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.  Reception

2.  Remembrance

3.  Remedies

“Thankyou Mummy for waking me up when Daddy got back.”  In the middle of the night.  Son 1 aged 4y 5m, climbing into the bed. Being sarcastic.  No memory of my carrying him down two flights of stairs for Daddy cuddles.   The Man being back is a Good Thing.  Yesterday marked 22 years of us Being Together.  One day Son 2 aged 17m will feel special because his parents were together for well over 20 years before he was born….  Two pairs of hands, so things were easier, although kick off was still 0615.   Son 1 was excited, Son 2 was happy but clingy.  Now both parents were around, he wasn’t going to get fobbed off with the Second Best one.  

We went to a Garden with a friend and her 3 year old.  There were nature trails for the children with treasure hunts, and we needed seaweed from the beach, so we trailed down the long steep woodland.  Son 2 walked a bit, was carried a bit, picked up gravel a bit.  Son 1 and 3 year old friend found sticks and fought, and looked in ponds for fish and frogs, and trampled through bamboo clumps.  Son 1 fell over and smashed his nose and forehead on the path.  The sky was blue, the sun was warm, there were few other visitors.  The big pond at the bottom of the valley was filled with foot-long rainbow trout, clamouring underneath a viewing platform, suggesting many packed lunches have headed their way.  Last time I’d stood there I was miscarrying Son 1 and a half.  The memories were vivid. Who we were with.  Son 1 aged 2y 2m in wellies, saying “I’m stuck!” when his foot was jammed between two rocks.   Holding his sticks all the way down.  The bleak, hopeless, misery.  We didn’t get onto the beach that time, so the vivid flashback vanished as we walked up and down the steps. All three boys loved the seashore.  Son 1 and his friend charged around, climbed rocks and balanced on walls.  Son 2 scrunched on the shingle and headed, time and time again, for the sea.   

Back home again and we were all exhausted.  Son 1 and I watched Madagascar.  Son 2 played “beds,” laughing, giggling, cuddling Mummy, and finally pulled out the Thomas Wooden Railway.  Son 1 joined us and we built a track and Son 2 put electric trains on it and added carriages.  He pushed the engines up the bridge and watched intently as they rolled down the other side.  At tea time I made pizza while they both went out into our miniscule yard with The Man, who was trying to put an artificial grass playsurface down across the lethal concrete.  Son 1 rushed for his toy tool set,  hammmered walls and tried to fit pieces of astroturf together.  He was in raptures, helping Daddy, playing with his tools, knowing what the job was.   Son 2 tottered about and fell over a lot.  They were both asleep in minutes of us getting them in their beds.