1.  Dough

2.  Bread

3.  Darkness and Hail

They wanted to play with the Playdoh, and like a fool I let them.  Son 2 aged 2y 1m plays with it during the week, under Wonder Nanny’s gentle supervision.  Son 1 aged 5y 1m plays with it at school, charming teachers and Tea Club Helpers with the delight he takes in it.  Together, on the little yellow table, they were murderous.  If Son 1 rolled, Son 2 wanted the roller.  If Son 2 squodged, it was the blob Son 1 was going to use. There was snatching and scrapping and shrieking.  And finally there was a lump of blue, trod into the bottom of Son 2’s shoes… and then into the stairs, and the hall carpet, and the lino.  While we were away, the carpet cleaner came and did the lounge, which was looking a bit Jackson Pollock.  ”If one bit of Playdoh gets on the carpet upstairs, I’m throwing it all out,” I said.  We went shopping. “Is it pocket money day?” said Son 1, as I counted out coins in the fishmonger’s. I gave him a £2 coin. We had to go to the toyshop. The only thing he wanted for £2 was a Playdoh toy.  And like a fool, I let him.

We met the Vicar in M and S.  We were trying to control a tantrumming Son 2… he was wandering round with a basket, peering at the ready meals. “Is it your turn to cook?” I asked.   No. The Vicar’s Wife is going on a trip, helping one of their sons move to a town many hundreds of miles away.  “But The Church is full of great cooks,” I said. “Can’t you just work it into a conversation so that someone will arrive carrying a casserole?” “I haven’t told anyone she’s going,” he said. “I don’t like to impose.”  That’s why I like the Vicar.  One of the most imposed-upon people I have ever met… whose flock includes scores of ladies of a certain generation who would rain pies upon him if he asked… but he doesn’t like to impose. He headed off to the check out with a bottle of wine on top of his shopping, so I liked him even more.   I simply don’t have enough life to cook for The Vicar.  But I know someone who might.   I think I’ll mention it…

Son 2 finally fell asleep in The Big Pram; Son 1 and I went to change the library books; The Man strode off home with the shopping.  Son 2 woke up just as we were leaving the library, and picked up his tantrum where he left off. ”I wan’  ge’ ou’!”  “No. It takes too long to get you back in.”  I pushed him up the hill, Son 1 trailing behind us looking at his Playdoh toy.  I suddenly noticed the sky, very, very low, and very, very dark. “Son 1! Will you please hurry! There’s an enormous black cloud up there and I want to get us home now!”  He walked slowly on.  “Son 1, MOVE! That big black cloud is just about to dump everything it has on our heads.” He got the message, but he couldn’t move fast enough.  It started to rain, so I swept him under the handle of the Big Pram onto his nappy bag seat, and pushed them both up the hill so fast my heartbeat pounded in my ears.  We were 300 yards from home when the hail started machine-gunning down on us, hammering onto the road so hard it bounced back hip high.  Son 1 and Son 2 screamed.  The Big Pram is a Big Pram because it’s a three-wheeled, heavy-axled, jogging buggy, bought in the days when I thought I would still run 30 miles a week. Son 1 and I went running with it seven whole times, but Son 2’s reflux meant we never tried.  Until today.  I RAN.  It still does its stuff. We crammed ourselves into the porch, soaking.  “I wet,” said Son 2. “Big back cowd.”  It stopped his tantrum.  But I can’t quite work out if it means I’m supposed to cook something for The Vicar.

1.  What Do You See, You People Gazing At Me?

2.  Scrumptious As The Breeze Across The Bay

3.  Marshmallow Mouthfuls

Son 1 aged 5 and I got to School on time, after another disturbed night and, subsequently, a bit of a sleep in.  Back home, Son 2 watched Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. It is slowly dawning on me that he thinks I’m in it.  He has, throughout his obsession, sat watching it, saying: “Mummy,” and putting his face against the screen.  Now.  If I were a lot thinner, if my hair were longer and natural instead of short bottle blonde, if I wore hats and sashes… there is a certain pointyness to my nose, the way I know all the songs, and the lashings and lashings of mascara…. I am Truly Scrumptious.   

A text from a Wednesday Mum. The Beach By The Garden. 10am. Son 2 aged 2y 1m and I can’t get anywhere by 10am on a Wednesday morning.  Son 1 aged 2y 1m had a 0930 swimming class at the Town Pool, and I was out striding the mile and a half over there at 0845 every week.  Just can’t do it any more. Son 2 and I got there at 1045.  Two Wednesday Mums, two three year olds, and our old friend from Breastfeeding Group and her second, now a year old.    One Wednesday Mum has just run a half marathon. Pang.  I dug a sandcastle, I went down to the water to bring back bucket after bucket of water.  Son 2 made himself a little bed out of his towel, my towel and a pram blanket.  I read a comic to a three-year-old. Son 2 got up to listen.  One Wednesday Mum left. ”I wan’ a wee wee,” said Son 2. “Do it in your nappy, darling,” said She Who Doesn’t Want To Toilet Train Till We’re Back From Holiday. ”No. I wan’ go on toy toy.” “Come on then.” Off we went to the loo. I changed into my swimsuit while I was there. Son 2 played, and I went for a swim in the sea.  In October. Hooray. I thought the water was flat until two successive waves smacked me in the face, filling my mouth with saltwater. It was cold, but it was great.  I came out. ”I can’t go in,” said the running Wednesday Mum. “I just can’t do cold.”  I wasn’t that cold. This is the difference between someone with no spare flesh, and someone who has built-in layers of goose fat to keep her warm.

Son 2 fell asleep in the Big Pram, so The Man and a work colleague came out for lunchtime burgers.  Son 2 of course woke up, furious.  He was tired and hungry and loud. No. No. No. No. No. No. He wouldn’t let me take him out of the Pram, he wouldn’t be cuddled, he wouldn’t eat…it took about 15 minutes to get him back to us. Then he sat demurely eating his chips.  When we had coffee, he wanted hot chocolate. I took him to the counter. “Tell the lady what you want.” “Hot Choc Choc. Peez.” He has ordered his first drink.

1.  Resistance

2.  Inertia

3.  Flow

On days like today I need a Positive Blog. We are, all four of us, knackered.  Son 1 aged 5 goes deaf when he’s tired.  My voice gets louder and I repeat myself, repeat myself.  Son 2 aged 2 grizzles and clings.  The Man lists faults. Out loud. We are worried about Son 2’s Godmother, who is on a drip in hospital with a kidney infection. And Granny is coming to stay for nearly a week tomorrow, so there has been some mad tidying, and a rather ill-timed attempt to Improve Your Children’s Table Manners In 24 Hours.  However. Digging deep in the day…  Son 2 wanted to lie down in Son 1’s bed. With Mummy.  He pulled the cover over his head, pressed his soft little face close to mine, and dozed off with snuffly little snores.  He had about 20 minutes’ sleep before Son 1 woke him by throwing toys around.

I got the boys’ hair cut.  After lunch, piled Son 2 into the Big Pram, ignored Son 1’s attempts to get in it, and strode off for The Town.  Son 1 whined every step of the way. He wanted to ride on the Pram. At the bottom of the hill I gave in. He stands on the axle and holds on to the handle, in a sort of makeshift buggy board stance.  I take the weight on my back and arms, and tell myself I’m burning calories.  This time he has perfected his technique.  He rested his bottom on the nappy bag so he had a seat. At the hairdressers’, Son 1 just stared, exhausted, in the mirror and didn’t bother answering any questions. He could barely keep his head upright for her. Son 2 was Perfect Child, sitting in a car in the window watching The Wiggles on their DVD.  People passing pointed and smiled. I hope because my child is so beautiful, and not because they were saying “Why doesn’t that mother just cut it herself?”  They both look great.  Son 1 misbehaved all the way back.

While we were out, The Man changed some of the water in the Fish Tank, so it looks better.  We switched on the skull and treasure chest bubbles, and Flossy and Coupon seemed to play quite happily.   We had a Fishkeeping For Beginners moment earlier.  I asked The Man to turn up the heater because the water seemed to be getting cooler - it’s meant to be 25C, and was barely 20C.  He kept turning it up. Nothing happened. And then… we… er… realised the heater wasn’t on. The water was at room temperature and was getting cooler because it’s getting cooler.  Still.  It doesn’t seem to have bothered Flossy and Coupon, who after 10 days with us are still alive and seem to be having a good time. Excellent. That means 1 in 3 members of our family has in fact enjoyed today.  I knew this Blog was a Good Thing.

1.  Spellbound

2.  The Evil Queen

3.  New Lamps For Old

And again, I couldn’t get them up.  I have decided to Be Positive and Not Take This Personally.  It is getting darker in the mornings. That is why Son 1 aged 5 and Son 2 aged 2 are struggling in the mornings. Still, it gave me time to tumble dry Son 1’s school shorts. Which he sprayed yoghurt on in the car on the way home yesterday. Bloody Frubes again. So. I was Mrs Perfect Housewife and had them cleaned, dried and ready to be worn when I finally tow-trucked him out of bed this morning. He tipped milk down them when he was having his breakfast.   

Mrs Perfect Housewife turned into Mother From Hell this afternoon.  I picked up Son 1, who was leaping and laughing because we were going to the Joke Shop in The Town to see if they have a magic kit.  A reward for coming home with Heavenly Photos.  Son 1 wants a magic wand.  I agreed, thinking he wanted one of the ones he sees at parties - rigid in the hands of the magician, floppy when the children hold it.  Since saying ‘yes’ it has slowly dawned on me that he thinks a magic wand is… er.. magic. Anyway. Outside The House. Heading for The Town.  “I want to ride in the Pram.” “Darling you’re five, you’re too big. And anyway, Son 2’s in the Pram.” “Wark.”  “No, you go in the Pram, then we can get to the shop before it closes.”  “Wark.”  “Oh all right, but you’ll have to wear your reins. And walk, Son 2, no, don’t stop to look at a feather. If you want to walk, then walk. Son 1, I cannot manage you in the Pram and Son 2 on the reins. Son 2 will you walk! Put the stone down!  If you don’t walk you’re getting in the Pram…”  So.  I stuffed Son 2 in the Big Pram “Wark! Wark!” He cried and  corkscrewed and twisted himself out. Everytime he got out, Son 1 got in. I put Son 2 back in. He screeched so loudly people on the other side of the street stopped talking to look over.  And so I marched us all home, with Son 1 crying and begging to be allowed to go to the Joke Shop. At home I stripped Son 2, put him in his sleeping bag (to stop him climbing) pulled the blinds down and shoved him in the cot. Gave Son 1 a vast chocolate bar to stop him crying and poured a large glass of white wine. 

Son 2 and I are also developing a battle of the wills over toilet training. He wants to give it a go. I have just bought 132 nappies in two big boxes. “Wee wee!” “Oh, do it in your nappy.”  “Want loo. Want pot pot.”  He did another poo in the loo this evening.  I wanted to lie on the bed reading books to him. He wanted to get up and wee in the potty every five minutes. I have run out of chocolate buttons. Which should slow the little beggar down a bit.  I got them to bed and then sorted out the recycling.  Two birthday teas, two birthdays and a huge party have passed since the last collection. We have generated mountains of cardboard, paper and bottles.  I have positioned our pile far down The Terrace. To make it easier for the recycling men to load it on the lorry, of course.

1.  A Happy Child

2.  A Blushing Bride

3.  A Respectable Mother

So. A while back, I told Son 1 aged 5 that going to school on your birthday means a party before, a birthday tea on the day, and a Treat the weekend after. He wanted to know what the Treat would be.  Going to the Willy Wonka Sweet Shop and choosing whatever you like. So after breakfast we stepped out, Son 2 aged 2 in the Big Pram, and Son 1 walking.  Son 1 didn’t want to walk.  He wanted Son 2 out of the Big Pram.  I have lurked long and shamefacedly on the parenting threads and established that no-one else is still pushing their schoolage child around in a Pram he outgrew two years ago. When He Is Five, I told myself, we will stop. So. Son 2 stayed in the pram. And Son 1 rode all the way through The Town on the axle of the Pram, holding on to the handles like crutches.  The Sweet Shop was brilliant. Chocolates and lollies and chews and fudges and jelly beans and picknmix and toffee and Everything.  I bought them both a 10p lolly to suck while they peered, pop-eyed, at it all.  Son 1 chose a big colourful Childcatcher lolly, so Son 2 had to have the same. And they chose a walking stick full of jelly beans for later. 

We were going to a Young Friend’s wedding. Late lunchtime kick off. The boys wouldn’t eat their lunch because they were full of lolly, so I took a packed lunch for the church. I put them in the purple velvet waistcoats I bought them for Son 2’s christening. Son 2 was christened when he was 8 months old.  His waistcoat did look a little strained across the tummy, but otherwise it did ok.  A 2 year old in 6m - 12m clothing. He really is small. I wonder if I should get him looked at. The vicar was grumpy, and stumbled all over the Dearly Beloved bit. No photos. No confetti here, there or there. No videos. And there’ll be a collecting plate at the back for you to pay to restore our historical but crumbling church. Son 2 dropped a mango smoothie all over the historical floorboards.  The bride was radiant, with a sunbeam smile which almost cheered the vicar up. Her parents cried throughout.  ”Chitty Bang Bang” said Son 2 during the ceremony. “Big Poo,” he said during the signing of the register. Outside they loved throwing confetti, and with other children, picked it up and threw it over each other after the bride and groom had moved on. It was a grey afternoon, but a great shaft of sunlight broke through the clouds as they got into their open-top wedding car to drive away.

Nanna babysat Son 2 while The Man and I took Son 1 to the Evening Do. The plan was that we would let him be grown up, and then leave early. We pushed him across The Town in The Big Pram - whoops, there went my good intentions - with him talking about Kung Fu Panda all the way.  He was delighted to find there were cameras on every table… although as a child of the digital age it was news to him that you have to wind film on.  He danced a bit in my arms, but he was incredibly tired.  I’d brought a pillow and a blanket, and he made himself a little bed behind a row of chairs and off he went to sleep. We stayed till midnight, decanted him back into the Big Pram and pushed him back home through The Town. A drunken reveller cat-called something like: “Take that child home! Call yourself a respectable mother?”  Clearly referring to the five-year-old in the pushchair. Can’t have meant anything else, can they?

1.  Mr Bump

2.  Mr Clever

3.  Bash A Fish

The Man took Son 1 aged 5 to school, so Son 2 aged 2 and I could bond at home.  He chose the activity. Sitting on my knee while he watched The Wiggles.  At the party, a Mum-Of-Three kindly donated 3 Wiggles DVDs which hers have outgrown.  Another friend gave him a “Mister Bump” sweatshirt, which I put him in today, thinking it was hilarious.   I went upstairs to do my hair and make up. I went downstairs to put on washing, clean up and get our packed lunch ready. ”Mummeee!  It’s Bished (Finished)!” called Son 2’s distant voice. “Ok!” I called back. Bump-Thump-Crash-Waaaaaaah.  Down the stairs again.  I couldn’t see him, but I know what happened. He thought I was upstairs and was heading on up… he heard my voice from downstairs… swung round and splat.  Never happens with Wonder Nanny. Always happens with me.

I pushed him over to the Rockpool Beach to see the Wednesday Friends. Another Mum from breastfeeding group five years ago was also there.  Two little Wednesday brothers, who’d both been at the Birthday Tea yesterday, were knackered. One cuddled his Mum and slept… the other played and sat.  They were in rainsuits and fleeces.  Son 2, within seconds of arriving, demanded to play in the water. I put him in his neoprene swimsuit, with his sunsuit over the top. He’ll freeze soon, I thought, and then he’ll sit with everyone, so I’ll play with him for a bit first.  Clutching the fishing net I’d transported upright on the Big Pram, he led me to the rockpools.  They were all full of shrimps.  Poor old Son 1 and I have been to that beach time after time. He loves catching shrimp. And we really had very little luck.  It’s one of the reasons we moved onto crabbing. And yet, just after high tide, there they all were, darting around in every one.  It was great. It probably means another polar bear somewhere with no ice cap to live on, but it was great. We caught three before Son 2 demanded we look for crabs. Which we couldn’t find.  He didn’t get cold. He didn’t sleep.  

We walked back via The Square. I had a coffee and got Son 2 a hot chocolate.  He fell over on the concrete - this is where he fell and ended up in casualty - and blacked his cheek. He pointed at something. “Big SeeSaw,” he said.  I kept trying but didn’t get it.  “Seahorse?”  “No.  ‘Mine. Mine. Mine.’ Like Nemo.”  “Oh, seagull!” “Es.”  We rounded up The Man and went to collect Son 1.  “You can bring siblings in for the school photos tomorrow,” said Smiley Teacher. Of course we can. Because Son 2 has a great swollen red mark on his cheek. On the way back we stopped in at The Fish Shop with a sample of water from our tank. Hooray. We can buy two fish.  Son 1 picked some little sparkly silver ones.  Back home, they watched his new Kung Fu Panda DVD, while The Man and I tried to sort the tank. When he set it up, he left the plants in baskets. And they have to be planted. So I stuck two in the gravel and tied one to the bogwood. Then we couldn’t get the airpipes into the skull and the treasure chest properly.  And the tank looked all stirred up and murky. So we put the fish bag in it. The boys ate tea, and then, at last, we released Flossy and Coupon into the water. They seemed to like it.  Then, upstairs, while I was putting Son 2 to bed, Son 1 asked if he could go down and have another look at the fish.  When I’d finally got them both to sleep, I went downstairs and there was only one. “I think we’ve killed the other one already,” said The Man. “Son 1 frightened it, it swam behind the bogwood and that’s it. That was an hour ago. ”  Bugger, I thought. I’d liked those fish.  I went downstairs for the paper while we were eating our meal. Two fish. It vanished again while we were washing up, and then came out when we switched the light off.  I do hope they live. We can have some more at the weekend, according to the woman in the shop. I am having one. When the boys have chosen theirs, and when they are settled, I am going to get one more.  i will put it into the gang and see how long it takes for them to notice. But it will always be Mine.

1.  Saying Goodbye

2.  Introductions

3.  Substitutions

I dropped my contact lens when I was getting up. “I’ll find it,” called Son 1 aged 4y 11m from bed, remembering how last time he got himself a Scooby Doo DVD for finding it. The Man found it, but didn’t admit it, giving Son 1 a clue instead. He came down the stairs, triumphant. ”I want a present now. From your secret present pile.” I gave him a Ben 10 pencil set I’d bought for his birthday.  The Man took him away to school and Son 2 aged 23m and I were left alone in the house.  Bereft.  For four and a half years I’ve worked flat out so they’re never apart from me for longer than two days. And now Son 1 will be gone five days at a time. Pang pang pang.  Son 2 didn’t care, he discarded the Tarzan DVD and put The Wiggles on.  And complained when I stopped it on the second time through so that we could go out.  

We went to the Beach By The Garden.  I took the Big Pram.  Before Son 2, I used to push the Big Pram everywhere. I covered miles and miles.  Son 2 fell asleep.  As I strode through coastal avenues I wondered whether I now had the chance to go for long walks on sunny Wednesdays for the next three years.  At the beach, each Wednesday Mum had only one boy. We last each had only one boy in December 2005.    It was very different.  Son 2 instantly expanded to fit the space alloted him: to the sea for water, climbing up me to balance on my shoulders, sitting with me, digging with me. At one point, as I tried again to loll back on the beach mat, drink black coffee from my flask and chat to the other mums, I considered saying: “Play by yourself, what do you think I am, your Nanny?”  He is of course designed to be irresistable.  I changed into my costume and swam in the sea. I turned round to look back and he had followed me down the sand, towing the beach mat, a Wednesday Mum completing the parade.  He had no intention of letting me go out swimming again, so we sat in the sea together, being slapped out by every seventh wave. “Again, again,” he chortled. 

We picked up Son 1, came back, they watched a bit of telly and I gave them an M and S ready meal spag bol for tea. Son 2 was weeping with misery over Son 1’s Ben 10 stationery kit. Son 1 loves it so much he won’t take anything  out of the box; Son 2 just wants to finger everything. Genuine, deep misery.  “Would you like one for your birthday?” “Yes peez.”  Good job I have the £3 Wall-E from TK MAxx, ready and raring to go.  I put Son 2 to bed. The Man and Son 1 wrapped his presents. Including Wall E.  The Man went out drinking. I came downstairs. On the phone was a message from the entertainer booked for the joint party a week on Saturday. ”Human Error. Mix Up.  Two shows booked for Saturday afternoon. Ours will have to change times. Sorry about short notice, he’s been leaving messaged on the wrong number. He’ll ring everyone. Not to worry.”  i left a message on his answerphone which said: “Sling Yer Hook, we’ll get someone else.”  Then I rang Wonder Nanny Crisis Management Services.  She suggested a person, and gave me a number. The Person can do the party. Hooray.

1,  Stealth

2.  Sea King

3.  Merlin

I was very pleased to get to bed without Son 1 aged 4y 9m padding upstairs behind my heels, and glad also to get through the night without being wakened by a little pale visitor clambering into the Big Bed.  I woke to the usual siren sound of “Mummeee, Mummeee” from downstairs. And was eyeball to eyeball with a little pale visitor.  No idea when he turned up.  He obviously didn’t wake me when he got in, and I didn’t wake him when I got up. 

The Rockpool Beach was just a strip of sand with great rolling waves reaching well up it.  “It’s going out,” said the Wednesday Mums.  They weren’t staying, they each had other things to do. I decided we’d hang around and see how we got on. I put Son 2 in his sunsuit and plastered him in Factor 50.  How British. Yesterday it rained on me so hard I could barely breathe… this afternoon I was gazing out to sea wondering how could I could go for a dip with two children on land.  Son 1 went in the sea up to his hips in his trousers.  i yelled at him and got him in his sunsuit.  The tide pelts in on that beach, and it raced out.   The three of us played at the water’s edge.  We had some lunch. Son 1 wanted to go home - he’d got cold but wouldn’t let me change him.  I span it out.  We took him to the loo and on the way back looked in rockpools for cowries. We found two.  Three children came up to us to show us the crab they’d caught.  They wanted ice cream; the cafe was shut. Son 2 understood the drift of the conversation, and went nuts “Ice Deam! Ice Deam!”  Embarrassed, I told their mother :”His brother was organic and sugar-free till he was two, but his favourite words are sweets, choc-choc, ice deam, bik bik and cake.” “Wait for the third,” said the mother. ”She was three at the weekend, and we gave her a DS. ”

Son 1 clambered in the Big Pram, fidgeted around to get comfortable and tipped it over sideways onto some rocks. The Big Pram is as sturdy as a small tank.  Maybe I should admit he really is too big for it.   We cleared up and went up the cliff to the car. The Navy flew by, very low, in a helicopter. We waved. They waved back.  Very exciting. I have for years told Son 1 that we have to wave at helicopters because they are waving at us, and now I have been proved right.  Back home we got a space outside the house.  I put the children in, unloaded the car, put Finding Nemo on upstairs “Fish! Fish!” and Nanna came round.   I made tortilla for tea. Son 2 demolished his in minutes, Son 1 sucked the butter from his hot baguette and said he’d finished.

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.  Roar Power

2.  Pushing Ahead

3. Raw Power

Every night, when I’ve turned off the light in the kitchen, I’ve been roared at. The first time it happened, The Man was away.  I froze and stared at the light fitting, wondering what I’d done to it to make it go so wrong.  http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2009/04/14/changing-things/ Since then, at the end of each day, I have jumped out of my skin and hoped it wasn’t a sign of an electrical fault which would burn the house down.  Eventually I worked out that the noise wasn’t coming from the light, but from the filled-in fireplace where the toys are kept. Aha. A light sensitive toy, I thought. Beyond that I was baffled.  I’d eyed the ridiculously loud fire truck suspiciously but hadn’t had time to check. Although it did keep making me jump very late at night.  This morning I managed to tidy and clear out some toys.  I put a missing tiger shape back into a wooden ELC jigsaw.  Get the shape right and the puzzle makes the right animal noise. It roared at me.  Well, now you know how those work.

Son 1 aged 4y 9m did a poo without his booster seat. “I don’t need it any more.”  Hooray hooray.  I’m very Lazy Parent over Son 1’s milestones. I waited till he was two and half before toilet training, because I couldn’t be bothered earlier. Then we did it in a week, with him learning very quickily that every wee in the potty got him a chocolate button.  We still take the old McLaren buggy out with us if we walk somewhere and think he won’t be able to walk back. I read a thread on Mumsnet discussing how old your children were when you stopped using pushchairs.  some people guiltily confessed to still having older children in them… and Son 1 was older then any of them.  I think that was about three months ago.  Son 2 aged 21m is exactly opposite and will never relax his plank-boy body long enough to strap him in the Big Pram. Unless Son 1 wants to get in, of course, in which case he won’t get out. 

The Rockpool Beach. Blue sky, light wispy cloud, but a gusting easterly wind.  Son 2 was a joy, Son 1 was trickier, but played well with Three Year Old Friend. Best Friend and Little Brother are on  holiday. We collected shells - I found a cowrie, which The Other Mother told me to keep for luck. There was a four inch black sea slug in a rock pool.  Plus a couple of fish and shrimp. I went for a swim in the sea, but it was low tide, and the waves were higher than my head when I was standing hip-deep.  I didn’t have to do my usual inching-in routine because I’d been smacked into, buffeted, knocked off balance and sprayed within a few steps. I swam out a few strokes, swimming up and over the top of the waves, and then semi-surfed back on them, but it was just too random to enjoy. Waves were breaking over my head, and I was in sunglasses (yes I know) and contact lenses.  And I was getting pounded onto rocks and seaweed in less than two feet of water.  I can’t have been in more than 10 minutes but I was breathless when I got out. It was amazing experiencing the power in the sea, and I just didn’t feel the cold…  But I can’t help thinking, having just read back what I’ve written, that it might have been…er.. a little bit dangerous.