1.  No Room, No Room 

2.  The Dormouse

3.  Always Teatime

So. Having done five days without The Man and a full week at work, today was my day for Taking It Easy. I woke up at gone 4. Son 1 aged 5y 4m was on my side, comatose. The Man was on his side, comatose. I was in a 6 inch space between then. I extracted myself, went down to the Double Bed and went to sleep. What seemed like two minutes later, Son 2 aged 2y 4m woke up, wailing for Mummy.  I waited for The Man to go down. I’d already bagged my lie in.  Son 2 howled. Nothing moved. And howled. I flung back the quilt, stomped up around, and yelled up at The Man as I passed the stairs ”Thanks for the lie in.”   ”I’m really ill,” a tremulous voice came faintly after me.

I put Son 2 in the Double Bed with me. “Take my sleeping bag off.” I obeyed. “I don’ wan’ go bed. I wan’ ge’ up.” “Mummy wants to go to sleep. I want you to look after Mummy.” I got a kiss. And a  cuddle. And a little hand pulled the quilt up to my chin.  Like Zebedee, Son 1 aged 5y 4m arrived. He got in the bed on the other side from Son 2.  The Man blurred past the door. “I’ve been sick 5 times.”  Son 1 and Son 2 lay quietly. Until Son 1 decided to hold Son 2’s hands. Then there was slapping. And tickling. And prodding. And poking. And giggling. ”Go and find Daddy,” I murmered. They went. They came back. “Daddy’s in my bed,” said Son 1. “Daddy no’ ver’ well,” said Son 2.  Daddy had a stomach upset.  Vomiting. Squits. Daddy decided he’d better stay away from the boys in case they had it. He stayed in bed.  Daddy has never had a day off work through illness in his life.  

I washed and cooked and cleaned and dressed them and cleaned them and fetched them drinks and toothbrushes.  The Man wandered down for odd 5 minutes here and there, counting off every morsel he’d eaten the day before to work out how he got his bug. ”I could have got it from Son 2,” he said. “He did a poo in the bath last night before you got back, and it was very runny.”  By lunchtime Son 2 had had it. Hot, sleepy, clingy, with toxic nappies.  I gave him Calpol but all he wanted to do through the long afternoon was be carried around by me.  All four of us took to the Big Bed to watch Monsters vs Aliens. The Man was in bed and huddled up. Son 1 was in the middle and watched the whole film intently. Son 2 was leaning against me and fell asleep.  Son 1 couldn’t resist him. He kept stroking his cheek, kissing his forehead, cuddling him, hugging him…”Please leave him alone Son 1. He’s really not well. He needs to sleep to get better.” “I  know but I love him so much,” said Son 1.  We sympathised, because Son 2 is a little beauty when he’s asleep.  He was eventually wakened by Son 1’s attentions, and I spent the rest of the afternoon carrying him around because he cried if I went more than a yard away.   Tea was telly character pasta from tins - I couldn’t make anything with a toddler clamped to my shoulder. Then books, bath and bed. The Man emerged. I left Son 2 in the bath while I went next door to look at Son 1’s molluscum spots (last ones taking forever to go, thank you for asking.) “I don’ poo in the barf,” came the little voice from next door. Indeed he had.  The Man looked after Son 2 while I cleaned up. i couldn’t find any Dettol anywhere so I did it with bleach. “I can’t understand what you used to clean up yesterday,” I said. “I had to get this bleach from upstairs.” “This,” said The Man, holding up a greeny spray bottle.  “That wouldn’t have been much good. It’s for mould and mildew,”  “It says Dettol on it,” said The Man. “Presumably they make it,” I said.  “But it’s for mould. Funguses. Not bacteria.” “Same thing,” he said.

1.  Sardines

2.  Flounder

3.  Shark

So. After yesterday’s triathlon, what sort of a lie in do you think our perfect children game us? 6am.  Little Baskets.  We put them in the Double Bed with us.  Son 2 aged 2 tried pestering The Man. Didn’t work. Tried pestering me. Didn’t work. Reached over me to bat at Son 1 aged 4 y 11m.  Giggles to the left.  Giggles to the right. “Sweets,” said Son 2. ”Son 2, are you hungry?” “Es.” “Do you want your breakfast?”  “Es.”  Son 2 ate nothing but peas-in-the-pod and biscuits yesterday afternoon.  They promised they’d have a sleep during the day. 

The weather was fine, the water was flat.  We knew we were for it if we stayed in.  We rang round for reinforcements for a Boat Trip.   A Wednesday Mum and her family came. We packed leftover quiche and chocolate cake.  We went to the Yacht Club. The Man brought The Boat into the quay.  We chugged around, fishing.  The Wednesday Mum had a real, live fish on the end of her line. It Got Away.  And then… she, Retired Army Captain husband and The Man started catching fish. RACH took them off the line… And he’d brought a large stone with him.  For killing the fish with a blow to the head. At first, he did it. Then, his son, Five Year Old Friend, did it. And then, Son 1.   I watched him do it.  He’s killed a living creature before he’s five. Forty years older, I still haven’t.  I can clean and gut a fish, and always enjoy meat-eaters’ squeamishness when they see my matter-of-fact technique. But I have no idea whether or not I could kill a crittur.  I just felt as Son 1 lives on The River, he should be able to catch a mackerel.  And put it out of its misery.  He walked round clutching the stone.  “Anyone want to bash a fish?”

Total catch: 10 mackerel and 21 crabs. The crabs went back in the river.  Back home, we wrapped up four fish in greaseproof paper and hung them in a bag on the neighbours’ front door. She told Son 1 that if he ever caught any mackerel, she’d buy them from him. He was heartbroken when she wasn’t in. The Man lit a barbecue, I made new potatoes and broccoli, and we barbecued the two fish we’d kept. The Man wasn’t sure, but I told him he had to eat them to Be A Good Example For The Boys. Son 1 wouldn’t. Sucked a few bits in his mouth, but that was it. Son 2 wolfed it. We had just started to suspect Son 2 may have been a fish in a previous life.  It would explain the unswerveable fascination with both fish and wah-wah.   From the way he gobbled the mackerel, he must, of course,  have been a Big Fish.