1.  The Odd One Out

2.  Baby Bonding

3.  Storm Force

Again, the scrum to get Son 1 aged 4y 2m to Nursery.  I’d meticulously left everything out last night.  We left home on time; we got there easily.  We had to park nearby, because I had to haul in the car seat for The MAn to do the pick up on his way back through.  As we walked along we saw more and more other mums dropping their children off.  There were party dresses, Thunderbirds outfits, Power Rangers, jeans, sweatshirts… and only one little boy in his uniform.  Oh Dear.  Son 1 was unbothered.  “Silly Mummy,” he said, clutching his Rudolf The Red-Nosed Reindeer cuddly toy.  Back in the car I found his Captain Hook hat, and went back into the Nursery to give it to him.  He was wearing a Santa Hat and carrying a sack race bag.  He would have loved to spent the day at Nursery in his Captain Hook outfit.  Silly Mummy.

Wonder Nanny had a funeral, so I ran round at work and then pelted out again to get home in time.  Mr Wonder Nanny was parked opposite the house with the engine running when I arrived.  I gave him a cheery wave.  I got some work done while Son 2 aged 15m was asleep, but after that there was no point. It was very nice to have some time with him.  We played farms, we got out books he pointed at, we did some washing.  He hugged his highchair and cried; I got the hint and gave him a snack.  We giggled and tickled and cuddled.  Son 1 and The Man arrived home, Son 1 in a too-small pirate outfit borrowed from the Dressing Up Rack.  He flopped down on the floor grumpily, knackered after the Nursery Christmas Party.  The Man had bought some Ben 10 Top Trumps as a present for Son 1, and soon he was sitting on the floor looking at them while Son 2 was picking cards and waddling off with them.

The Office Christmas Party.  At an attraction we visit sometimes with the boys. There is the tourists’ route, sign-posted, huge roads, a long way round.  And there is another route.  Unsignposted, narrow, winding and much much quicker.  Every time we go I take the short cut, and every time I get lost.  In daylight.  Tonight there was a severe weather warning. 4cm of rain expected, gail force winds.  Driving alone, I took the short cut.  In driving rain, pitch black, winds that buffeted the car.  No visibility despite windscreen washers on doublespeed.  Great deep pools of water across the road.  Branches down… at times I couldn’t see the sides of the road let alone which side I was meant to be driving on.  I got lost.  I didn’t know which way round I was.  I got there in the end - everyone had finished their starters.  It was fun.  As I left at the end I could hear a train coming towards the building.  It was the sound of the storm-force wind on the roof.  On the way back I went to the 24 hour Tesco and bought washing powder, soap, bleach and nappies.

1. Vanity

2. Brevity

3. Immunity

Before Children I travelled around the UK. From about 1996, I put together a very nice set of matching luggage. Big suitcase, bigger suitcase. Garment carrier. Cabin bag. Vanity case. Before airline luggage restrictions, and before WAG bags, I used the vanity case for overnights, tripping from airport to airport in my suit and high heels, carrying my little statement square box. After luggage restrictions it became a bathroom receptacle - the place all the lotions and potions go to keep things tidy. Son 2 aged 15m loves to play with it, getting out all the bits and bobs and putting them back in again. This morning I put it on the floor for him, he opened it and waddled off. And then Son 1 aged 4y 2m went into the bathroom, lifted the loo seat, got distracted, arc-ed round and peed into my beautiful, expensive, link-with-the-old-me vanity case. Usually when he misses it’s a few spatters. This time it was sopping.

Son 1 and I had a great trip into Nursery. Out of the house on time, stuck in traffic lights, but then the roads so clear that he 1 said: “This is good, Mummy, isn’t it?” “Really good,” I said. “Where do you think everyone’s gone? What do they know that we don’t?” “They’ve gone to the hospital,” he said. “They’ve all got sore throats.” We parked by the mushrooms so Son 1 could walk on the muddy path. Part of which is now blocked by construction fences, a clinker road and diggers. Since Monday. We were so early I got to talk to the teachers. Son 1 sat down demurely at a table colouring in with a yellow pen while I went through the physio findings.

Son 2 had another jab. I took him - I hate the thought of his doing anything stressful without his Mummy. He had a great time playing with the toys at the Doctors’… he smiled and twinkled at the nurse… and then she stuck the needle in his fat thigh. His face disintegrated and he HOOWWLLED. And then he shrank away from her as she tried to mop up and put a plaster on his leg. It was the last one thankfully - I hate him having them. I looked on the bright side; it was great seeing Son 2 during the day for a bit. (But I still hate them.)

1.  Walking pace

2.  Normal Walking

3.  Nearly Walking

Getting to Nursery On Time was a Good Thing.  I was out of the door at exactly the right time to jump in the car and go, and get to Nursery avoiding the glacially-paced Monday traffic.  “Where’s the car?” I called to The Man, who’d parked it on Saturday.  “Outside XXX and YYYs,” he said.  XXX and YYY are friends who live 10 minutes’ walk away.  Oh dear.  I wasn’t a very good Example For The Children.  However.  The conclusion is that the longer, rural route to the Big Town is faster than the normal way, despite the mile-long crawl near the Industrial Estate.  Son 1 aged 4y 2m got there in time for the Hellos.

I had to pick him up again at 1.30pm because he had an appointment with a paediatric physio.  I think his right foot flays out when he runs.  She asked me lots of questions, watched him sit, walk and run, and then moved his legs up and down while he was lying on a couch.   She says both feet flay out, but when he’s walking both feet are turned in.  His hip joints in the sockets turn in, so his thighs turn in when he’s tired, so his lower legs flay out.   Stop him sitting in a “W” - which he’s done since he was a baby; he need to be cross-legged.  And get him to stand on one leg, and hop, when he can (he can’t yet.)   In the range of normal, but he’s never going to be an athlete.  Dang, and there’s us with athletes on both sides of the family.  Was it because he was breech? I asked.  She didn’t think so, it’s hereditary.  Somewhere on either side there is another “W” sitter.  It’s just how he is.

Back home and Son 2 aged 14m is almost ready to lift off.  He can comfortably walk eight or ten paces… and managed to slalom through a doorway this evening to get to me when I went upstairs.  He can walk many steps, several times in a row before he pretends to lose interest, plops down on his bottom and goes crawling off to change the subject.  He gives himself a clap before he starts, and then steps out confidently until he lets himself fall into the arms of whoever’s in goal.  And when he totters over to Son 1’s outstretched arms and plops on top of him at the end Mummy’s heart turns to mush.

1.   Noise

2.   Toys

3.   Boys

A quiet night from Son 2 aged 14m.  Fireworks this morning though.  The Man brought the boys up their snack - banana and apple pieces.  “I want grapes,” said Son 1 aged 4y 2m. “We haven’t got any grapes,” I said.  Son 1 grizzled a bit.  Son 2 grabbed his tub, peered in, tried throwing it on the floor… grabbed Son 1’s tub, flung the banana and apple on the floor, snatched his own again and succeeded in throwing the contents out… and then hurled his Doidy cup of milk across the chair and mirror.  It was a spectacular piece of tantruming, just because he didn’t have grapes in his tub.  He was dumped back in his cot and left to stew.  Well, boil would be a more accurate description.  Jaysus if he’s like this now what happens when he’s had time to practise?

Getting Son 1 to Nursery on time was a Good Thing.  We left late, the roads were awful, and I decided to try another route which was ok until we ended up in a long stationary queue.  I’m usually pretty patient in traffic, but we’d already been late twice and I really felt like Flinging My Tub. We got there on time though, and I even saw the teacher for the first time in a week.  I like the way Son 1 goes into Nursery now.  Eyes darting around to see what the others are doing, checking out all the different toys out in all the different places… his brain really switches instantly to What-Am-I-Playing-With, rather than I-Want-My-Mum.

Back home after The Office Son 2 reached and shrieked for me as soon as I walked in, and then, once he’d clamped himself to my shoulder started looking round for the next bit of action.  I did some books with him and got him in his bath.  Son 1 went in the shower, Son 2 sat at the plug end playing with the bubbles, the Winnie The Pooh squirters and some plastic jugs.  Son 1 was cleaning toys and polishing the shower screen.  They were both enchantingly engrossed in their own games.  For two minutes, till Son 1 “accidentally” poured soapy water in Son 2’s eyes.  Waaaaaaaaaaahhhhh.  It was hard settling him again, but we made it.  Six weeks since I stopped feeding him, and I think he’s now happy with milk from a cup and water from a glass.

1. On That Farm There Was A Dinosaur

2. The New Suit

3.  Popping Mummy’s Santa Balloon

We sang in the car on the way to the Nurseries to cheer up Son 2 aged 1 who was crying.  “Old MacDonald Had a Farm.”  Son 1 chose the animals.  A dinosaur.  “With a raaahhhhh, here.. a raaaaaaaaaahhhhh, there.”  A lion.  “Here a raaaaaaah, there a raaaaaaaaaaah.”  Good sharing, Son 1, choosing one of the few words Son 2 can manage.   Son 1 had his huge pop-up dinosaur birthday card with him.  He went into the New Nursery really well, peeping it round the door and roaring till the children and teachers noticed.  Then he chased the children; the adults pretended to be scared… I had to kiss the dinosaur teeth goodbye.

I bought a New Suit in TK Maxx.  Or Tacky Maxx, as the early teens apparently call it.  (Son 2’s Godmother, who has two of them, was with me.)   I was trying to buy a 4th birthday present for Sunday’s party.  And for some strange reason I was looking on the rails of smart clothing.  A black trouser suit.  I don’t usually do black, it makes me look like an albino nun.  But I made an exception for a £60 suit marked down from £210.   The Godmother approved.

In the car on the way home, Son 1 said “Is the Easter Bunny real?”  “No,” I said absently.  And then the shock, didn’t-see-it-coming world-shaker: “Is Father Christmas real?” “Father Christmas is the spirit of giving,” in an emergency, I fell back on what Nanna used to say to me, knowing he’d have no idea what I was talking about. “But is he real?”  ”For little children, he’s real.”  “Am I little children?”  “It’s like the ship made of clouds in Peter Pan.  George Darling saw it and he couldn’t remember he’d been to Never Land when he was little.  Because when you grow up you forget.”  Bloody Nursery.  You take your child out of the setting full of children younger than him because you’re worried he’ll get bored and look what happens.  I am bereft.  He’s just 4.  I want at least one more Christmas where Santa is real.  I bet I know who it was.  The One With Two Older Brothers.  Just wait till the Parents’ Evening.  “I don’t want my child mixing with anyone who’s going to tell him anything unnecessary about Santa.”