1.  Tessellation

2.  Acute Angle

3.  Fearful Symmetry

Son 1 aged 5 came in the Big Bed in the night.  Fast asleep, his little body seeks mine. Arms, legs, hands, touch,  touch, touch, snug,  snug, snug, following me around the bed.  I don’t think there’s a childcare book I haven’t read, so yes, I know I should be giving him the great gift of learning to sleep independently… but surely anyone seeing the unconscious behaviour of a small child in bed would conclude they are biologically programmed to sleep with their parents.   We of course are not biologically programmed to work ourselves into oblivion, which is why it all gets tricky. 

And which is why I get every bug going.  I still can’t speak, so I couldn’t go into The Office.  The weather was heavenly, so I decided to help my recovery by taking Son 2 aged 2y 1m to The Zoo.  He loved it. Monkeys, lemurs, ducks, deers, warthogs… “Next one! Next one!”  Lions, lynx, zebra, penguins, snakes, reptiles, frogs.  He walked and walked.  “I wan’ see lion.  I wan’ see lil farm. I wan’ see clip clop (= horses = zebras.)” After two hours I had to give up and we drove back. Son 2 fell asleep almost instantly.  I thought  a sherbert lemon from a bag my colleagues left would help my throat. The bag and the sweet wrapper crackled. ”I wan’ tweetie!” came a cry from the backseat.  At home I needed a rest. Son 2 wouldn’t lie down with me, so I went into the boys’ room, got into Son 1’s bed, and let Son 2 play with his cot and soft toys on the floor beside me.   I closed my eyes.  Something heavy smashed into my forehead so hard it nearly popped my eyeball out from the inside.  It was the lamp from on top of the headboard. Son 2, playing with the on/off switch, had pulled the flex and brought the heavy metal base down on my temple from two foot up.  The imprint is a trench in the bruise on my forehead. Being positive, at least we now know it’s dangerous. It would have cracked a little boy skull like an eggshell. “Mummy. Bump. Light. Head. Ouch.” said Son 2.

The Man collected Son 1 from School and the boys had the Sunday roast leftovers for tea. Just when I thought they’d finished and could be shooed up to bed, Son 1 reminded me that I’d said they could have jelly tot lollies for pudding. ”Ok, you can eat them outside as a special treat and we’ll read some books while we’re out there.” The evening was glorious. We sat beneath the fading sunflowers, and read Son 1’s school book. The boys gobbled the last pea pods off the plants we’d grown.  Son 1 was happy to have his bath and go to bed with Son 2. He dashed upstairs, sprinted into the bedroom and caught the side of his head full pelt against the doorpost, so fast and so hard he ricocheted off like a billiard ball.  He screamed, and cried loudly and horribly. I scooped him up, gave him a large slug of ibuprofen and made him an ice compress in a tea towel.  His left temple is grazed and bruised.  My right temple is dented and bruised.  On the same day, within three hours of each other, absolutely unrelated accidents.  How does that happen?

1.  Ravening Beasts

2.  Dolphins

3.  Little Cherub

A grindingly long day on the Trade Stand.  At a coastal Trade Show, so The Man decided to take Son 1 aged 4y 11m and Son 2 aged 23m.  He’d arranged to see another family there so he’d still have someone to look after him.  But it meant getting up and out Early.  After a long summer of boys in pyjamas in front of the telly, snacking on tubs, having breakfast when they liked, it came as a shock.  But we made it out, on time, using it as a dry run for Thursday, when we’ll have to do it all again for School.  Son 2 passed out in the car almost straight away, Son 1 hung on until we were nearly there. I was then glued to the Stand, the family went wandering. Son 2 was tricky to start off with because he didn’t want to leave me. But they apparently had a blast. A fire engine, a pirate stall, food stalls, marine stalls, musicians, singers and all kinds of boating displays in the adjacent harbour. It heaved with people. The Other Family arrived, and we sent them off in search of The Man and the boys.  An Organiser came up to check everything was ok with us. “Fine,” I said. “How about you? Are you pleased?”  “Oh yes. Apart from having to get Security down to a fight between the Toffee Apple seller and Olde Sweetes next door.”

Late Afternoon and The Man, Son 1 and Son 2 were kicking their heels nearby. A colleague rang from the harbourside. “There’s a pod of dolphins playing with the lifeboats!”   An offshore lifeboat and an inshore RIB were supposed to be doing a display with a Navy helicopter in the sea outside the harbour wall.  The helicopter hadn’t turned up - too misty or busy elsewhere.   But who cares… we got to hang over the wall and watch five or six dolphins within 50 feet, surfacing, jumping, surfing.  Both lifeboats manoeuvred slowly back and forth. the dolphins jumping ahead of their bows and across their wakes.  Jet skiers who had been zooming up and down the inner harbour arrived and started playing with them.   We left before the dolphins. The Man had put Son 1’s milkshake in the pocket of his shorts. Then Son 2 had taken a dive… the milkshake erupted, and The Man had to remove marshmallow, milk and ice cream mix from his phone. 

At bathtime, Son 2 just wanted to “Tork.”  “Lifeboat. Monkey. Waved.”  “Yes. You saw a lifeboat with a man on it wearing a giant lifeboatman head and it looked just like a monkey. And he waved, didn’t he?”  “Dol dols. Lifeboat. Bikes. On Sea. On Wah wah.” “Yes, you saw the lifeboats and the dolphins and the jet skis that looked just like motorbikes.  Did you like the dolphins?” “Yes.  Lifeboat. Monkey. Waved. Me.”  He waved his hand.  “Dol Dol. Bikes.” He zoomed his hand in and out of the bubbles in his bath. ”Would you like to stand up please, like a good boy so I can wash your bottom?” “No. Tork.  Lifeboat. Monkey. Waved.” He was still trying to discuss the dol dols as I lay him down in his cot.

1. In Reality

2.  A Nightmare

3.  Dream Finish

Son 2 aged 23m is speaking in whole sentences, and I haven’t noticed.  “Great receptive language,” I had expertly told myself, “expressive a bit behind Son 1 now aged 4y 11m at his age.” This morning. “Ah Wah Wotsh Madda Da Da.”  I Want To Watch Madagascar.  “Ah Wah Pess Buh Buh.” While I was on my laptop. I Want To Press The Buttons.   Hey ho. There was me thinking, when I get a minute, when I remember, I’ll put all the single words he can do on my blog so I’ll have a record… including all those exciting two-word sentences like “Mummy car,” and “Me Do” (See Yesterday.)  And all the time he’s near enough on “You Must Never Go Down To The End Of THe Town Unless You Go Down With Me.”

I had another one of my anxiety dreams.  I was in the kitchen, making Jamie Oliver fish pie for tea. Son 2 wanted to stand on a chair and wash the potatoes. Son 1 insisted on doing it too. Son 1 wanted to peel the carrots, so I let him “Look! Look! My first carrot! It’s not bad, is it?”  Son 2 wanted to as well, so we had to see if he could do it. “Don’t touch the blade. Sharp. Dangerous.”  The Man said the sauce was too rich last time, so I used full cream milk, and it curdled when I added lemon juice. No matter what I did, the finished meal didn’t get any nearer the oven. Both boys were going nuts with hunger.  Son 1 was supposed to grate a big slab of cheese for my rescue sauce. He ate the lot. The boys were stroppy, The Man was stroppy, the pie still wasn’t in the oven. It was 1720 and it wasn’t a dream. ”I’ll just be five minutes and then I can get it in to cook!” I wailed. 

“I’ll take them for a walk,” said The Man.  “See if the Yacht Club’s open!” I called. “Then I can come back here and switch it off after half an hour.”  Son 2 ran for the door. “And me!”  The bar was open. The boys played with their toy golf set on the lawn. The Man had a couple of pints, I had a couple of glasses of wine. Dark grey, low clouds flew by above the river in front of us… we had a light blue patch high overhead. It was great.  A snatched al fresco playhour. We came back. The pie looked good.  The boys were too tired and wired to eat it.

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.  Mummy Vanishes

2.  Fishing

3.  Finding Nemo

The Man was still alive this morning.  “I did think you might be worried.  I’ll take my phone up with me next time.”  “Is it a Wonder Nanny day today?” asked Son 1 aged 4y 10m as I was getting ready for The Office.  “Yes,” I said. “And then Mummy will be with you tomorrow.” He let off a high wail.  “You don’t (sob) love your boys (sob.)”  Thanks for that one Son 1, I’ll even up a little when I’m in the nursing home.  Son 2 aged 23m was a little darling. “Neno!  Neno!” I do an abridged version of Son 1’s Disney book. “Tak Ta!”  His lift-the-flap farm book.  I almost got him to sit all the way through The Cat In The Hat last night. The Cat was a winner, so was the fish.  He went walkabout well before Mother Came Home.

I had to drive to The City. The roads were ok, it’s always good to see my colleagues from The City Office, and someone said something very nice to me in a meeting. On the way back I stopped at Waitrose because we’re out of Cheerios and tea. A friend wants Wonder Nanny to take her child as well as our two for one day.  Fine, I said, but I’ll have to ask Wonder Nanny. She’d gone by the time I got back. Son 1 pelted down the stairs to greet me, Son 2 just sat up top laughing. 

Son 2 is great. “How old are you going to be on your birthday, Son 2?” “Doooo.”  We sat and read, and then he had his bath, lying face down, full length in it as he played with two tigers and a donkey. His post-bath game is called “Boo.” It involves him lying down with a towel over him. “Daddy, Daddy, something terrible’s happened!  I can’t find Son 2!”  Daddy comes in - somehow this is always timed just after he’s lain down on the bed - lifts up the towel and there is Son 2, who laughs his head off.  Son 1 also plays. He comes in, points at Son 2 and says “He’s there. Under the towel. He’s always under the towel.  Every time.” Again, thanks for that. I put a toy Nemo we’ve had hanging around for ages into the cot with Son 2 tonight, in the hope it might stop him screaming for me the minute I leave. He still screamed, but not for as long.  Could this possibly be the solution?

1.  Try Your Best

2.  Could It Be Worse

3.  Tears Come Streaming

Another one of those days when I didn’t seem to see Son 1 aged 4y 10m or Son 2 aged 22m.  I had to get out pretty quick this morning; and I was late back.  The Man kept them up, but they were pretty wrecked by the time I arrived.  I did some books with Son 2. I’m pleased with his vocab and understanding, although he’s better at vowels than consonents, and has some words he makes up completely. I can understand Bfish for “I have finished my meal” - bfish is Son 2 for fish, and finished, as we all know, sounds just like fish. But A-wa for thank you?  Can’t do that one.  He does a very good Pin Gin for Penguin though. And this morning, when Son 1 said “Bor-ring,” Horrid Henry-style, Son 2 did a perfect “Bor-ring” in echo.

Today was also a day when within two hours, I spoke to three different people doing Real Life far more intensely than me. First was the Old Friend from years back, separated at Christmas, made redundant early this year, and now scratching around for jobs paying barely half what she earned before. Then was another Old Friend from years back, someone made redundant 10 years ago, who has since then worked hard, steadily and well, and is now, through being a very pleasant, fab person, enjoying spectacular success.  

And then a Father I know, talking about his gravely ill child.    I swallowed, I surreptitiously touched water away from the corner of my eye when he wasn’t looking, I concentrated on my breathing.  When he got to the part about a bleak decision he and his wife have had to take I burst into tears. Just what you need when you’re telling someone how appalling your world is.   I finished off at The Office, I came home.  Son 1 and Son 2 cuddled, kissed, and Son 1 said “I love you Son 2.”  Son 2 cried when Son 1 said night night and blew him his kisses.    I cannot imagine life without them.

1.  Daddy Rings The Bell

2.  Show That All Is Well

3.  Rocking, Rolling, Raging

Man, what a week. It doesn’t feel like I’ve seen Son 1 aged 4y 10m and Son 2 aged 22m. Which is daft, because I had my half day on Tuesday and as usual had Wednesday.  I left early again, this time needing to go to The City for The Office.    Son 2 apparently had a really bad night and kept The Man up throughout.  I didn’t hear anything. This is Indeed A Good Thing.  Apart from they were both fairly fractious by the time I got up.  Son 2 was lovely for our morning reading time though.  Say Hello to The Animals, Full Of Love, The Boy On The Beach, Maisie’s Fire Engine and The Snail And The Whale.  I like to think I do 5 books in the morning with him and 5 books in the evening. So he has 70 books a week.  This will Help His Receptive Language and Ensure He Has A Large And Confident Vocabulary.  In Son 2’s Top 10 words are Burp, Bart (for fart) and Bum Bum, when he bends over and waggles his bottom in the air.   These have so far not featured in any of his children’s books.  They are though heavily over-used by Son 1.  And before you start really hating me, the 5 books is a target.  Many, many days I am just too knackered.

A long old day in The City, and then back again. I stopped at Waitrose.  Like I did on Tuesday.  When I bought a two-pint bottle of organic milk, got it home and found it had a use-by date of the previous day, and a sell-by date of the day before that. Waitrose!  I always thought they were up there with John Lewis and… John Lewis as quality brands. I phoned them up and they grovelled, and told me to come back in and they’d give me a refund. They gave me a refund and a new bottle of milk. Sell by August 7. I checked. 

Younger Sister is down, just till tomorrow. She had Nanna to stay, and brought her back yesterday. So I had a Grand Plan that we could all eat out at Pizza Express.  5 o’clock, I said. And then got stuck, stuck, stuck in the traffic. Friday evening in the school holidays, what was I thinking of? i got there at about 6pm. I could hear a baby crying from outside. Too young to be  Son 2, I thought. As I came up the stairs, I looked into the eyes of a contorted, red, screaming toddler face.  Son 2 in Tantrum Town. The Man was just Iron Maiden-ing him into the high chair.  There wasn’t much I could do with him either.  It was good to get out, and good to see Younger Sister, who goes back tomorrow.  Son 2’s second mega-strop this week. I hope it’s not because I’ve not been around.

1. A Helping Hand 

2.  Holding Hands

3.  A Big Hand

I helped myself to a lie in. Just couldn’t get up.  Eventually we all got going, but Son 1 aged 4y 10m was being strident and shouty, demanding and mouthy, picking on Son 2 aged 22m, not tolerating him when he buzzed his games.  Absolutely normal behaviour for a 4 year old boy, but The Man and I are Very Tired.  I took them swimming in The Hotel pool.  Son 1 was great, swimming and splashing on the noodle.  He still wanted to bomb and splash, but it was too crowded. And he had make-pretend games he wanted to play… but I had to keep Son 2 from drowning. ”We need Daddy, don’t we?” said Son 1. I think I may have to agree with him.  Son 2, smiling and eyes dancing,  will jump off the side without fear. I let him go under without catching him once, but he looked so shocked as he came up, gleaming, blinking and coughing, that I didn’t do it again.  He’s not as confident in the water as Son 1 was at his age, but then I used to take Son 1 to swimming lessons every week, and just for a play swim on Sundays. He ended the session: “Cold!  Out! Towel!”

Back home The Man had been in a cupboard and found the old plaster-casting kit we had for Son 1.    We took a beautiful cast of his hand when he was 6m, on a very giggly Sunday morning, with me holding a comatose Son 1, Nanna holding the impression bag and The Man pouring the gunk in. i would love a cast of Son 2, but he never sleeps deeply enough.  Son 1 was desperate to do his hand.   We added the water, and I squodged the bag round Son 2’s hand. “Don’t move it, DON’T MOVE IT! I screeched. And then saw the frightened look in his eyes. “It’s ok, you’re doing fine,” I calmed down.  It set, and we peeled it off.  It looked good.  It needed to dry for two hours before we could cast from it. 

Son 2 and I went upstairs to put him down for a sleep.  We snuggled into the Double Bed.  He snugged me for a bit, then wandered off over to the other side of the bed. He fell asleep.  So did I. He woke a couple of times, and wriggled back towards me. He fell back to sleep. So did I. I woke up and saw his little face peering at me. “Up!”  We went downstairs. “Mummy come and see my hand!” Son 1 pelted out of the lounge. We went down to the kitchen.  The plaster cast of his hand is perfect.  Individual fingers… a complete little four-year-old hand with no Pompeii-like cracks or broken bits. It’s lovely. “Will you keep it forever?” said Son 1. Yes I will.

1,  Stealth

2.  Sea King

3.  Merlin

I was very pleased to get to bed without Son 1 aged 4y 9m padding upstairs behind my heels, and glad also to get through the night without being wakened by a little pale visitor clambering into the Big Bed.  I woke to the usual siren sound of “Mummeee, Mummeee” from downstairs. And was eyeball to eyeball with a little pale visitor.  No idea when he turned up.  He obviously didn’t wake me when he got in, and I didn’t wake him when I got up. 

The Rockpool Beach was just a strip of sand with great rolling waves reaching well up it.  “It’s going out,” said the Wednesday Mums.  They weren’t staying, they each had other things to do. I decided we’d hang around and see how we got on. I put Son 2 in his sunsuit and plastered him in Factor 50.  How British. Yesterday it rained on me so hard I could barely breathe… this afternoon I was gazing out to sea wondering how could I could go for a dip with two children on land.  Son 1 went in the sea up to his hips in his trousers.  i yelled at him and got him in his sunsuit.  The tide pelts in on that beach, and it raced out.   The three of us played at the water’s edge.  We had some lunch. Son 1 wanted to go home - he’d got cold but wouldn’t let me change him.  I span it out.  We took him to the loo and on the way back looked in rockpools for cowries. We found two.  Three children came up to us to show us the crab they’d caught.  They wanted ice cream; the cafe was shut. Son 2 understood the drift of the conversation, and went nuts “Ice Deam! Ice Deam!”  Embarrassed, I told their mother :”His brother was organic and sugar-free till he was two, but his favourite words are sweets, choc-choc, ice deam, bik bik and cake.” “Wait for the third,” said the mother. ”She was three at the weekend, and we gave her a DS. ”

Son 1 clambered in the Big Pram, fidgeted around to get comfortable and tipped it over sideways onto some rocks. The Big Pram is as sturdy as a small tank.  Maybe I should admit he really is too big for it.   We cleared up and went up the cliff to the car. The Navy flew by, very low, in a helicopter. We waved. They waved back.  Very exciting. I have for years told Son 1 that we have to wave at helicopters because they are waving at us, and now I have been proved right.  Back home we got a space outside the house.  I put the children in, unloaded the car, put Finding Nemo on upstairs “Fish! Fish!” and Nanna came round.   I made tortilla for tea. Son 2 demolished his in minutes, Son 1 sucked the butter from his hot baguette and said he’d finished.

1.   An Early Run 

2.   Eyebrows

3.   Banana Cake

4.   Yes

By the time I got up to bed last night, Son 1 aged 4y 8m was in the Big Bed with The Man.  The Man trooped downstairs to Son 1’s bed, and I spent the night with a little octopus clinging and stroking my eyebrow. I woke at 0530. A bright, dry morning, perfect for someone who needs to get going on running again. I was a bit depressed reading last year’s blog entry when I was out running more often.  Can’t remember when I last went out. Whenever it was, I left my kit slung over a radiator, so I tiptoed over, grabbed it, grabbed my contact lenses, and fairy-trod downstairs.  I went out of the house as fast as I could. I did five sets of three-minutes running and three-minutes walking - it’s been so long I don’t want to get injured - and felt hugely better for it.  I really can’t be disciplined about my eating, I love food too much. But I do think I can possibly manage to exercise.

We went to the Rockpool beach with the Wednesday Friends. The weather was great - a real bonus as the forecast was grim.  Son 1 played with his friends, rock-climbing and pirates. Son 2 aged 20m was hard work - tired and clingy. Back just after lunch, and I tried unsuccessfully to get Son 2 to go to sleep.  “Do you want a snooze, or do you want to get up?” I asked him, in the darkened bedroom.  “Up,” he said.  So downstairs and I put CBeebies on. Son 1 sat on my lap - I couldn’t get Son 2 to join us.  Son 1 reached back and stroked my eyebrow.  This, as I’ve mentioned before, is a legacy from his breast-feeding days, when he used to play with my eyelashes and eyebrow during feeding.  It’s still his comfort thing, and it’s always when he’s tired.  He Eyebrows me, mainly, and sometimes The Man and Wonder Nanny.  I’ve also see him try Son 2’s, and have now seen him sitting with his fingers on his own eyebrow.  Not that keen on that one.  Don’t want him ending up rubbing them off.   Anyway. “Are you tired?” I asked him as we sat in my chair watching telly and my eyebrow came under attack.  “No.” “Then why are you Eyebrowing?”  “I just want a quiet time with my eyebrow.”   

Son 1 then decided he wanted to make a cake. I don’t really do cakes.  Mix butter, sugar and flour together and then cook them. In special tins. Add food colouring.  Seems odd.  However.  We have a banana glut (Wonder Nanny and I both bought some on the same day, then the Organic Veg Man brought some) and a Banana Cake recipe from Wonder Nanny. So that is what we made. I got the baking box out. The boys found an opened packet of choc chips and stuffed their faces with them.  Then they tried starting on the Tesco Value cooking chocolate.  I snatched it from Son 2 just as he’d torn his way inside.  We had piled ingredients in the food processor when I realised that every drop of bicarbonated soda had gone into baths for Son 2 during his chickenpox.  We did however have cream of Tartar, and the tub said it was a raising agent, so we chucked that in instead.  The boys took the food processor bowl and spoons and licked it out. Until Son 2 put the coins from his moneybox in the mix, so I confiscated it.  And we were very pleased with the cake. 

Son 2 can say “yes.” He wanted to talk on the phone, so I rang Nanna.  He tried nodding at something she said, and I told him she couldn’t see him and he’d have to say “yes.” So he did.  Perfectly. He has also just started saying something like “fish” instead of his ages-old preference of opening and closing his mouth. In the bathroom tonight “towel.”  And, accompanied by the action of pulling them all out of the box “tissue.”  This is of course a scientific study of language acquisition, and not a bragging mother.