1.  Revisited

2.  Reunion

3.  Respite

The Man came home at 10pm last night.  He went in the Big Bed, I went down with Son 2 aged 19m.  At 3am he woke, crying.  I went to him, he was hot, bothered and gasping for water.  I gave him water. He gulped and gulped.  I gave him Calpol and he slurped it down. I decided to change his nappy, and lay him down on the changing mat.  He threw up spectacularly, Reflux Revisited.  I put him in the shower, The Man came down.  “Is this wee?” he asked, dabbing at the pool on the changing mat. ”No he’s been sick.”  Son 2 eyed him, barely awake, and then buried his head in my shoulder.  We gave him more water.  He threw that up too.  Son 1 aged 4y 7m came in. “You were supposed to wake me up to see Daddy!” “We both tried but we couldn’t. You wanted to stay asleep.” He went upstairs with The Man, I held Son 2 upright in the armchair till he went to sleep, and then got into the double bed with him. 

By morning I had the bug too.  I was miserable and unable to eat, The Man was instantly in charge of all food and drink-making.    Son 1 was excited and ecstatic that he was back; “Where are we going, where shall we go?”   Very unhappy that we couldn’t go anywhere because Mummy and Son 2 were poorly.  During last summer’s nightmare Walk With Gastroenteritis, I read that stewed apple settles the stomach.  The Man peeled and microwaved an apple for Son 2.  He scoffed it. And then helped himself to a great whack of Son 1’s cottage pie lunch.  And ginger biscuits for pudding.  It all stayed down.

In the afternoon they played outside with the paddling pool, and then Son 2 broke down and started crying for me again. I put him down for his second sleep in his cot, and at 3.30 I went back to bed.  This was an Amazing Thing.  I don’t think I’ve had a daytime sleep since I was on maternity leave with Son 1.  I slept for an hour, till  Son 1 came up to tell me that he’d made some (cardboard) ice cream.  The dishwasher box has become his ice cream house.  He was painting it, in creative heaven,  in the kitchen, with The Man making tea and trying to be patient.  Son 2 woke up, and clung and cried.  But he packed away sausage and peas, and it stayed down.  At bedtime he wanted book after book, again, a Good Thing after so many days when he couldn’t be bothered.

1.  Box

2.  Tea

3.  Rain

Son 1 aged 4y 7m wanted a Big Box to make a den from.  One of his friends has one. So I lugged a huge dishwasher box home from The Office on Monday, and we made it into a house this morning.  A stable door, a window with shutters, and a skylight were my contributions. Son 1 has written his name on it and made a picture to hang up wonkily inside.  Son 2 aged 19m has drawn on the sides in felt tip pen.  “Boh!” he said, pointing. “Boh!” They were supposed to be getting on with playing while I made pancakes for breakfast.  It worked, kind of.   I struggle with pancake making. I burn or undercook, I never get the oil right, I’m rubbish at flipping them.  Wonder Nanny knocks out perfect examples every time.  She doesn’t use oil. “It’s a non-stick pan.”  I never understood that logic, but this morning I went with it. No oil.  Perfect pancakes.  They gobbled them up. 

Son 2 is still in hell with chickenpox. He woke up this morning boiling hot, scratching and howling.  I gave him milk, put him in a bicarb bath and let the shower run on his back.   One set of Wednesday friends didn’t come today, but the Mother was ill, so I’m hoping that as the reason.  We walked into town to meet the other. There was a book about a character with Son 2’s (unusual) name in Oxfam, so I bought it.  And Son 1 had been promised a Pirate Lego set for being good while Son 2 got all the Mummy Time. “Boog!” said Son 2.  We had coffee at one end of town, and then another coffee at the other.  I spent most of the afternoon putting the Pirate Lego set together. That’ll be why the box said 6 - 12 then. I got fed up with how much time I was spending on Pages 1 - 37 instructions, with two other sections to follow. Son 1 said “Well done Mummy.  You’re doing a great job.  Thank you very much for buying me my pirates.”  The pat on the head did the trick, and I persevered.  Again, I started grumbling.  I wanted to spend time with Son 1 and Son 2, not fish poxy two-bit Lego brick things out of piles of other poxy two-bit brick things. ”Well done Mummy,” said Son 1.  “Thank you for helping me.”  My heart sang.  There was a knock on the door.  The Wednesday Mummy, taking pity on me because The Man’s Business Trip goes On and On, had brought round some home-made sauce for us.  “Tee!” pointed Son 2 at the pan as the pasta boiled. 

Books and Bath and Bed was therefore earlier and more successful than other days this week. I am still starting off with a glass of wine. Son 2 and I did his books. I wanted Tiddler. He insisted on “Oceans,” which is pictures of dolphins and sharks and whales and seahorses and jellyfish etc. In the bath I washed his hair to get today’s calamine out before I slathered him again. He screamed.   Surely this is the worst his spots can get. He has great flaming lines of them down his back and his groin is a mess. “Wee wee,” he said, sitting in the bicarb-ed bath.  Wee wee is wee, but it is also willy. Translation: “My willy hurts.”  And then he pointed up at the shower head and said:  “Rain.”