1.  Hair

2.  Skin

3.  Bone

I’ve had all my hair cut off. I’ve worn it short for 20 years anyway, but recently I grew it. A bit.  It went wavy. Straight-haired, don’t-care-if-it’s-raining me.  It went fluffy at the ends.  I couldn’t do anything with it.  On holiday, The Man said it was horrible.  Now I am elfin, and he likes it again.  What a relief. “What conditioner do you use?” asked the Shampoo Girl.  ”Hedrin,” I didn’t say.  Lifestyle Guru Hairdresser has spent two years tut-tutting over the straw on my head and reassuring me that Hair Changes When You’re Pregnant. This time she sprayed my head with Instant Stand-Back Defibrillating Deep Impact Conditioner.  At least I hope that’s what it was.  But the haircut’s great, the colour’s great… and I would be walking on air except for one thing…. Lifestyle Guru Hairdresser,  who runs two salons, works full-time and has two sons aged 8 and 6, has finished her Christmas Shopping.  And it’s wrapped. 

Son 1 aged 5y 1m is much better but still droops if he’s not topped up with Calpol. The rash is still pver his neck, chest, stomach and back but it’s now faint pink.  Now.  All you consultant dermatologists and micro biologists reading this.  His molluscum, which has been the grinding bane of my world for months and months and months, is clearing up.  I have tried everything.  Some of the things I have tried  - neat tea tree oil - have made his skin even worse.  He was allergic to it and he  broke out in eczema. I tried to stop it spreading with every brand of skin sensitive plasters on them and he was allergic to them all. So his chest and tummy  was peppered with horrible pustuley molluscum, and the skin between was raw with eczema. Over the last week the eczema is in retreat and the molluscum is healing over and shrinking.  So what’s done that? The Strep bacteria or the penicillin? It’s got to be the bacteria, hasn’t it, because molluscum is a virus and we all know that Antibiotics Don’t Work On Viruses.     

The other Good Thing about today was the weather in the afternoon. We had thundering rain and Force 10 winds overnight and this morning… and then, still windy, still cold, but the sun came out. We wheeled the boys into The Town, did one of our all-you-can-carry Tesco shops and came back again with not a drop of rain on us. Son 2 aged 2y 2m was exhausted and refused to sleep, which made him into my stalker over tea.  Lamb shanks. The Man bought them. I cooked them. The Man had seconds. Son 2 ate three pieces. Son 1 chewed one, then stuck his tongue out downwards so the wodge fell off on to his plate.  He ate thirds of broccoli in cheese sauce.  ”Great,” said The Man. “I’m condemned to chicken and sausages for the rest of my life.”

1.  Avoir Fatigue

2.  M’Aider

3.  The Couleurs King

I have been awake since 3am. Ellen MacArthur did five months on five minutes’ sleep every four hours.  Or something. I could so see her off.   I woke up, couldn’t get back to sleep, went downstairs, made a cup of tea, went back upstairs, got my Book Club book and went back down to the Double Bed for a peaceful middle-of-the-night readfest.  A little figure came padding down from the Big Bed. Wordlessly and glassy-eyed, Son 1 aged 5 plonked himself in the Double Bed.  Mrs Smiley’s voice echoed in my head: “How’s his sleeping?”  I switched off the light. “My head is still hurting.” I gave him a slug of Kalpol. He didn’t sleep; I didn’t sleep. He eyebrowed vigorously and clamped himself to me.  After a very very long time, Son 2 aged 2y 1m wailed.

After an hour at The Office, my voice had gone again.  “I’ll go home and work there,” I told a colleague. I didn’t make it. I found if I kept my head down, said nothing and drank lots of hot drinks, I could manage. I did a mad run round the shops at lunchtime.  I have… erm.. burnt Son 1’s tummy by putting neat tea tree oil on his molluscum. It’s made his eczema flare up.  I asked Teenaged Niece what she put on her eczema. “HE 45″ she said. I wasn’t going to take her word for it. I was going to ask the pharmacist. Only all pharmacists in the Big Town take their lunch between 1pm and 2pm.  “When can you guys make it?  OK.  That’s when we’ll shut up shop.”  So. HE 45 it was. And some allergy-for-children medicine.

Back late, and Son 2, the Cooler King, was shut up in his cot in a darkened room, having a raging tantrum.  ”He’s been horrible,” said The Man. ”He wouldn’t eat his tea, he wouldn’t have a bath, and I only just got his teeth done.” I got Son 2 out, and he sat on my knee, quietly panting, his head against me.  I took him into the other bedroom. Son 1 had a French lesson today, and was singing something about quelle couleurs.  The Man and I were baffled by the verse: Hoar, jaune, bleu, vert. We eventually worked out that the problem was our dodgy accents. Our rouge features the same sound as kangaroo.  Son 1’s has a throaty soft French “r” and a “g” that rolls into the “j” of “jaune.” I gave him the anti-allergy medicine. And then read the ingredients. Sugar and alcohol.  Nice.  I really want to give that to my five-year-old.

1.  Messages From The Deep

2.  Sunday At The Pub

3.  One Star Dining

Son 2 aged 17m and I were sitting on some steps round a sports race track.  I dropped him, and I snatched at his clothes but no matter how much I tried I couldn’t get a good grip.  I called to The Man who was with Son 1 aged 4y 5m but no matter how loud I yelled he didn’t hear me.  The last bit of Son 2’s clothing fell away from my fingertips and he tumbled to the bottom of the steps, out of sight, and then emerged screaming, no longer wearing his trousers or nappy, his face red, his eyes closed in slits.  I woke up, realising that the reason my scalp, hairline and skin behind my ears has been itching for the last week isn’t head lice.  It’s a reaction to the new conditioner I’ve been ladling on to comb through with the Nitty Gritty.  It was 7am, and The Man was downstairs in the lounge with the boys watching Dora The Explorer.  I think I need more sleep.

Friends rang before 9am offering to take Son 1 out for a walk for an hour.  I said no, I can’t do without him when I’m not at work.  By 1015 we were coated, booted and ready for a walk through town.  Grey clouds descended and a cold wind whipped up.  The Friends’ van was parked outside the family pub and they were outside, having already done a bracing Sunday morning stroll.  We all trooped inside the pub for coffee, tea, and a play for Son 1 with their 3 year old.  By 11 Son 2 was unravelling, so off we went.  We picked up some bits we needed; Son 2 fell asleep in the Big Pram.  I said I wanted to make the most of his snooze so we went for coffee.  Son 1 had a new Ben 10 sticker book.  When he recited the names of twenty different aliens I wondered whether I should abandon my vague anti-mode and teach him to read.

This afternoon the boys played in the lounge.  Son 2 had the Wooden Railway out.  Son 1 alternated between playing with his castle, doing a puzzle and plonking himself in the middle of Son 2’s game and starting a completely different one.  Son 1 wanted to watch Harry Potter.  I said he couldn’t have it on with Son 2 around.  We settled for The Wiggles, again.  The Man rightly decided we were all too knackered for a Sunday roast, so they had sausages, leftover potatoes and peas and I had omelette.  Son 1 managed to sit at the table throughout.  He has another 8 weeks to learn to do it in front of Granny and Granddad on holiday.  Ever hopeful, we have started a new sticker chart.   8 stars gets him a Gormiti egg.