1.  Warriors

2. Rangers

3. Hunters

Son 2 aged 22m has taken to early morning screaming again.  I have been comatose this week, so The Man has sorted him. This morning was my turn.  Slightly tipsy last night, I crashed in the double bed.  Son 1aged 4y 10m joined me at 4am.  Much eyebrowing.  No sleep.  And then Son 2 started hollering. “Mummeee!”  “Mummeee!” I went in, told him to stop making that noise, put his fan on, kissed him, said night night and left.  He was apoplectic.  He yelled, he shrieked, he roared, he shouted.  We drowsed.  “MUMMEEE!!! MUMMMMEEEE!!!!!”  It stopped, eventually.  A while later it began again, equally angry.  Again, I left him. When I got him up from his cot at 8am he wouldn’t look at me.

A sponsored walk today, with some Office colleagues, in a town 30 miles away.  The sort of event that In Five Years’ Time I could take the children to. This time, I left them at home with The Man.  I set out late and found my way to the start by Sat Nav.   A colleague and I powered around, really pushing the pace. It was pretty punishing; uphill around three and half sides of a square, and then a very short, steep downwards slope towards the finish.  But, brilliant countryside, amazing views, beautiful colours,  and another vast, grey, rolling sky. The rain stayed off and sunbeams made it through several times.    We had a great time.  And then at the end, in the garden of one of the organising fundraisers,  homemade muffins and coffee.  I also got a certificate for finishing. It has been many years since I got a certificate.

I got back late in the afternoon.  The boys were having veg and hummous, a very late lunch, in front of the telly. A friend and her three-year-old came round. Son 1 pogo-d around with excitement. The big boys got the bows and arrows out. “Not in here!” I barked. “Outside!” “And me!” chirruped Son 2.  We chatted on the patio while the boys played.  “We are going to shoot wild pigs,” announced Son 1. And then: “Does anyone want to cook this wild pig?” He mimed holding something. “I’ll cook it,” I said. “Can I have an arrow?” “You don’t need an arrow. We have already shooted it.” “I was going to put the arrow through the middle to roast the pig,” I said. “Then you can have this red one,” said Son 1. “I will go and kill a giraffe. Do you know how you kill a giraffe?  You climb up very high and put a knife up its nose.”   We Need To Talk About Son 1.

1.  Fish Food

2.  Swimming Like Fish

3.  Schools

Son 1 aged 4y 9m can never pass a leaflet stand without helping himself.  He has been studying a favourite for weeks; a flyer for a holiday park near The Happening Town with a mega swimming pool. The forecast today was ropey, so I decided we’d go. We stopped off at Wonder Nanny’s new house to pick up her bikini.  The boys have been, I haven’t.  “Fish,” said Son 2 aged 21m. “Darling we’re not going in the garden, we’re just having a quick look round and then we’re going swimming,” I said. “Fish,” said Son 2. “Not today, Son 2,” said Wonder Nanny. “I’m just showing Mummy the house.”  Son 2 picked up a tub of fish food and headed for the back door.  “Fish.” We went out to look at the fishpond.  There are about 10 small goldfish, and one larger lighter one.  The boys sprinkled fish food.  “Where’s the Mighty One?” said Son 1. “I can’t see it,” said Wonder Nanny. “Fiance must have fed the fish, they’re not hungry, are they?” “That leaf on the bottom at the back looks like a dead frog,” I said. ”Where’s the big one?” said Son 1. “I don’t know,” said Wonder Nanny. “I suppose a cat could have got it.” Pause. “You know that does look like a bit like a frog.” I peered. “Ah.  I think that might be the remnants of the Mighty One.”  No wonder they weren’t hungry.  

I’ve taken this week off thinking it wouldn’t too busy because most schools haven’t broken up.  But the Holiday Park Swimming Pool was elbow-bumpingly busy. The boys loved it - there was a great baby/toddler area and Son 2 loved the little slide… there were bubbles.. there were three huge slides.  Son 1 was only allowed on one, with me, and we had to queue for ages each of the three times we went down.  A gent in front of us had his late father’s face and birth and death dates tattoo-ed on his shoulder blade. The pool was well worth it, but the rest of it was like being whizzed back in time. Vauxhall Holiday Park, Great Yarmouth, 1973. Shamba Holiday Camp, Dorset, even earlier. If Sugar Baby Love had belted out of the speakers I would have suspected a head injury.   I felt strangely comfortable.  “Was that great, or what?” said Son 1, swinging his noodle as we left.     

Best Friend came round when we got back, armed with a sword, a handgun and a pistol. “Sorry,” said his mother. He had his taster session at his new school this afternoon. Pang.  Best Friend lives on the doorstep of the Tiny Outstanding Village School I had my eye on for Son 1.  I didn’t apply in the end, thinking we wouldn’t have a chance of getting him in.  So Son 1’s staying on for Reception at his current place 12 miles away.  It’s a fantastic place.  But they’re so good together. As soon as Best Friend came round, they piled into the dressing up box and emerged as pirates.  They played, utterly absorbed, with Son 1’s huge pirate toy collection till tea, then piled down, giggling, snorting, making farting noises, calling each other Poo Poo Head and having sword fights with the dipping vegetables.  Best Friend ate great piles, Son 1 picked like a supermodel. After tea they went out in the garden with bows and arrows. After a great many threats they got the hang of not firing at Son 2.