1.  Terrible Teeth

2.  Terrible Claws

3.  Turned Out Toes

Moving The Cot into Son 1 aged 4y 9m’s room was kind of successful.  Son 2 aged 21m slept through and slept till 0730. Son 1 however was up in the Big Bed by about 0030. 

We went to the Rockpool Beach with the full set of Wednesday Friends. Son 1 refused his sunsuit and ran off with his Best Friend. They headed off, hundreds of yards down the beach and out over the rocks.  Best Friend’s Little Brother was playing with a Big Truck, Three Year Old Friend was playing in the sand. Son 2 aged 21m trogged down to the water’s edge.  He trogged back again and tugged at the food bag. “Food. Food.”  Four periwinkles rolled down the beach mat next to him.  He settled for  a drink “Joos. Joos” and toddled off to the rock pools again.  One Wednesday Mother went for a sea swim.  I put my costume on.  There was a howl and a scream from Best Friend.  We stood and peered.  His Mother went over. “There’s blood everywhere,” shouted Son 1.  Best Friend had fallen and bitten through his bottom lip.  Blood dripped all over his bare chest and tummy. “It’s like Dracula,” said Son 1.  HIs  Mother cleaned him up.  The imprints of his two big front teeth were clear in his fat bottom lip.

We ate lunch, the children rejecting The Man’s chicken sandwiches in favour of the smartie and jelly tot cakes I bought for tea on Monday.  A Book Club Mum arrived with her little girl. I heaved Son 1 and Son 2 over to the loo, and then took them down to the low tide-line to look for fish and crabs.  Our tally was two dead crabs, and one still alive which had only three legs. I couldn’t cope with that one and had to put it back in the sea. Son 2 carried his dead crab around proudly. “Bab. Bab.” He held out the bucket “Fish.”  We couldn’t find any fish. Best Friend, Little Brother and Mother left.  I cajoled the children back up the beach, although Son 1 still wanted to play. At the beach mat, Son 2 lay down on his back and looked at me. Son 1 curled up on the sand.  I put up the beach tent for them to play in and went for a quick swim in the sea.  Icy but fab. The water was turquoise, long seaweed fingers stroked at me as I swam out and back. I didn’t spend long in, and after I came back the others left. I put the boys in the car, drove home and they were both deeply asleep. The Man joined us for an ice cream at the Headland. The  boys woke up. Just as well I’d got them ice cream.  I cut the underside of my tongue on a sharp bit on my cone.  There were bloody red streaks all over my Whirly Whippy as I ate it. Didn’t seem very veggie.

We got them both in bed and asleep at 7.30pm. I went out for a run. I’ve changed my route - I now run through The Town and over towards the Rockpool Beach, although I can’t quite get there in the 15 min out and back I’m currently trying. I’ve bought new trainers - Nikes, after I checked out a few cheaper ones.  In the shop, the assistant offered me a Nike Chip to put in my shoe.  It will then register with my Ipod, and play fast music when I run fast and slow music when i run slow.  I said no. Too humiliating if it never chooses fast music for me.

1.  I Can See You

2.  Pub Crawl

3.  Sand Dunes

So if Margaret Thatcher got by on three hours sleep a night, why wasn’t she permanently ratty or cold-ridden.  The Big City on Tuesday, 400+ miles round trip, 15 hour day including 8 hours driving.  Round a Wednesday Friend’s house last night; the carriage returned here well after midnight.  I was in with Son 2 aged 18m.  Now the mornings are light, he can see me lying in the double bed.  It doesn’t matter how still I am, how quiet I keep. When he wakes up, I get up.

We drove over to the Sandy Beach. Played Pooh Sticks on the bridge.  Got the tent up.  Sunny, but with a bitter wind, and a cold mist rolling in and out from the sea.  Son 1 aged 4yrs 6m was not on good form.  Not enough Mummy Time apparently.  He played in the sand in his sun suit. I could see from how he was standing that he was frozen, but left it to him to tell me he wanted more clothes.  In my defence, he’d said “no” to every single thing I’d suggested all day long. He pitter-pattered off the sand towards a beachside pub.  “I’m cold. I’m going in that warm cafe.”  I got his parkha on him, and followed him, asking him to come back so he could get dressed.  An out-of-season, barely-open, dim and dark beach bar.  But.  On the plus side.  Loos.  Coffee machines. And a sign saying children mustn’t be left alone on the play equipment.  There wasn’t any play equipment.  But maybe there is in the summer. 

By late afternoon I’d managed to work out that he wanted me, me, me.  So, still carrying Son 2 who was refusing to be put down, I suggested we explored the sand dunes.  “What’s a sand dune?” “You know, like the Crocodile Hunter. ‘Rolling down the sand dunes…’”  Son 1 loved the Sand Hills.  The grass was very scratchy, but he loved climbing through the fenced wire, he loved the little tracks, he loved going up and down.  He rolled, he scrambled, he scrabbled, he climbed. He Could See For Miles.  He wanted to poke in the remnants of illegal campfires. “Please be careful!  There are lots of sharp and dangerous things in sand dunes!” On the way back he told me he’d found treasure and wanted to take it home. ”It’s Not Sharp Or Dangerous.”  It was a brilliant blue hard plastic crescent.  A decorative bead from a bag perhaps.  On the way back Son 1 thumped Son 2 so hard in the back he fell flat on his face in the sand.  And I let him off, because he said he didn’t mean to be so rough, and he didn’t realise Son 2 would fall over.  Then he went and played in the tidal stream in his new flashing trainers.  And after that, there was No Ice Cream.

1.   Shorter Nights

2.   Lovely Morning

3.   Precious Days

Son 2 aged 17m woke at 1130 last night, just after I’d gone to bed.  He screamed and I let him.  I hated it. It went on forever.  But I’ve been so tired, and I couldn’t help thinking that he had gone to sleep without a whimper for Wonder Nanny.    It was all for my benefit.  He roared.  He hollered himself hoarse.  He sobbed.  He shouted.  He woke Son 1 aged 4y 4m in the next room, who cried a bit for “Mummy” and then went back to sleep.  And then, finally, he stopped, and slept till morning.  So it was a Good Thing, especially in view of the amount of times recently either of us has slept with him.  But when I finally get some rest, I still may crack again.  Because I know he won’t Want His Mummy forever.

Blue skies, crisp winter sunshine, little or no wind. We went to a new beach.  The Town’s are sandy shingle/stoney sand.  We wanted wide expanses of golden sand.  We took: the beach bag (beach toys, sun suits, beach shoes, beach mat,) the beach tent, Son 1’s inflatable surf board, two changes of clothing, two towels, two pairs of wellies, jumpers, a massive packed lunch and the Big Pram.   Son 1 checked my packing.  Son 2 fell over and split his lip open again, for the third time. (Minor Injuries again.  They said they can’t do anything now; put Vaseline on it.)  We drove for 25 miles and the boys slept.   On arrival the car park was empty.  We loaded up the Big Pram like a sherpa’s mule and trundled over a bridge across a rushing stream.  Pooh Sticks.  We all got our sticks, we got ready for “Ready Steady Go” and Son 2 chucked his stick in.  Every time.  Basic Human Instinct.  Lean over fence, look down, get given a stick, throw it in the water.   Laugh.  

Son 2 had his lunch with Wonder Nanny, Son 1 and I climbed rocks.  He pushed my hand away, he said: “I can do it!” as I reached for him.  He slipped and said “Don’t worry Mummy” before I could hoik him up again.  He wanted to walk all round the edge of a tidal pool as the tide came in.  Next time, I said.  I wanted to help him down; he jumped without me.  Pang. Slipping Through My Fingers.   We put the Beach Tent up and had our lunch.  Son 1 decided he wanted his sun suit on so he could play in the sea.  I blew up his surf board and rolled up my trousers.  In he went.  Splashing, wading, kicking, lying down, falling off, getting soaked from chin to toe in water which was so cold it hurt my feet.   Son 2, also in his sun suit,  came for a splash with Wonder Nanny.  The boys played and played.  Son 2 started crying with cold, so back in the tent I dressed him.  Son 1 came out, also crying, also blue with teeth chattering.   We made a massive sandcastle.  Son 2 kept sitting in the moat, Son 1 did all the work patting the sides down.  We took pictures.  Son 1 kicked it flat.  17 days ago he was making snowmen.   We used everything we took, which is an extra bonus point for me.

1.  Back to The Beach

2. Back in The Sea

3. Back to Nature

Flat water, boats pointing upriver, a little hazy mist with a sunshape seeping through. = The Boat.   We rang the friends with the 2.75 year old.  The Beach by the Lighthouse again. According to Little Friend’s Mum, this is called Conception Cove.  More to do with late-teen sex with rich girls arriving in Daddys’ borrowed power boats than anything mystical and fertility-related.  There were one or two boats there when we got there… and 16 when we left.  Sailboats and motor cruisers, fishing tubs like ours,  little plastic speedboats and big clanking yachts.  Son 2 aged 1 just wanted to get stuck into the sand.  Son 1 aged 4 and Little Friend fought with toy swords, explored, beat back the waves with seaweed sticks and ran round the beach tent when I said “Don’t go near that, I don’t want sand in my beer or in Son 2’s lunch.”  The Man lit the barbie.  I clunked into my usual routine of Son 2 maintenance.  Food.  Nappy. Sunsuit, suntan lotion.  Then attempting to get him to sleep.  He was hollering with fatigue.   I walked him and down the beach until he stopped crying.  I lay down in the tent with him and he started again. The friends took the big boys to play football further down the beach.  And Son 2 passed out.

I had lunch, and then Son 2 woke up again. I went back in the tent to try to get him to go back to sleep.  Son 1 came in.  Son 2 smiled at him and the battle was lost.  I gave him to The Man and went for a swim.  Sea cold, but not as bad as Tuesday.  And harder to swim too, because of the dinghy/kayak/rowboat activity.  Launches speeding in, speedboats anchoring, tenders leaving and arriving from everywhere.  I kept close to the rocks, figuring they’d all stay away, and swam out past the spur so I could see The Castle and the Big Yachts racing in the distance.  The sea was flat as a pool, and warm and turquoise.    With belches of diesel every now and again.    I don’t know if I want that wetsuit, I thought, this is great. But I need the sea goggles and the snorkel and the mask.  And swimming lessons so I can do crawl at sea.  I stayed in about twenty minutes, and then went back because I thought I should be playing with the children.  Son 1 was being buried by Little Friend.  He had LF’s mother’s shirt over his head.  “Where’s Son 1?” I asked. “We don’t know,” said LF’s mother.  Son 1 emerged. “Go for another swim Mummy, so we can play that again.”

We played Vanishing Boys with the tent.  Two boys in the tent. We zip up the front and say Abracadabra.  We unzip the front and the tent is empty.  And there are giggles and squeals from behind the tent, and sometimes little feet and toes still poking out the back zip.  We packed up and went for chug up one of the tributaries.  Heavenly.  Vivid, vibrant greens on the riverbanks, deep black greens in the water.  Sleek cormorants swimming and diving.  Son 2 wouldn’t sleep.  Son 1 and Little Friend ate any food going.  We had coffee, made on The Boat stove.  In a tree on the bank were eight or nine egrets, big bright white splodges against the green, perched near a heron, convenient for scale.  They flew away in a little flock.  When I came here seventeen years ago, I thought seeing a little egret was good luck, a sign I’d have a good day. Much later I realised they’re breeding here now because the planet is dying. Oops. Slight misreading of Mother Nature’s signals.

1. Boys

2. The Tent

3. Against the law

Beach.  Didn’t get there till 11, by which time one friend has been and gone - behaviour of eldest “If you don’t stop doing that we’re going.”  Friend and friend of friend are there. Four boys between them, one of whom is a friend of Son 1’s from nursery.  Next to them is a nanny I know vaguely.  Two boys in her charge.  This nanny tells me Wonder Nanny is on her way with her M/W/F boy. Then another friend of friend arrives, 2 boys in tow, one a baby younger than Son 2 aged 10m.  So between us we have 11 boys, the eldest of which is 3.   

Son 1 aged 3 y 10m begged me to take the new beach tent.   Nanna’s has been left on The Boat for use by landing parties.  As we had so many people around… as Son 1 was off rock-pooling with an unsupervised posse of 5 little friends , as Son 2 was watered, fed, factored up and twinking at Wonder Nanny, I thought I would have a go at the tent.  Find out how it works with the children miles away so there could be no tent peg pinching or toddler antics.  I did it.  But I must have been spied from a long way off  because I turned away, turned back, and there were 6 small boys in it, doing up zips, undoing zips and laughing.  There was so much action and horseplay coming from within that Son 2 wanted to go in. He sat on me, smiling at the big boys, with one little friend kissing him, and the nursery friend telling me that he knows Son 2, and a queue forming to tickle him.  Eventually he got so tired we needed to go.  Which is when I found out that taking a tent down in the presence of 6 cackling little boys is just as hard as putting it up.

Back home there was nowhere to park.  “Mummy, you remember when I hurt my knee?”  Son 1 does not like parking a long way from the house.  He’s always exhausted when we return from our expeditions, and once he did indeed stumble on tired legs and cut his knee open on the concrete.  I told him I’d drive around till one became free.  Nothing happened.  I offered him the choice of going to bed while I drove off with Son 2, or coming with us and walking back.  To make sure he understood, as I carried him in I said “Now you know if you choose to stay in your bed that Mummy will go down the road with the car to find somewhere to park, and then push Son 2 back in the pram.  So you will be on your own in the house, but just for a little while.” “That’s against the law,” he yawned.  Yeah thanks.  And if you examine the Working Time Directive while you’re at it you’ll find that you’ve pushed Mummy into outlaw country there as well.