1.  The Gates Of Dawn

2.  Dulce Domum

3.  Wayfarers All

I am really not well.  Weak as a kitten, hurting head full of snot, racking cough, sore chest, sore throat and ears that crack horribly everytime I swallow. I could prove it was swine flu if I could be bothered to look for our thermometer.   In the meantime I’ll assume it’s just the cold I get every time I take any leave. It’s not helped by a lack of sleep. I went out last night to our book club, and got to bed about midnight. Then I woke at 5am, my head thumping. Son 1 aged 4y 11m arrived.  I tried to get him back to sleep, and at 6am crept downstairs to make a vast pot of coffee - I’m a keen believer in caffeine for colds.  It wasn’t quite dawn, so I took my coffee to sit in the bay window and watch the sun come up over the river.  A shadow flitted in. Son 1.  We put cushions on the window seat, and hauled one of Nanna’s big blankets over ourselves to keep warm.  Camping. Son 1 loved it and snuggled up to me. We watched vans and cars drive by.  We watched the sky lighten.  “I’m bored with camping,” said Son 1 after 15 minutes.

The Man’s sunflower is now the largest, and Son 1 and I have claimed it as Ours. A yellow flower has today started to appear.  Son 1 and Wonder Nanny played pirates. Son 2 aged 23m and I went outside. He wanted to play with Wah Wah, so I put him in his swimsuit, boiled a kettle, squeezed in some washing up liquid and warmed up the rainwater for him.  I went and got myself a garden cushion so I could sit and watch him. “More,” said Son 2, trotting off to bring out all the others, one by one.  As soon as Son 1 saw the bubbles he was out there too.  Adding compost to make a potion.  The parcel for the Scooby party arrived, and Son 1 was almost sick with excitement. Wonder Nanny made minestrone soup.  We had lunch. Son 2 and I went for a sleep. 

We woke up at 3pm, and an old friend was downstairs with Wonder Nanny and Son 1.  Just on Wednesday i was looking back to Breastfeeding Group nearly five years ago, at the July baby, the September baby and the October baby. There was also an August baby, the little girl, just five, playing with Son 1, whom we haven’t seen for nearly a year.  The Man came back from The Boat and we went crabbing.  Son 2 demanded I take him to the riverside beach just as the others hauled in crab 14 to break our record. Another family joined the others, but Son 2 and I walked round to the low tide beach.  It’s covered in broken glass.  “Son 2 just pick up the shells or the stones NOT THE GLASS.”  Son 2 kept picking up the glass. The water’s edge was glass free, so I took him there,  me keeping his reins on, him with his dungarees rolled up. Son 1 joined us, but ran in the sea with his trousers on “Take them OFF! Look, you hold Son 2’s reins and I’ll help you.”  I pulled off his trousers. I turned round. He’d let go Son 2’s reins and Son 2 had strode out into the river, standing hip-high in the water,  looking back at me.   Son 1 danced in the water, naked from the waist down.  His five year old friend gazed longingly after him. “Son 1 come back! It’s not fair on Son 2 or Your Friend!”  I promised him we would come back in our swimming costumes one day and both go in. At bedtime he was so tired he lay in his bed while I was singing to Son 2. When I’d finished Son 2’s night-nights, Son 1 was fast asleep.

1. A Helping Hand 

2.  Holding Hands

3.  A Big Hand

I helped myself to a lie in. Just couldn’t get up.  Eventually we all got going, but Son 1 aged 4y 10m was being strident and shouty, demanding and mouthy, picking on Son 2 aged 22m, not tolerating him when he buzzed his games.  Absolutely normal behaviour for a 4 year old boy, but The Man and I are Very Tired.  I took them swimming in The Hotel pool.  Son 1 was great, swimming and splashing on the noodle.  He still wanted to bomb and splash, but it was too crowded. And he had make-pretend games he wanted to play… but I had to keep Son 2 from drowning. ”We need Daddy, don’t we?” said Son 1. I think I may have to agree with him.  Son 2, smiling and eyes dancing,  will jump off the side without fear. I let him go under without catching him once, but he looked so shocked as he came up, gleaming, blinking and coughing, that I didn’t do it again.  He’s not as confident in the water as Son 1 was at his age, but then I used to take Son 1 to swimming lessons every week, and just for a play swim on Sundays. He ended the session: “Cold!  Out! Towel!”

Back home The Man had been in a cupboard and found the old plaster-casting kit we had for Son 1.    We took a beautiful cast of his hand when he was 6m, on a very giggly Sunday morning, with me holding a comatose Son 1, Nanna holding the impression bag and The Man pouring the gunk in. i would love a cast of Son 2, but he never sleeps deeply enough.  Son 1 was desperate to do his hand.   We added the water, and I squodged the bag round Son 2’s hand. “Don’t move it, DON’T MOVE IT! I screeched. And then saw the frightened look in his eyes. “It’s ok, you’re doing fine,” I calmed down.  It set, and we peeled it off.  It looked good.  It needed to dry for two hours before we could cast from it. 

Son 2 and I went upstairs to put him down for a sleep.  We snuggled into the Double Bed.  He snugged me for a bit, then wandered off over to the other side of the bed. He fell asleep.  So did I. He woke a couple of times, and wriggled back towards me. He fell back to sleep. So did I. I woke up and saw his little face peering at me. “Up!”  We went downstairs. “Mummy come and see my hand!” Son 1 pelted out of the lounge. We went down to the kitchen.  The plaster cast of his hand is perfect.  Individual fingers… a complete little four-year-old hand with no Pompeii-like cracks or broken bits. It’s lovely. “Will you keep it forever?” said Son 1. Yes I will.

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.