1.  Signs Of Love

2.  Good Intentions

3.  Warning Signs

Son 1 aged 5y 2m and Son 2 aged 2y 2m were so wiped out at bedtime yesterday that I was SURE we were heading for a lie-in this morning. Nope. 7am. Son 1, was as usual, in the Big Bed. The Man had gone Downstairs to try to get Son 2 back to sleep.   Son 2 wanted his breakfast. We were all getting up.  Son 1 was knackered. There was a lot of lying on the bed/on the floor/on the comfy chair watching telly. Son 2 was raring.  As the morning ticked on, The Man took Son 2 outside to play in the garden while he pulled down our rotten trellis.  Son 1watched more telly.  I rang Eldest Brother. Aged Aunt’s funeral is on Thursday. The Man says he’ll come.  Eldest Brother has found a box in which Aged Aunt kept every letter I ever sent her.  I am strangely, completely undone.   Eldest Brother is missing her.  “She didn’t have a bad life,” he said.  “She spent her life surrounded, or being cared for, by people who loved her,” I said. “That puts her in the top 1% of old ladies in the World.” I put my running things on, waved at The Man through the window and off I went. 

It’s the morning of the 5 mile run I did last year. five miles Tra la la. Last year I thought it was the beginning of Big Things. This year, well, I’ve been out 8 times in the last 2 weeks. I’ve realised that the point of the 10- weeks-to-get-you-to-running-12-miles-a-week training programme which I keep starting, isn’t to get you running distances… it’s to get you running 4 times a week. So. Walking 2 minutes, running 4 minutes, when every other runner in Town was doing 5 miles. Chicago, Chicago, it’s My Kind Of Town. I mentioned my Chicago Marathon Daydream to a Mum I know who rows a couple of weeks back. She went running that day, and has been seen out running since.  I have 11 months. I can still Do It.

Son 1 wanted Eggy Pie for tea, much to The Man’s disgust.  Son 2 stood on a chair and washed the potatoes. Son 1 aged 2y 2m used to wash potatoes. Yes, there was water and mud everywhere, but that was all. Son 2 threw the vegetable brush at the cactus, stretched up to press the microwave buttons, stretched for knives and scooped water from the sink with a spoon and drank it.  These are, of course, organic potatoes, with the mud and manure still attached.  Neat e coli.  Yum.  Son 1 came down to break the eggs for me. He cracks them and put the shells in the box. We need 5 eggs. We had 5 eggs. He went back upstairs for Even More Telly. I poured the mix into the pan. “I usually have more than that,” I thought. I fished in the bin. There was a whole egg in the thrown out egg box.  I cracked it into the pan and stirred it up a bit.  They all stuffed their faces, even The Man, who also had Ready Meal chicken pieces and dip I found in the freezer.  At bathtime, Son 2 reached for a Nemo toy Son 1 had left on the bathside. Son 2 didn’t realise that he needs the bathmat which covers the floor of the bath, and stepped up the bath wall.  He slipped instantly, did a half turn, slid straight down, clunked the back of his head and zoomed on his back straight under the water. I was just walking back into the bathroom as he did it, saw it, fished him out, cuddled him and let him go back in when he wanted to.  Of course I have never left him on his own in the bath before.

1.  Nobody To Hug

2.  Fancy Dancing With The Fleas

3.  Every Little Crawling Creature You Can Name

Well let’s start off with a Big Fat Positive.  Son 2 aged 2 slept through the night without HOWLING for me. Big big relief.  Yes I know it’s only one night… but at least it shows he still can, and hasn’t flipped back to the nightmare days of a year ago when Wonder Nanny was off, Son 1 had just started the new Nursery and I’d just stopped feeding him and he WANTED HIS MUMMY.

And then. I got up at 0545.  Made lunches, put out breakfast. Cleaned. Did washing. Left dishwasher for Granny. (Daring.) Took The Man a cup of tea. Son 1 aged 5 woke, reluctantly.  We got him up. We got him dressed and fed. We were nearly on teeth and Out Of The Door.  He scratched the back of his head.  He’d scratched the back of his head on Friday, and I conditioned him and Nitty Grittied him. The back of his hairline looked red, but I took him to the Hairdresser and she didn’t find anything.  “Son 1, come over to the light and let me have a look at you.”  A Secret Thing I will tell you about Being An Older Parent is we can see Bugger All.  It’s blissful. We can’t read ingredients on packets, so we fret not over sugar or salt.  We can’t read safety warnings on toy instructions , so we never worry.  We can’t see marks on whites, pencil on walls or insects on the lino.  We can’t cut toenails: “Ow Mummy! You made me bleed!” Never, Ever, let us drive you at night.  And head lice on blond children? Forgeddit.   I am so short sighted I need blastproof thickness contact lenses. And yet my near focus has gone. So. I took out my lenses, yanked poor old Son 1 round by the window and stared at his hair from a distance of one inch. There was something dark gripping a hair which I couldn’t pick off. I combed. And I found an insect. I rang the school. Treat Him, they said, and bring him in.  I conditioned and Nitty Grittied Son 1 in the bath.  We found two more critturs.  I rubbed sheepdip into his hair.  “I need to do mine, I need to do mine,” The Man panicked. My head started to itch. Granny, in her dressing gown, looked after Son 2.  Son 1 wriggled and cried and whinged. “If you sit still Daddy will buy you a packet of Go Gos,” I said. “I need two packets,” said Son 1. “Done!” I said.  Son 1 sat, saintly, patient.  I finally got him, damp haired and stinking, to School an hour late.  I am overwhelmed at The Office at the moment. If I had to pick a day when I simply couldn’t be late, today was it.   

At The Office the “Only One Way To Get Rid Of Head Lice” stories rained down.  Wrap your hair in olive oil in a towel for two days.  Make sure you get the eggs.  Tea Tree oil.  I tackled my work pile and was pleased with how far I got. Son 2’s Godmother got the tests back. E Bloody coli.  Where did she get that? Apparently it lives in your gut and can spontaneously skate in.  One of those Shaddap About The Headlice moments. I took her sunflowers.  I went to Boots for more sheepdip.  The Assistant couldn’t have cared less about our outbreak. I just made it to Son 1’s school before the After School Club shut. Back home I shampooed and combed two slithering, wriggling children. And rubbed Agent Orange into my hair. I am bleached blonde. It will probably be green by morning.