1.  Making Bags

2.  Making Sandwiches

3.  Making Merry

27.  The vegetarian boy’s Mother called off, two older boys turned up… no-one dropped out and I have absolutely no idea who The Last One was.  I am Toast.  Charred and chewed.  Ringing head. Rabid sciatica.  Twitching eyelid.  Compulsive hair twiddling.  Hope you’re ok.  So. Up at the crack.  Son 1 aged 4y 11m with one goal. Doing The Party Bags.  I read to Son 2 aged 2, but we finished too soon. The second we got to the kitchen, Son 2 started unpicking the bubble wands Son 1 and The Man had just carefully sellotaped to the Scooby Do bubbles. Son 1 screamed.  The next thing to go in was the sweets. ”Can we eat them?” said Son 1.  ”Yes. If you eat your breakfast you can have them as your treat in Tonic, Treat and Teeth.”  They gorged parma violets and lollies and chews.  Son 2 gobbled boiled sweets. Choked. Spat out.  The advantage of eight months’ reflux hell is the best gag reflex this side of an eating disorder.     Son 2 happily plopped sweets into each party bag. 

The Man was a Marvel.  He started making sandwiches at 0830, went down into Town twice, made all the party food - sandwiches, vegetable fingers, topped strawberries, packed up all the stuff, made two trips to the Church - with Son 1 - and presented it all beautifully. He was singing as he washed up 15 minutes before we had to go. A Magical Moment which is going in The Album.

And The Party.  27 + children, 24 party bags, 30 balloons and a bouncy castle. Acoustic Armageddon.   Son 1and Best Friend were, by several streets, the Worst Behaved Children there.   The Bouncy Castle Man, because I asked him nicely, turned up 45 minutes ahead of start time so Son 1 and a handful of friends could have a Good Old Play before the rest of the guests arrived.   I thought it would calm them down.  Nope.  They were orbiting at sub-atomic speeds, and then the Gentle New Children from Son 1’s reception class arrived with their bewildered parents.  The Children’s Entertainers were amazing. Party games, a puppet show, magic tricks.   Son 1 had the time of his life.  Son 2 less so… he needed me to help him enjoy it and although I did my best I couldn’t always do it. Nanna just sat on her chair throughout, watching.  I had Great Help.  Son 2’s wonderful Godmother queened it in the kitchen with The Man, serving squashes, teas, coffees… and, when I got up the nerve, beer and bucks fizz. She washed up, she did the party bags.  She’s a miracle.  Best Friend’s Mother got the most outrageous gossip from her chatting.  All to do with ex-boyfriends, impossible overlaps between Reception Dads and Breastfeeding Group Mums, and a jaw-dropping “I should have chosen you” moment.   Bloody Hell. If “He” goes off with “Her” it’ll be my fault.   And the present pile, oh God the present pile.  It was for two children remember…. but a small, church hall table piled with 50 plus presents does not look good.   In my defence, Son 2 had money for the Children’s Hospice instead of presents for his christening. And I promise they’re having goats next year.   ”Did you like your party, Son 1?” “Yes I really enjoyed it.”  And still they both span bedtime out to get more time with Mummy.

1.  Pampering

2.  Partying

3.  Parading

Son 2 aged 22m lies on his nappy mat, stinking.  I clear him up.  “Wipe,” he commands.  I can’t let him have one until he is Clean. Otherwise he will start wiping himself.  I give his nose a kiss. He pulls me down towards him. I rub noses back and forth, telling him “Eskimoses Rub Their Noses.” He hoots with laughter. “Again. Again. Again. “ 

We went to a Summer Party, at the home of some friends in The Country.   Parking in their field, a massive Bouncy Castle, and another newly-mown field for the children to play on, including a goal with loads of footballs, a water slide, a playhouse and a rocket launcher.   The friend, someone I worked with years ago, carried her six-month-old around. Gorgeous. And about the size of Son 2. I do hope he’s out of the 9 - 12 month clothing before he’s two. The Man was hungover, and felt better after many burgers and sausages.  Son 1 aged 4 y 10m ate one sausage and a piece of lettuce. Son 2 said “Cake!  Cake!” Father Jack-like. Son 1 sped in, along and up the Bouncy Castle a zillion times. Son 2 made it on his own.  Although when he got to the top of the climbing wall, he sat, waiting for me to climb through and up to help him.  I made it, several times, but was inelegant scrabbling down in my black linen frock. It took me back to the days when I slid down marquee roofs wearing fancy dress…

We came home, I dashed into town shopping, taking Son 2 with me, hoping he’d have a snooze in The Big Pram. Nope.  Then we were in The Carnival.  A friend gave us a lift, his partner had made the costumers. Marlin for Son 1, Dory for her son and Nemo for Son 2. We joined our partners in the parade, secondary schoolchildren also in costume, hauling a huge whale on a boat trailer.  We watched and waited while Vikings, Pirates, penguins, fairies and cyclists gathered.  The Town Band had dressed up like the Welsh Guards in Rourke’s Drift.  We set off. Son 2 refused to walk, but just stood, peering and everyone and everything.  We walked down a steep hill towards The Town.  I was worried our whale was going to break loose, ten-pin bowl its way through the carnival procession and leap over the buildings at the bottom and into the sea like Free Willy. Son 1 held hands with his 3 year old friend all the way round, and collected a fortune in their buckets for looking cute.    Ye Olde Sweetshoppe was open, so I bought 2 Childcatcher lollipops for the boys at the end. They all crunched up. Son 2 had green food colouring all round his mouth. High as kites and off their heads with tiredness and sugar, they zinged around. 

When we got home, I showed Son 2 his reflection in the hall mirror. “Who’s that?” I asked. “Son 2!” he said.  The little lamb can say his name. Sigh.

1.  The lie-in

2.  Bouncing

3.  A clear sample

Son 2 aged 10m woke at 5-ish and was put back to sleep by The Man.  Son 1 aged 3 y 9m was exhausted after an 8.30 bedtime.  So I was wakened at 0730 by The Man, bringing coffee and lifting up the blackout blinds.  Loudly.  Son 2 had been sick in the cot.  Son 2 threw up his breast feed.  I had my shower and sat Son 2 on the bathroom floor playing with the duplo.  Finished, went to get my clothes, came back, and Son 2 had been sick, and was sitting in a pile of porridge, patting it with his hands.  I went to pick him up and then realised it wasn’t sick.  He’d done a poo slick, and he’s lost so much weight now that it ran out of the side of his nappy.  Took him to the doctor.    Who said he looked well, considering what he’s been through, he’s still infectious, so don’t take him near other children or mother.  We are apparently all immune after 48 symptom-free hours.  He said he’d chase up the sample from the Holiday Hospital, and gave me a kit to take another today.  Ring him back at 5pm.

Son 2 could not sleep, so we put him in the Big Pram and walked through the town. I promised Son 1 an ice cream to make up for his disappointment in not seeing his friends today.   The Man came out for his lunch hour.  I let Son 1 bounce on the bouncy castle.  I bounced Son 2, who liked it, but couldn’t keep going very long.  I sat down with him on my knee to give him his banana lunch.  He had a little banana, but was more interested in drinking milk from the bottle.    A little bit more banana.  A little bit more milk.  And then a huge wet patch on  my skirt which quickly dripped all the way down to the pavement.  A great big pile of porridgey liquid poo.  Son 2’s, that is.  Took him to a baby change, cleaned him up.  Couldn’t clean me up, no spare clothes.  Took Son 2 out in his nappy.  No spare shorts/trousers, because we cleared out all our supplies on the Long Trip back.  This was 1330, and the doc had said get the sample back for 2pm if we wanted it to go today.   Being positive, my skirt was brown, so it didn’t show.      This was a low point indeed.

Rang the doctor at 5pm, who said the sample from the Holiday Hospital was clear.  It isn’t e coli, listeria, rotovirus or something else I’d never heard of.  He’d like to have another look at Son 2 tomorrow morning to see how he is.   Something else for Pollyanna to be Glad about.  Son 2’s stomach will apparently be inflamed for a while after the infection, which could be why he’s being so sick and having such bad diarrhoea.  He is just skin and bone now - he was slender before, but now his ribs stick out and his sternum’s really pronounced.  Poor little mite.  A friend came round this evening.  “I was going to tell you what had happened in a jokey way and say everything’s fine,”  I wailed.  “But it isn’t.  It’s awful.”  “He’ll get better,” she said.  ”He will turn into a big strapping lad, like they all do, and none of us will remember this.”