1.   Froggies

2.   Buggies

3.   Huggies

Really good, thank you, great weather, good journeys, no complaints, no complaints. Want some pictures? You’ll like this one: I dressed the boys for a 3am start in the UK, and we arrived at 12 noon our time and 25C, picked up the gleaming hire car and headed for the villa… Son 2 aged 2y 1m cried in the back, red spots burning in his cheeks, clearly overheated and distressed. “It’s ok, Son 2,” I kept saying. “We’re nearly there.” We stopped outside our destination. Vomit jetted out of him in pitiful spurts, swilling down his front and pooling in the car seat.  “I’s sick,” he said, hair plastered to his forehead.   Oh, but the swimming pool was lovely, the waiters loved children, the sun shone and the Bloody Marys racked up.  The Elegant Aunt and Golfmad Uncle had given us their timeshare, where we’ve stayed before, but had booked themselves another villa a few miles away to see the boys. “You’ll think it’s a bit Footballers’ Wives,” laughed the Elegant Aunt as she showed me around their new find.  Oh dear. I didn’t. I thought it was lovely.  Really lovely.  I didn’t dare tell her.  So we swam and went to the playground and the beach, and then this morning we trailed along the paths towards the hire car, and the boys spotted frogs in the water through the gardens. And I had a massive Pang, because we Just Don’t Get Enough Time Together As A Family.  And then I was Positive, because I know how lucky we are. And I am full of Holiday Resolutions which will Improve Our Lives.

Son 2, sitting in the back,  sang a song about his Ollday. Each verse finished on “Orl day long,” and Son 1 aged 5y 1m and I clapped each time.  Then he started to cry. “I’s sick,” he said.  “We’re nearly there, Son 2,” I said, mentally risk assessing. Garbage In = Garbage Out. He hadn’t had enough breakfast for anything untoward to happen.  The Man piled the trolley high with two suitcases, a sailbag, a hand-luggage-on-wheels-case, two car seats and assorted bits of carry-on stuff, including a Thomas The Tank Engine wheeled suitcase and an Early Learning Centre farm.  He zoomed off to return the hire car.   We paused in Departures. Son 2 threw up. Magnificently.  Great quantities of milk and bits which even I could smell.  I blotted him madly with muslins from the nappy bag, failing to notice that he was sitting in puddles of it in the buggy.  Son 1 had Euros from Golfmad Uncle in his pocket, and whined for the Sweetie Stall.     The Man returned, I broke open a case and found clean clothes. We checked in, sent the stinky buggy into the hold and sprayed ourselves in Wall-E scent from the toy bit of Duty Free.

The flight was a Total Nightmare.  Son 2 is a psychotic flyer and I Refuse To Go On A Plane With Him Again Ever.  It was worse than this: http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2009/05/17/the-land-of-the-sand/  But it was only two and half hours in a 12 hour trip, there was a sachet of Calpol they didn’t spot in the nappy bag and we dosed him with that. But next time it’s Medised.  On the way we gave Son 1 his first trip to McDonald’s. A Happy Meal. Doesn’t like burgers, doesn’t really do stringy chips, but liked the tomato sauce and the toy.  Son 2 kept up the jeopardy with “I’s sick! I’s sick!” but we put Chitty Chitty Bang Bang on the portable DVD and he seemed to forget. Back home we unpacked. And I have a Triumph. We bought too much wine out there and couldn’t drink it all. So I brought it back.  I am a Member Of Mumsnet.  We can Solve Problems.  In the suitcase, in the hold, and it didn’t break.  Wrapped in clingfilm, a carrier bag each, two of The Man’s tee-shirts which I hate so wouldn’t care if we had to throw them out… and the particular stroke of genius of which I am very proud: Son 2’s swimnappies.  One at each end of the bottles. And one turned inside out on either side in case the worse happened.  6 Euros Over There will be Very Nice Over Here.  And Kim, who is keen on the brand, and has been kind enough to comment, at last I can give you your heading…

1.   Without Consulting Me

2.  A Golden Gown

3.  Wandering Vaguely

I took Son 1 aged 4y 11m to school and found The Headmaster. At the end of last term The Man wrote to ask if we can take Son 1 out the week after half-term. The Elegant Aunt has offered us her Timeshare week.  Our holiday in May with The Family was a delight for the boys, but this, because of The Man’s Business, would be our first chance this year to go away as a foursome.  “I understand,” said The Headmaster. ”It’s not a problem.”

My last day as The Mother Of A One Year Old. I took the day off work so I could spend quality time with Son 2 aged 23m. So, after I’d dropped off Son 1 I had my hair done. I like the colour, I like the cut - she seems to have made it longer than it was when I went in, even with taking half an inch off.  Although The Stand In Hairdresser says as it’s bleached, it’s got to be short.  No handsome prince is ever going to scale a tower by clambering up my flaxen tresses. I got home at lunchtime to an exhausted Son 2 - Wonder Nanny had kept him up so he’d be awake for my return.  He then refused to sleep in the afternoon.  We played and watched telly, and then I roasted chicken legs for tomorrow’s birthday tea. Son 1 wants Pirate Chicken.  The meat pirates eat in the pictures.

I rang Nanna. “Please can you babysit so The Man and I can take my new haircut out?” She could.  We were late leaving though, after Son 1 first had to tiptoe into the bedroom to put each of Son 2’s presents under the cot. And then, as we read stories about Birthdays, we did Two Presents For Eeyore - the original of course - and his curiosity was drawn to Christopher Robin and The Narrator. “It’s his DAddy.  The stories were written a long time ago by a Daddy for his little boy who was five. And the little boy’s toys were Winnie The Pooh and Piglet and Eeyore and Owl and Rabbit and KAnga and Roo.” “Are they dead?”  “The Daddy is, I can’t remember if Christopher Robin is. He’s a very old man if he’s still alive.” “What happened to the Mummy?”  A very good question I thought. Never heard of her. In fact, now you mention it, I’m also worried about James James Morrison Morrison Weatherby George Dupree’s Mother.  She may have Gone Down To The End Of The  Town and was Never Seen Again. But did anyone check the whereabouts of James James’s Father when she went missing?

1.  Fungus

2.  Fertiliser

3.  Photos

A ridiculously long, complicated day, involving a drive over to The City which meant I wasn’t home till 8pm… then a quick night night to Son 1 aged 4y 10m and Son 2 aged 23 m, who’d been kept up specially, and then zooming out again for an Office Thing. We were up daftly early though, so I did have time to read to Son 2 this morning.  He pointed at a mushroom in a picture book. “Mush mush.”  Hmmm.  I spend hours each week patiently going through piles of children’s books with Son 2. They are very heavily centred on cartoon cats and dogs, jungles and farm animals, vehicles and babies. Mushrooms don’t really come into it.  I’ve told him what they are a couple of times - on the odd occasion he’s been through the veg box before I’ve had chance to put it away. Clearly a genius. Or possibly something to do with Wonder Nanny. 

I fetched the hairbrush to brush Son 2’s hair. “Me do,”  he said firmly.  And for the poppers on his sleepsuit.  He also wants to wee in the loo. Won’t use his potty. Doesn’t want to use the booster seat.  Just wants to stand up on the plastic step and point.  I went into the bathroom to see Son 1 and Son 2, starkers, Son 2 on the step and  Son 1 beside him gently holding Son 2’s willy while he weed in the loo.  Both with beaming smiles.  Sorry, but I’m leaving that one.  I’m very happy for Son 2 to toilet train himself, and skip all the extra bits of plastic Son 1 used. I still remember having to take the Big Chair Potty to the beach under the Big Pram, because he wouldn’t go in anything else. And I can remember packing a booster seat in the suitcases to take to Portugal.   But if he wants to wee standing up he can hold his own willy. You Do. 

The Man has had some holiday pictures sent to him by the Elegant Aunt. A lovely picture of all four of us sitting on a sofa in the bar area of the holiday village, and others taken in the cafe/pool area. The Man flipped back and forth between them. “Son 2 looks different in this one.  His hair’s longer…”  “No darling, ” I said as gently as I could. “This one - ” the family shot ” - was taken last year, in May 2008. This one -  ” - Son 2 and I, on the terrace, “was taken on this year’s holiday. He’s eight months old in that one, and 20  months old in this one.”

1.  A Thousand Cuts

2.  Thanks A Thousand

3.  A Thousand Times

Son 2 aged 22m didn’t wake up screaming till 0615.  This is a Good Thing. Lately it’s been unremitting before 0530.  The Man has tried.  I’ve just left him, his screams not quite drowned out by the klaxon of my guilt. I wonder what’s wrong. Wonder Nanny says he’s the same when he wakes up from his daytime naps. I wouldn’t know. He never sleeps in the daytime when he’s with me. Which all leads me to the Pang Pang Pang conclusion that he needs to see me more. Oh Lord.   At least we have Wonder Nanny so he doesn’t have to go to Nursery.  He stood at the door and cried after she left tonight. Pang Pang Pang.    

Cheer Up, Said George.  (Son 2 and I are doing The Smartest Giant In Town at the moment.)  The Man has taken some time off.  This is cause for the firing of cannons and a public holiday.  I have tried pointing out that even Junior Doctors are barred by law from working more than 48 hours a week but for some reason he thinks he’s exempt from the Working Time Directive.   And the boys’ Elegant Aunt has offered us her timeshare week. Hoorah hoorah.

I tried to get home from work a bit early to see a little more of Son 1 aged 4y 10m and Son 2.  Didn’t work.  When I cuddled Son 2, Son 1 went mad with jealousy, and relentlessly tried to bash him off me or force his way between us. When I cuddled Son 1, Son 2 let out intolerable ear-splitting shrieks and I ended up dumping him in his cot.  I left him there for five minutes, and then went back up. He was standing, in his dungarees, cute as a kitten, in the corner of his cot.   A big smile. “Mummeeeee!” “Are you going to stop shrieking?” “Yesssssssssssssss.”  And he made it till bedtime without a single screech.  And then, after I’d laid Son 1 down in his bed and closed their bedroom door, their day ended as it began. “MUMMMMEEEEEEE! MUMMMMEEEEE!!!!”

1.  A Glorious Day

2.  An Excruciating Evening

3.  A Successful Meal

We have been On Holiday. Fantastic, thank you.  Scorching sunshine, lovely villa, beautiful pools. Perfect.  We were with Granny and Granddad, Elegant Aunt and Golfmad Uncle.    Son 1 aged 4y 7m, Son 2 aged 20m and I spent most of each day in the water. The Man dipped in and out, and Granny joined us yesterday.  Son 1 came on leaps and bounds before our eyes.  The boy who wouldn’t put his face in the water where all about him were jumping in, ducking down and diving under can now swim a length of the children’s pool facedown, pick toys sharks up from the bottom and is pretty damn near being able to copy Marvellous Mummy’s handstands.   Son 1 went to Baby Swimming Classes from about 9 weeks old.  Son 2 has never had a swimming lesson.  By the end of the holiday he could float calmly in his armbands and scrabble back to me if I insisted.   But he didn’t really want to.  On one Amazing Morning, I had them both in the pool at 11am. By 12, Son 1 was asleep under a towel on a sun lounger, and Son 2 was crashed out in the MacLaren.  We all had Bloody Marys. I did 20 lengths in the outside pool, watching an azure-winged magpie flitting around.  I then had the whirlpool and indoor pool to myself, and got to blow-dry my hair after swimming for the first time in four-and-a-half years. When I emerged, gleaming and glowing, Son 2 was Up, Cross and Hungry, on The Man’s knee.

We must do it again, we said, we must stay longer. Son 1 found a leaflet about a 2008 sand sculpture competition. “I want to go here. To the land of the sand.” We’ll try in the autumn, we said, we’ll check out flights and prices… And then the trip home.  Son 2 on a plane. Golly, quel beast.  He was bad enough on the way out, but on an afternoon flight on a plane full of tipsy golfers, there was enough cheering, clapping and ambient sound to absorb his wailing.  On an evening flight, after a long, sleepless day he was Satan With The Baffles Out.  Loudest child there by many, many miles.   He kicked seats, he struggled, he roared, he twisted, he wept, he sobbed, he shouted.  For two-and-a-half hours.  It was past funny, past the point where I could look at anyone else and past the point where I wanted anything to do with him.  He quietened down 5 minutes before landing, and hot, red-faced, glazed-eyed and floppy, ignored the bump as the plane came down. Then, again alert, he peered out of the window, pointed outside at the vehicles whizzing past and said: “Bus.”  

Today we opened post, washed clothes and downloaded photos.  Son 2 wanted to go to sleep, so he and I had a heavenly cuddle on the double bed before he passed out.  Little arms around my neck, a  little cheek pressed against mine, soft breath on my lips… who could possibly ever say a bad word to say about him?  Son 1 had five Euros off Granny for a treat, so we went into The Town in search of a comic, a chicken and some fruit.  Nanna came round , looking, sounding and walking much better since they put her on Warfarin.   The Man made Sunday dinner, and the boys ate chicken, broccoli, carrots, potatoes and gravy.  Big relief to see them eating the right stuff. Son 2’s vocabulary now includes: crisps, chips (same ‘kip’ word for both) sweets, ice cream and chocolate.  Much more advanced than Son 1, who didn’t get a grain of sugar from us till he was gone 2.

1.  Life Of Mammals

2.  A New Best Friend

3.  Coming Out Of The Shell

Up a little later.  Linked to going to bed a little later.  At about 2am, after Turkey Casserole for 9.  All right then, for eight, because we had a no-show.  All right then, for six, because there were two vegetarians.    We’ve served up Turkey Casserole about now for years, and the fact we can still do it is a Good Thing.  BC we weren’t bad at having People Round.  And now we’re… still doing Turkey Casserole, hooray, what a positive blog this is.  So the pace was a little slower first thing.  Even Son 2 aged 15m slept in till 8am.  A telly morning.  Of course, we only watch Nature Documentaries,  so Son 1aged 4y 3m watched whales on Life of Mammals, spellbound.  Son 2 pointed at the screen and opened and closed his mouth like a fish.  He climbed into Son 1’s Tower of Doom, sat in it and then couldn’t get out.

Son 2 has an Elegant Aunt, who gave him a tasteful pullalong wooden snail for Christmas.  He mastered it today.   The telly watching allowed him to make many many laps of the lounge.  Son 1 unleashed hell, often,  by taking it off him.  The snail has been in the kitchen, in the lounge, and was finally taken upstairs at bathtime.  It was still being towed it back and forth while Son 1 was in the shower.  I had to thwart a conspiracy to put the snail in the bath.  Son 2 likes Monkey Puzzle and The Gruffalo.  Snail and The Whale day, I thought.  Touch and go.  Not that interested.  Liked the penguins, the bear, the stranded whale and the fire engine.  Then realised you’re allowed to drive your snail back and forth over the pages every time the word “snail” is mentioned.  Now you’re talking.

I went out for a run.  I’ve made lots of excuses to myself over the past week, too tired, too busy, Granny and Granddad here, too late.  The main reason has been the wind.  Too Cold.  So I wrapped up in big thick hat, gloves and gilet and overboiled.  To the Bridge Over The River and back.  The pace at the end of the day was also slow.  I thought about The Blog, and I thought about Mumsnet.  I parked my Blog here without asking, I lurk on the threads, I learn loads and offline I am often talking about the things I see here.  It makes a huge difference to me.  It is A Good Thing.