1.  Dealing Cards

2.  The Long Shot

3.  A Winner

So.  It was nearly 10pm by the time The Man and I got the boys to bed last night and, whacked out as we both were after heaving Son 2 aged 22m round a two-mile walking carnival, we rubbed our hands and chinked our glasses in anticipation of this morning’s lie in.  Nope.   Atomic Testing began before 7am.  The Man’s birthday, so he was allowed a Lie In, and the boys and I went downstairs to wrap the presents and write the cards. Yes I know, but I’ve been busy. Son 1 aged 4y 10m surveyed the present pile: a DVD boxed set, a DVD and three CDs. He picked the singing birthday card, the DVD boxed set and the DVD, picked the pirate wrapping paper and set about stringing sellotape round and round. It was crinkled, it was wobbly, it wouldn’t have survived the Royal Mail, but he wrapped it all himself.    Son 2 and I did three CDs, my card, his card and a singing Happy Birthday badge.  We took them all up to The Man with a cup of tea, and Son 1 unwrapped everything.  The Man was pleased with his presents, but is still planning to buy himself some essentials for The Boat. 

Son 2 was floppy, clingy, cross and impossible to please.  Son 1 aged 4y 10m wasn’t much better.  Son 2 wouldn’t be put down.  This was a Good Thing, because somewhere - probably Mumsnet - I have been reading about how babies end up with attachment disorders if they have  Distant Mothers.  Since when I have been consumed by trying to decide how clingy is Clingy Enough.   Son 1 was lying full-length on the floor, cheek on the carpet, playing sideways with his Lego.   The Man was allowed to do whatever he wanted, because it was his birthday. He wanted to go and look around DIY stores. Son 1 wanted to go to the Balloon Shop and choose balloons. I thought there was an outside chance that they would both sleep in the Pram/Buggy and then we could Do Nothing.  The Man liked the odds, so we pushed the boys into The Town. Son 2 passed out in the Big Pram, Son 1 didn’t. Back at the house, we piled them into the car and drove to the Big Town. Son 1 fell asleep, Son 2 didn’t.

We were having roast chicken for the Birthday Tea. Son 2 stood at the sink in his nappy and a Thomas The Tank Engine Apron, on a chair, cleaning potatoes with the washing up sponge, singing to himself, squeezing pools of water on the floor and pressing the buttons on the microwave.   The kitchen felt hot, and that was when I noticed I’d had the chicken roasting at Gas Mark 7 for more than an hour.  I whacked the gas down and improvised. The bird was fine, and I cut 20 minutes off the cooking time. Nanna came for tea, the boys ate well, and we popped party poppers. The boys blew out the candles on the Colin The Caterpillar smartie cake. Many times.   At bedtime we read Birthday Stories. Mr Birthday. Ziggy’s Birthday. Happy Birthday Winnie The Witch. Little Rabbit Gets Lost.  Little Rabbit’s birthday present is a trip to Rabbit World. Rabbit World has rabbit roller coasters, a rabbit pirate ship, carrot pedal boats and a rabbit rocket ship.  Son 1 studied the pictures carefully. “I wish there was a People World,” he said.

1.  Back at the beach

2.  Back at the stove

3. Back and forth

The Old Faithful beach where we have spent most of the last three summers.   Rockpools to prod, rocks to climb, a Cafe selling peppermint tea, and a cliff face between the children and the road.  Son 1 aged 3y 11m had a wonderful time, tearing back and forward.  It took forever to give Son 2 aged 11m his lunch.  Son 1 was right down the other end of the beach… up on the promenade, hassling the Cafe Lady with his Friend Aged 3 and his Friend Aged 4, running in and out of the sea, shaking seaweed around, collecting shells and digging a very big hole indeed.  I took Son 2 to the sea to paddle.  He looked and laughed and laughed and looked.  He loves water.  We had to stop when his jaw started chattering and his lips went blue.

Back home I had two boys asleep at once.  Hooray.  I’ll have a bag of crisps and read the paper.  But I’ll just sort the washing out.  I’ll just put Son 2’s lentils on.  I’ll just do the veg for Son 1 and me to have tortilla for tea.  I’ll just wash some stuff from  the veg box.  I had a cup of tea, but Son 2 woke up after an hour, so I didn’t get my sit down.  But we did have a very nice meal together, the three of us - The Man is on a Business Trip.  Son 1 and I had corn on the cob, straight from the veg box.  Sweet as sugar.  Well, it is sugar, but you know what I mean.  I did a little round of it for Son 2, who liked chipmunking at the corn, but didn’t like gagging on the skin, and so threw it overboard.

The sheer relief when I got back downstairs after the two and a half hours it took to get them to bed is my Third Good Thing.  Jeepers, as Daphne says in Scooby Do.  I bathed them together, and they were lovely.  They splashed each other, poked each other, prodded with legs and arms and elbows, snatched toys back and forth, giggled, threw things out of the bath, threw things into the bath… enchanting.  “I will give myself ten bonus points if I get them to bed without yelling,” I thought, as I gave them my best Madonna-smile.   Nil points.  It was hell. It took about half an hour to get Son 2 drowsy…and then in walked Son 1.  “I’m scared.” He got in the big bed, but couldn’t stay still, or quiet.  So Son 2 thought it was morning.  And then when I gave up trying to get him to sleep, thinking that I’d just leave him so I could at least get one of them off, he ROOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRREDDDD.  It was awful.  He didn’t cry it out of course.  I went  back, several times, and held his little panting body, with his thumping heart and his hot head flopped on my chest.  He loves me, yeah, yeah, yeah.

1.  Kip

2.  Visitors

3.  Kip

The moment, at 1am, when The Man took over Son 2 aged 10m who had been howling for two hours, was a Good Thing.  Jaysus, once that child gets over-tired there is nothing to be done with him.  I held him ,I rocked him, I lay beside him on the double bed.  Each time he went to sleep, and each time, as soon as I put him in the cot… MELTDOWN.   So loud it hurt my teeth. And then he woke up again at 0530.  And so did Son 1 aged 3y 10m.  The day began.

Murky rain.  One set of Wednesday friends went off to see grandparents today.   So the others came round here.  “Don’t get out the pirate stuff,” I said to Son 1.  “It’s too dangerous for Son 2 and the nearly-2 year old little brother.”  So he got the pirate stuff out.  There is tons of it.  Peter Pan pirates, Playmobil pirates, pirates from France, Ghouly pirates from Woolies… all with their own little guns and cuffs and paddles and swords.  Collecting up the tiny coins from a Playmobil treasure chest, I wondered aloud what kind of oddball toy designer inserts something into little children’s homes specifically aimed at choking their smaller siblings.  “Just write 4+ on the package, it’ll be fine.”  “And what are you eating?” I asked Son 2.  I fished in his mouth.  A tiny coin from a Playmobil treasure chest.   

Son 1’s sleep was very disturbed by the midnight banshee, and he was shattered today.  Misbehaving monstrously while our friends were here: “I’ve never seen him like this before,” said the other mum.  So after they left I put Son 2 to bed, and then him.  Both asleep at 2.30.  I cleared up the lunch things, tidied the toys, did some washing, sorted the veg box and made dinner.  Braised beef and sweet potato. 2nd stage weaning. Annabel Karmel.  I quadrupled the quantities to make enough for Mother, Son 1 and Son 2 for dinner, and then to freeze for baby food.  The Man rang.  He had planned an overnight business trip but cancelled because of the weather.  He’ll try again tomorrow.   He thought the casserole was nice.  A bit sweet, but very nice.

1.  Washing and cooking and cleaning

2. Three songs with sneezes in

3.  Coming Home

Add a six day work spree to a day-long beach and visitor fest and you get a mighty pile of washing, nothing but frozen potato-based purees for the baby to eat, and a big box of muddy organic veg sitting in the hall.   I washed and cooked and cleaned, as Billy Bragg put it.  Wonder Nanny entertained the children - and me.  So Son 2 aged 6m and 4w now has a ton of minestrone soup and carrot/swede/sweetcorn, the washing’s been done, the veg are sorted and Son 1 aged 3 and a half and I have learned the words to Five Little Men in a Flying Saucer.   In return, we taught Wonder Nanny We Are The Red Men. Which I learned in Brownies 35 years ago, and is now don’t-know-where-to-start  politically incorrect but does have dang good actions. 

Son 1’s day also included three songs with sneezes in, making birthday cards for Auntie and one of our friends, reading Elmer and doing Elmer puzzles, grabbing the baby, squashing the baby, tickling the baby and getting his nose bitten and hair pulled by the baby.  He ended up with another of his elaborate and incomprehensible mixed toy games spread over the floor.  Doing my jobs meant stepping over a vast pile of animal stickers and stepping round a banshee in a firemen’s outfit ping-ponging back and forth.  The game also involved my ladle, potato masher, fish slice, serving spoon, ice cream scoop and various cheap plastic farm toys.  

Son 2’s reflux means I have prepared, one-handed, many many meals with him held in one arm/on one hip.  He’s always been interested in the colours, sounds and smells of cooking - but saliva sets his reflux off so I hold him to stop him crying.  Today he lunged for and gripped the handle of a cast-iron pan of bubbling cheese sauce and started tugging it off the hob.  Disentangled by Wonder Nanny.  Must remember that they can do more as they grow.  Just about got the tea on the table and Son 1 sitting on a chair to eat it when The Man came back from abroad.  Hooray.