1.  Night And Day

2.  Every Time We Say Goodbye

3.  Too Darn Hot

Oh Man.  Son 1 aged 4y 4m had another rubbish night, burning up, sweating, red in the face, crying.  His ears are fine but he says his throat is sore.  Son 2 aged 16m has the same, raging temperature - measured only with hand-on-forehead… absolute “no” from him to thermometer-in-the-ear - and not knowing what to do with himself.  Overnight, both dosed with Ibuprofen, calpol and liquids.  Son 1 was off Nursery, which isn’t a logistical problem because we have Wonder Nanny.  But I had a jam-packed day at the Office and there was nothing I could do about it.  Two poorly little boys who just wanted their Mummy and off I went, knowing I would think of nothing else all day.

At 1230 a colleague came by.  “Your Mum rang. She wanted to know how the boys are.”  Hell fire. I hadn’t had a minute.  I rang Wonder Nanny.  Son 1 answered.  “How are you?” “Not all right.”  “How is Son 2?” “He’s asleep.”  Wonder Nanny had dosed them, kept them quiet and they seemed ok.  “I was just about to text you,” she said.  “I know you’d be worried.”  I didn’t have time to ring Nanna…

By the time I got back, Son 1 was in his pyjamas with his temperature raging again, and Son 2 was in his cot asleep.  I was bereft.  All I wanted to do was wake Son 2 so I could be with him.  I went upstairs to get changed, and he woke up.  I got him to sleep and went in to Son 1.  “My poorliness is back again.” Son 2 woke again.  He howled.  Son 1 came in with us.  i went down, The Man took over.  Nanna rang.  I still hadn’t called her back. The Man came down after an hour, and Son 2 started again.  He woke Son 1.  They both bayed, louder and louder, in a comical, horrible duet.  The Man went to be with Son 2 while I finished work (and quickly wrote this) and then I’ll sort out Son 1.  We’ll swap boys at bedtime.

1.  Kitchen

2.  Lounge

3.  Bedroom

Son 1 aged 4y 4m burned up through the night and today.  Hot and listless this morning, able only to lie in the Big Bed and watch Scooby and the Pirates. Couldn’t eat anything for breakfast. Except half a can of SpongeBob pasta.  We couldn’t got out to see the Wednesday Friends.  This is the Worst Fever Since Records Began.  Which was yesterday, when I started using my new Electro Ear Thermometer.  I’ve previously just looked at a child flopped on a chair, a shiny red hot face, dull eyes, clamped my hand to his forehead and brung on the Calpol.  Using the Electro Ear Thermometer was more complicated than the instructions suggest. “Get that thing away from my ear!”  “No!”  “Get it away from me!”   Son 1 whipped his head back and forward,  stuck his chin into his chest and folded his arms over his ears.  A deal was done involving two cut-price Playmobil pirates I found in Tesco.  Son 1 was happy, I got my temperature readings.  40 at one point.  I doubled it and added 30, which is what I do for the weather forecast.   Son 1 may have been better off with a cool hand on his forehead.

Son 2 aged 16m hasn’t been feeling too bright either.  He’s had two sleeps.  He’s clung.  But he’s shinnied up on the Toddler Table despite my efforts to keep him on the ground, he’s played pirates, he’s had a good sort of his cars.  Son 1 watched Sinbad during this morning’s sleep.  ”I know you think the Realm Of Chaos is no place for a woman,” says a breathy Catherine Zeta Jones character to Sinbad.  I’m with Sinbad.   

I left Son 1 downstairs watching Bee Movie and playing with his pirates, and lay down with Son 2 after lunch to get him to sleep again.  I fell asleep.  When I went downstairs again 45 minutes later, Son 1 and I were supposed to be making biscuits.  He couldn’t stop shivering.  I cuddled him, dosed him , but we couldn’t get him warm.  Into bed he went.  I read to him, then he wanted to sleep. I made him go to the loo first; he woke Son 2 up.  Son 2 and I went downstairs to get him a hot chocolate, and by the time we got back he was asleep.  I took Son 2 outside in the garden and we played with his pushalong car.  Nanna came round.  Son 1’s 40-something temperature was brought down with ibuprofen and an ice lolly.  He ate well at tea and rallied after. Son 2 however just faded as we watched him.

1.  Bathing Beauty

2.  Separation Anxiety

3.  Feeling Hot, Hot, Hot  

0530.  Son 2 aged 16m.  WAAAAAH.  I pelted down, desperate to get there before he woke Son 1 aged 4y 4m.  Put him in the bed, snugged next to him. Nope.  He wanted up.  After a Very Long Time, annoyed that he wouldn’t go back to sleep,  I plonked him back in the cot and went to the loo.  Hell was unleashed.  So there we all were.  Up.  I was reading to Son 2.  The Man had a shower.  Son 2 wriggled down from the bed, toddled off to stare up at him and started pulling at his baby pyjamas.  In he went.   The Man came out. In I went.  Son 2 played and chattered.  I dressed, picked up the toys, put them away, went to get Son 2’s clothes.  “A-Ma,” he said, pointing at the browny matter half-sinking beside him.    But on the bright side, at least I’ had already taken all the toys out…

I got out of The Office spot on 5pm.  Driving home there were two calls from The Man on my mobile.  One I can ignore… I’m driving, I’m not pulling over.  Two… what does he want?  PIcking up from somewhere?  Can-you-get-some-vital-item?  I pulled over.  He is all right now.  He has seen Wonder Nanny’s car driving past.  He’d arrived home at 5pm and the children weren’t there.  He thought something must have happened.  “Now I know how worried you get when you’re in the house without us I’ll make sure it never happens again,” I told him.  “Goodbye,” he said.  Only not that politely.    

The boys had spent the day with two brothers aged 4 and nearly-three and their Nanny.  They’d been for tea at the other house.  Son 1 isn’t well.  Temperature, headache, obviously feeling lousy.  i gave him Calpol… Son 2 begged some.  I got out our fancy new ear thermometer.  He was very upset  “I don’t want it in my ear.”  I took The Man’s temperature.  Son 1 took mine.  (I was definitely iller than The Man.)  Son 1 was 38.9.  Ah. I’ve just put that in an online converter.  Part of the skill in taking children’s temperatures is obviously… er… understanding Celsius.    Oops.   Son 2 refused his bath.  The Man put him in, and he instantly hurdled out, crying.  He pulled his panda towel off the radiator, took it to the place I dry him each night, put it on the floor and sat on it.  I got the message and put him to bed.   Both of them down before 7.  Unheard of.  Son 2 has woken since; I’ve given him Calpol and he’s gulped water. I think we are in for a stormy night.

1.  Getting A Goal Back

2.  The Hall in the Squall

3.  A Lovely Boy

Grim, grisly, gruesome night.  I went to bed late and Son 2 aged 14 months woke howling at around 2am.  Around because I knew he was crying, but thought it was the morning and The Man would get him.  The Man snored by my side.  At 2.30am I snapped awake, looked at the clock and went down.  I think Son 2 is still suffering from the MMR - he’s still got his rash - so I gave him calpol and water, cuddled him, put the fan on and then did head-in-the-cot.  At 0310 I gave up.  Too tired and needed to go to bed.  I called The Man down, he got into bed with Son 2, I went upstairs to sleep.   One to Son 2.

Son 1 aged 4y 2m had a 4th birthday party - a child from Nursery - 20+ miles away on the other side of The Big Town.  We arrived at the Village Hall as a freezing squall blew in.  Two other families there, and no other cars.  In the (empty) hall, we compared notes.  I had the invitation in the car.  Back into the squall.  Son 2’s thin wisps looked Brylcreamed to his head.  We needed the Church Hall. Off we went, us in the front of the convoy.  Into the right Hall.  Say hello to Birthday Girl’s Dad.  There’s the changing bag, there’s the baby food bag.  Where’s the present?  Son 1 went in, Son 2 and I went back to the car.  Back at the Village Hall, there was a Mother, on foot, with small daughter, looking for the party.  I explained.  ”I thought it was strange,” she said.  “There was nobody here, but there was a present on the table with Birthday Girl’s name on it.”  The squall whipped our faces.  They got in my car.  Sand. Feathers. Pine cones. Leaves. Dried out baby wipes. Breadstick crumbs.  Two pairs of posh pointy shoes for The Office.  Hell.

Back at the party I took Son 2 to sit on the side, at the front, thinking he would enjoy the balloons.  There was a magician, with 15 small children sitting on the floor gazing up at him.  In the front row was Son 1, the only child in fancy dress. Captain Hook.  The Magician asked for a helper. Up shot Son 1’s hand.  Up he went.  He laughed, he giggled, he yes-ed, he no-ed, he laughed again, spellbound.  Back he went.  I watch him in profile for the rest of the act.  Face tilted up, eyes dancing, smiling, laughing, calling out.   “A lovely boy…” clad in a red tailcoat with lace at the sleeves, “but the most entrancing thing about him was that he had all his first teeth.”  That first teeth smile in profile, backlit from the windows high above him, was heaven.

1.  Pre-match

2.  Kick off

3.  Post-match

Another grim night.  Son 2 aged 1 was hot, fretful, unsettled. He was in his cot at 0045 when he woke  needing a nappy change - and that was that.  I couldn’t get him back to sleep.  By 0330 I was giving him Calpol and water.  Then he needed another nappy change.  If he gets a long sleep this morning, he’ll still be able to enjoy The Party, I thought.  He didn’t.  I got him back to sleep over breakfast, but Son 1 aged 3y 11m, beside himself with excitement, was making up party bags at 7am.    And woke Son 2.  We wheeled them both in The Town for some last-minute stuff we needed… and went 3/4 of a mile to the cheap department store.  And all the way back.  But Son 2, eyes hanging, head lolled over in The Pram, cheeks hot and red, didn’t sleep.

The party was great.  Really good.  20 children - everyone we invited except one who’d got a better offer and two who’d gone camping on the only nice day we’ve had all year.     A whacking great bouncy castle - me and The Man had a go before everyone arrived (harder work than it looks,) a nursery nurse leading games, various children from Son 2 up to a 6 year old in various costumes, and a great spread of mums with four dads.  Son 1 was in his Captain Hook outfit and bounced and ran and played and laughed and chased and danced.  I was needed three times.  To ask if he could take his (Captain Hook) socks off (yes;)  to complain that he wasn’t finding anything first in the Treasure Hunt (no action: an important Lesson of Life;) to ask if he could go and play when everyone was still eating their tea (don’t you want to wait for for your birthday cake?)  We had a Peter Pan cake, black skull and crossbone cupcakes and party bags with Peter Pan finger puppets in.

Son 2, I can safely say, had a miserable time.  He was tired, hot, and not at all in the mood.  I carried him around with me all afternoon.  He ate a tiny breadstick, some strawberries and some grapes - great food for nappy rash.  But all he wanted was to be with me and go to sleep.  His Godmother was brilliant, sorted out drinks for grown ups, arranged the food, did small people drinks when they were all gasping… cut cake, wrapped it in napkins, and put it in party bags.  After Son 2 poo-ed on my hand I thought I’d better keep away from the food.  I am worried about him.  I’m going to sleep with him tonight in the hope he gets better quicker.  Son 1 came back exhausted.  I’d told him he could open Son 1’s presents, as his birthday has been, but not his own. “Is this Son 2’s?  Is this Son 2’s”  You’re nearly four years old now child, learn to read your own name.  I didn’t say. (He did surprise us this morning, by writing a perfect initial when we asked him if he could.  Tum ti tum.  Didn’t learn that at the knee of his highly-educated mother.)  In bed I asked him if he’d enjoyed his party.  “Yes. But we had to come home too soon.”  As I write this there are fireworks across the river.  Might have to have those next year as well.      

1. Arms and legs

2. Lift off

3. Calpol junkie

Woke to a room with no sound of Son 2 aged 9m and what felt like many arms and legs wrapped round me.  I was in the Big Bed, with Son 1 aged 3 and a half, who moved in while I was asleep.  Son 2 woke when I went to bed, and I gave him Ibuprofen - I’ve been wandering around the Mumsnet chat again and saw someone suggest it for teething.  I took him into bed with me and he went nuts.  Again, I just had to leave him in the cot.  It must be the milk. He’s exhausted,  wants to feed himself to sleep and I won’t let him.  He slept from about 0030 through till well past 7am…    Oh look at those hopes, bobbing around on the ceiling.   

Getting two boys out to nursery on my own on time (ish) is definitely a Good Thing.  It feels like a production line, though, and yet again I feel sorry for Son 2 who sits there watching his mother tear around in a bewildering blur.  Pack up lunch, snacks and medicine for Son 2. Milk feed, shower. Dress one, dress the other, dress me, hair, make up.  Breakfast for one. Breakfast for the other.   Leave every worktop covered in bottles, plates, knives, fruit peelers, cups and tubs.  Toys and bits of breakfast coating the kitchen floor.  Get briefcase, nursery bag, lunch bag, M and S bag with my lunch in it and put them in car.  Put boys in the car. Drive off.  Forgot Son 2’s milk.      

The production line again for tea and bathtime. I took up a cup of tea for me, milk for Son 1, a syringe of calpol for Son 2. Or I thought I did.  After I’d bathed Son 2, I sat down to give him a feed and noticed the syringe was empty.  Oh, I thought.  This must be this morning’s. We’ve obviously got two, and I’ve left the full one downstairs.  And then realised what the other explanation was.  “Where’s  Son 2’s calpol?”  A sly smile.  “In my tummy going down to my legs.”