son 1 studied the pictures carefully. “I wish there was a People World,” he said.

1.  Warriors

2. Rangers

3. Hunters

Son 2 aged 22m has taken to early morning screaming again.  I have been comatose this week, so The Man has sorted him. This morning was my turn.  Slightly tipsy last night, I crashed in the double bed.  Son 1aged 4y 10m joined me at 4am.  Much eyebrowing.  No sleep.  And then Son 2 started hollering. “Mummeee!”  “Mummeee!” I went in, told him to stop making that noise, put his fan on, kissed him, said night night and left.  He was apoplectic.  He yelled, he shrieked, he roared, he shouted.  We drowsed.  “MUMMEEE!!! MUMMMMEEEE!!!!!”  It stopped, eventually.  A while later it began again, equally angry.  Again, I left him. When I got him up from his cot at 8am he wouldn’t look at me.

A sponsored walk today, with some Office colleagues, in a town 30 miles away.  The sort of event that In Five Years’ Time I could take the children to. This time, I left them at home with The Man.  I set out late and found my way to the start by Sat Nav.   A colleague and I powered around, really pushing the pace. It was pretty punishing; uphill around three and half sides of a square, and then a very short, steep downwards slope towards the finish.  But, brilliant countryside, amazing views, beautiful colours,  and another vast, grey, rolling sky. The rain stayed off and sunbeams made it through several times.    We had a great time.  And then at the end, in the garden of one of the organising fundraisers,  homemade muffins and coffee.  I also got a certificate for finishing. It has been many years since I got a certificate.

I got back late in the afternoon.  The boys were having veg and hummous, a very late lunch, in front of the telly. A friend and her three-year-old came round. Son 1 pogo-d around with excitement. The big boys got the bows and arrows out. “Not in here!” I barked. “Outside!” “And me!” chirruped Son 2.  We chatted on the patio while the boys played.  “We are going to shoot wild pigs,” announced Son 1. And then: “Does anyone want to cook this wild pig?” He mimed holding something. “I’ll cook it,” I said. “Can I have an arrow?” “You don’t need an arrow. We have already shooted it.” “I was going to put the arrow through the middle to roast the pig,” I said. “Then you can have this red one,” said Son 1. “I will go and kill a giraffe. Do you know how you kill a giraffe?  You climb up very high and put a knife up its nose.”   We Need To Talk About Son 1.

1. A Helping Hand 

2.  Holding Hands

3.  A Big Hand

I helped myself to a lie in. Just couldn’t get up.  Eventually we all got going, but Son 1 aged 4y 10m was being strident and shouty, demanding and mouthy, picking on Son 2 aged 22m, not tolerating him when he buzzed his games.  Absolutely normal behaviour for a 4 year old boy, but The Man and I are Very Tired.  I took them swimming in The Hotel pool.  Son 1 was great, swimming and splashing on the noodle.  He still wanted to bomb and splash, but it was too crowded. And he had make-pretend games he wanted to play… but I had to keep Son 2 from drowning. ”We need Daddy, don’t we?” said Son 1. I think I may have to agree with him.  Son 2, smiling and eyes dancing,  will jump off the side without fear. I let him go under without catching him once, but he looked so shocked as he came up, gleaming, blinking and coughing, that I didn’t do it again.  He’s not as confident in the water as Son 1 was at his age, but then I used to take Son 1 to swimming lessons every week, and just for a play swim on Sundays. He ended the session: “Cold!  Out! Towel!”

Back home The Man had been in a cupboard and found the old plaster-casting kit we had for Son 1.    We took a beautiful cast of his hand when he was 6m, on a very giggly Sunday morning, with me holding a comatose Son 1, Nanna holding the impression bag and The Man pouring the gunk in. i would love a cast of Son 2, but he never sleeps deeply enough.  Son 1 was desperate to do his hand.   We added the water, and I squodged the bag round Son 2’s hand. “Don’t move it, DON’T MOVE IT! I screeched. And then saw the frightened look in his eyes. “It’s ok, you’re doing fine,” I calmed down.  It set, and we peeled it off.  It looked good.  It needed to dry for two hours before we could cast from it. 

Son 2 and I went upstairs to put him down for a sleep.  We snuggled into the Double Bed.  He snugged me for a bit, then wandered off over to the other side of the bed. He fell asleep.  So did I. He woke a couple of times, and wriggled back towards me. He fell back to sleep. So did I. I woke up and saw his little face peering at me. “Up!”  We went downstairs. “Mummy come and see my hand!” Son 1 pelted out of the lounge. We went down to the kitchen.  The plaster cast of his hand is perfect.  Individual fingers… a complete little four-year-old hand with no Pompeii-like cracks or broken bits. It’s lovely. “Will you keep it forever?” said Son 1. Yes I will.

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.  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.

1.  Tower

2.  Towel

3.  Trowel

I ended up in the Double Bed in Son 2 aged 21m’s room last night. With Son 2 and Son 1 aged 4y 9m. Didn’t work. Son 1 kept trying to reach across Son 2 to eyebrow me. Son 2 didn’t want him anywhere near him. Son 2 kept snaking off under the pillows, crying when he went too fast and bumped the top of his head on the wall.  Son 1 didn’t want him in the middle. In the end I put Son 2 back in the cot and passed out.   We stuck a Wiggles DVD on when they woke, but that didn’t work either.  Son 1 wanted to play with his Tower Of Doom.  I tugged it out from the corner of the room. Son 1 presented me with a dead fly he’d found on it.  We decided to clean it out.  Son 1 pelted off to get the duster.  A four year old in Bob The Builder pyjamas dusting off the battlements with a green feather tickling-stick was weirdly camp.  Son 2 earnestly rubbed with baby wipes.  Imagine. If I’d had girls there’d be a dolls house with matching pink furniture instead of a castle whose residents include a dragon with three heads and a lion with two. 

Son 1 was shrieking loud enough to peel the wallpaper off so I took both boys swimming. The only place that’ll have us is a Hotel Pool - we need more adults everywhere else - too deep for either child to stand.  Which makes it tricky. We had a good time, but Son 1 craves attention and a partner in his games, and Son 2, butch, bullish, braveheart that he is,  isn’t as confident as Son 1 was at the same age.  He can float along on his armbands but sees no reason why he should, and always sends a little fat hand out for my swimming costume.  He got tired, quickly, and pointed at his Tigger robe, draped over a handrail. “Towel. Towel.”  We span it out another 20 minutes.

After lunch we planted out our sunflower plants into big pots ready for our race. Nightmare. Son 2 took out handfuls of compost out of pots and spreading it over our astroturf. http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2008/06/11/boiling/ The Man got precious about the astroturf. “Weeds will grow in it.” Son 1 tried fending off Son 2, with predictable results.   It rained. Hard. We eventually got six pots, one each, one for Wonder Nanny and a sparee.  Son 2 looked longingly at the compost in the finished pots and went for a fistful.  I fended him off. With predictable results.  We have new pots, we have six foot 17p bamboo canes, we have our only sunny spot. We are off.

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.