1.  Punch

2.  Pizzazz

3.  Yahoo

Boy oh boy.  I am still struggling to get up each morning.  When I get the boys up there is fruit for pre-breakfast snacks, to get started on their five-a-day while they’re still hungry.  I dress them.  And I sit with Son 2 aged 22m to read five books - chosen by him, of course. We are very Child Led in our house.  This will Develop His Understanding And Vocabulary. It must take place with no distractions or diversions (ie Son 1 aged 4y 10m) so Son 2 is Focused.  Sticker Books are only allowed in the morning. as they are too exciting before bed.  Trips to the window seat to watch the bin men or recycling lorry are allowed, but only if he comes straight back after.   If I stay in bed, all three of them sit in the lounge in their pyjamas and watch telly till I get up.  This morning I managed to heave myself up and Son 2 and I did our books. Then we went upstairs where Son 1 was watching Aladdin.  I was in a mad rush, but the Genie had just been let out of the lamp and I cannot resist him. We all danced.   I’m In The Mood To Help You Dude. 

I ticked off some things from the To Do list.  Booked hall for Son 1 and Son 2’s joint birthday party.  That’s a Load Off.   Mmm. That may have been Jack Nicholson, not Robin Williams.    So I now have a hall and a Party Leader.   All I need now is a bouncy castle and we’re rocking.  I flew around The Town and got presents and cards for The Man’s birthday.  And a couple of cheap DVDs from HMV for me.     I bought a birthday card for Wonder Nanny’s Other Family’s Mother, who’s having a party tomorrow that we can’t get to  because we were already booked.  I sent an email back to The Boy Who Broke My Heart, who sent me one yesterday.  Regular readers will know he had to phone me, http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2009/07/19/visitors/ in a very strange collision of our separate, parallel worlds.  We are going to have coffee next time I am in the Teeming Metropolis.  Not.  At least not until I’m the size 12 I was in 1983. 

And I got out for a run.  Unrelated to the last line of 2.  It was, AT LAST, a lovely evening. The Man had planned drinks with a work colleague, so I went out for a quick jog after the boys went to sleep. I ran through The Town, past the Different Coloured Houses Sitting By The Sea,  to Rockpool Beach.  Really lovely.  Very warm, and the tide was in, so I ran along the lower sea wall as the tips of the waves touched it.  The horizon was miles and miles away, the sea was blue and flat, the air felt crisp and clear.  Coming back I heard a cry of “Serenedays!” It was a very young colleague from The Office, freshly shaved, in a very clean, pressed shirt, on his way out to celebrate a friend’s birthday.  He thought they would all end up in the Town’s Dodgy Nightclub.  I liked The Town’s early evening atmosphere. Families out… father and sons, matching builds and faces, walking shoulder to shoulder, eating chips from paper… big dock visitors in large, overwashed black tee shirts and thick jeans, smart ladies of a certain age escorted by husbands in chinos and pastel polo shirts… lippy teenagers “Keep running!” and girls in clothes I couldn’t dream of wearing…  I’m very glad I went out.

1.  Hazard Lights

2.  Full Beam

3.  Festival of Lights

Standing in the rain under a Tennent’s Pilsner umbrella, we waved The Man off on his Business Trip.  He was being super-efficient, walking to pick up the car, and then coming back to get his bags.  Car double-parked outside, colleague waiting in the car, whizz in… “Daddy are you doing this dot-to-dot with me?”  “I haven’t got time, I’ve got to get on.”  Son 1 aged 4y 1m had brought his Big Activity Book downstairs specially.    Engine off, hazards on, colleague into the house and waiting while Son 1 and The Man joined the dots on Princess Jasmine and Aladdin.

Son 2 aged 13m was scooped up by Wonder Nanny, and Son 1 and I sherpa-d bags into the car.  Horrible weather, and the roads teeming.  Son 1wants to be Star Of The Week.  “What do you have to do to be Star Of The Week?” “Be smiley. ”  ”You’re my Star Of The Week,” I told him.  “You’ve done seven good things and the day hasn’t started.  You got dressed nicely; you were brave when Daddy went.  You cuddled Son 2 nicely; you were good when we were reading his books. You stopped watching telly when I said, you ate your breakfast and you put your coat on straightaway.”  Son 1 beamed in his car seat.

After Nursery, Son 1 wouldn’t hold my hand in case it ruined the henna tattoo on his palm.  His friend’s Mummy did it when she came in to talk about Diwali.  At the roundabout three miles from home he bellowed: “I need a poo!”  “We’ll be home in a minute, can you wait?”  “No.”  “Well don’t worry, we’ll sort you out.”  “It’s coming Mummy!”  “All right darling, Mummy will find you a loo.” “I’m going to burst!”  “There are some loos just by these traffic lights up here.”  Red.  For ten hours.  Green.  We pulled off into a quayside car park, and I scooped him up to some public loos.  Locked.  It was dark.  It was raining.  “I need a poo!”  I fetched yesterday’s Sunday Times from the car, found him a semi-secluded spot, spread it out on the tarmac, pulled down his trousers and held him while he performed.  And completely forgot that little boys doing poos tend to wee as well, so his trousers and one fancy school sock were soaked.  Back home I could only find one sock.  It is either on the quayside, or, lying, wringing wet with wee, in my car.  And because it is a fancy school sock, if it isn’t stinking my car out all night, I shall be peering around the Quay tomorrow at first light looking for it.