1.  Happy Father’s Day

2.  A Family Day Out

3.  The Servant

Man I was wiped out after yesterday, celebrating Nanna’s Grand Old Age from 0830 till gone 11pm. I forgot to say, she loved the cartoon fireman mushroom Son 1 aged 4y 8m chose for her. Kitch. A language shared by the elderly and under-fives.  We really thought we were in for a lie-in, but Son 2 aged 21 m was up and roaring at 6am.  The Man went.  At 0730, when I went down to see them, sitting together on the big chair watching The Wiggles, I said “Happy Father’s Day.”  He’d forgotten. “I’d have made you get up if I’d realised.”  A silent and invisible licked finger wrote a “1″ in the air. 

The Office was at a huge environmental event. Cycle trails, hearty walking,  pond-dipping, willow-weaving, that sort of thing.  I’d said I’d go, and The Man said it was the sort of Family Thing he didn’t mind doing for Father’s Day.  Son 1 packed his golf kit, and wee headed on out. Son 2 fell asleep straightaway, Son 1 hung on until a few minutes before we arrived. We chatted to my colleagues, and went to look around. We got as far as Face Painting And Smoothie Making.  Son 1 was a pirate,. The moustache, caterpillar eyebrow and eyepatch we have seen many times before. But the fake cheek slash was a new touch. Wax-based, red blood running from it, like something off the Casualty set.   We set off round the trail and the boys were murderous.  We split into teams and played “Spot the butterflies.” They came alive. The behaviour switched, instantly. The Man and Son 1 beat me and Son 2 10 - 4.  Ah. Not hungry, tired, or hot, then. Just bored.

There were bees as well as butterflies, and dragonflies, and crickets. Foxgloves, cowslips, a lily pond. All in a scorching day, the sun baking down on the trail.  We took an hour to get to the first mile marker, and an hour back again.  Son 1 spent well over an hour in the Wildlife People’s tent, making a Father’s Day card with a butterfly on it and colouring face marks with felt tip. Son 2 tipped up all the sticker shapes, and I took him away. He had an owl mask. “Owl. Owl.”  Which meant: ” I would like to stand back on that chair and colour my owl like Son 1.”  Eventually I tempted him away with “Would you like some cake?” and we went for ice cream. The Man and Son 1 were a full half hour behind us, because the face mask had to be coloured perfectly. “Didn’t you try to get him away?” “About a thousand times.”  They played golf, and Son 1 had a quick game of pirates with a big boy in the playground.   As we left, Son 1 said “Can I have a servant?” “You’ve got a servant,” I said. “Daddy is your servant, he’s just not very good at it and I keep having to do it instead.”  “No,” insisted Son 1. “A servant. Something we buy. From the shop.”  “You mean a souvenir?”  “Yes.”  “No you can’t. You had too much yesterday.” = 2 Wiggles Activity packs, and a Disney Golf set. Back home I googled the Wiggles.  Bad News.  Liking Anthony is not original.  Good News. I do not need to be concerned about the “Spending Some Quiet Time With Dorothy,” Do-Not-Disturb signs left on the back of the theatre seats.

1.  The Quick

2.  The Quack

3.  The Quest

Son 2 aged 18m can come down the stairs upright, holding onto the bannister with one hand.  Or, if he is in a hurry, he turns round and lies down on his tummy and slides down at top speed. The Man and I watch in terror, but he gets there, and seems unbothered by friction burns.  Son 1 aged 4 yr 6m has got this far without sliding down the stairs on his tummy.  Today, watching Son 2, off he went. Two boys sliding down, The Man and I yelling at Son 1, who started from behind and looked like he was going to bounce the baby off the mountainside like an avalanche.  He elegantly zoomed past him, Son 2 stopping to watch with a huge, delighted grin on his face.  We are a four-storey house, so three flights of stairs.  Maybe we don’t need the stairgates.  Maybe we need a bungalow.

“Wac, Wac.” Son 2 was going mad, pointing at the table.  “Yes yes,” I said absently. “We’ll just get the drinks and then we’ll go upstairs and read some books.”  “Wac, Wac.” I glanced at the table again. Keys, a comic, an FT. Something had made Son 2 think of ducks.  He was wriggling. He was getting upset.  He was shouting.  “WAC WAC.”  “Come on, up we go. Have a think about which books you want to read.”  He burst into tears and lunged for the table. “WAC! WAC!  WAC!”  Ah.  That would be his library book about tractors then.  On the table.   Silly Mummy. Quacks and Twactors have whole syllables in common and I never noticed.  

The Trade Show season.  The Man and the boys were coming with me, like they did last year. A grim trip, with Son 2 wailing for miles.   But when we pulled into car park next to a field full of sheep he smiled, pointed and said “Baa. Baa.”   It was packed.  An organiser told me they had a waiting list for traders, and loads of businesses sold both days’ stock today and were driving back for more.  We fed the boys first.  I had a mega picnic. They wanted only Hula Hoops and Frubes. Son 2 kept running off to a pond. Son 1 was picking up fallen camellia flowers for me. A free face paint for Son 1.  Spiderman. The best one yet.  I nearly asked if she did tattoos.  The family went off while I worked.  Later, Son 1 told me he’d take me to the North Pole and the South Pole.  Through the crowds he dashed.  A stall of sculptures, including three polar bears on a little plinth. “The North Pole!”  Back to a gatepost with a joke penguin on the top.  The voyage included a short cut  through an ancient rhododendron bush the size of a bus.  Fine for Son 1, less so for me with my pink nubuck pumps.  I went back on the stall, Son 1 sat playing with his comic. Then he ran round and fell over on the gravel. Hit his hands, forehead and knees.  He screamed.  We cured him with ibuprofen and a chocolate pancake.  Ingested, not applied externally.

1.  Garden Party

2.  Sliding Down

3.  Wrapping Up

A Little Friend is 3 today.  His party was at a Nearby Garden.  I’ll take all the Christmas presents, I thought, taking a pile of five downstairs to wrap.  In front of Son 1 aged 4y 3m, while Son 2 aged 15m was napping.  Son 1 went nuts.  He wanted the little plastic paint-me figures, he couldn’t keep his fingers out of the Meccano boxes, he lifted the flaps in the  books.  Of course I gave up, and we just took Birthday Boy’s.  Son 1 wore his Santa outfit.  We went straight to see Santa in his grotto; 8 little boys aged 4 and under, 1 two-year old girl.  Santa was great, the grotto was great.  Is it me or are they getting better?  Santa asked all the little boys what they wanted for Christmas.  Son 1 couldn’t speak when it was his turn.  “A Knight’s Tower,” I said, “with some Monsters.”  “And what about this little one? ” said Santa.  “An iPod,” I said. “Or a mobile phone.” Santa stared and waited for a sensible answer, while small boys giggled and said “No-o,” Teletubbies fashion.  I made up a Farm and some bath toys.  Outside, Son 2 stared, rapt, at the mighty camera wielded by Birthday Boy’s parents, reaching out his little starfish hands for the buttons.  Sorry  darling, Santa didn’t believe me when I told him what you’d like for Christmas.      

The children had their faces painted.  They were all blue Power Rangers, which made Son 1 a Santa with a blue face. Lunch was served in the playground.  It was a dry, clear day so the children ate chocolate sandwiches and chased and slid and climbed and squabbled.  Son 2 reached for me every time Wonder Nanny picked him up.  That matters more than it should.  She lay him down on his back and dropped him down the slide… I caught him at the bottom.  He laughed and laughed and then started panicking in case we weren’t going to do it again.  Son 1 complained that Older Brother had hit him.  “You don’t need to tell me,” I said.  “Santa is very close and he’ll be watching Older Brother and won’t bring him any presents.”  They made up.  Cake was served.  Two more boys we know, aged 4 and 2 turned up, with their dad.  The children played, the grown ups chatted.

Some went home, we went back towards the grotto so Son 1 could make a Christmas Table decoration.  Red candle, a bit of clay, a base and all the foliage you can get in for a pound.  Son 1 did a very good job.  We put the boys in the car, they were both asleep by the time we got back to The Town, so I did a quick shopping run around Asda.  Trolley logjam.  Granny and Granddad came round to see the boys, who were fizzing with tiredness.  After bedtime, The Man and I wrapped present after present after present.  Son 2 has about 6 things, Son 1 about 15.  Must get something for Granny and Granddad tomorrow.  And for The Man, I suppose.

1.  Just before the dawn

2.  Sunday morning party

3.  Lunch at Nanna’s

We did better this morning.  Both boys in their own beds at 0615, when Son 2 aged 1 called, and Son 1 aged 3y 11m up appeared instantly as soon as he heard us next door.  It’s the light of course.  We spent the summer with a tatty old blanket wedged into the top of the blind in Son 2’s room, asking ourselves, baffled, why he was waking at 5am.  And now it’s not dawn till 0630, guess what.  Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.     

Slightly more sedate getting out the house today.  We had a party, then over to Nanna’s for lunch.  It made a huge difference not having to pack a picnic, although I did put in milk, fromage frais, water, a jar and raisins for Son 2.  I have had now had the picnic bag out five days in a row, which has, oddly, pleased me.  I like to feel we’ve been gadding  about instead of dusting and straightening ornaments.  (And lordy lordy does it show.)  The party was great.  Son 1 charged around, chivvying, running, calling… playing with four or five of the friends from his Old Nursery.  Son 2 played on the slide, played with the swing ball, played in the sand pit, played with the bubbles, gazed at the balloons, balanced and wobbled on his feet - to admiring applause from the other mums, and had a blast.  Son 1 wore his Captain Hook outfit for face painting, with me thinking he would emerge with an eyepatch and a beard.  No.  A blue face with a black mask.   The Blue Power Ranger, apparently.  Maybe this is the week we move on from pirates.  

Then over to Nanna’s.  Very late.  Younger Sister had started warming up the food to start without us.  Son 1 said he wasn’t hungry.  Son 2 had eaten half a jar, strawberries, banana and various other nibbles.  So it was just the three of us.  “That’s everything except the sausages,” said Younger Sister.  “Sausages?” said Son 1. “Are they veggie sausages?”  “No,” said Nanna.  “They’re for you and me.”  Son 1 pulled up a chair.  Then Son 2 decided he wanted more lunch too, and ate the rest of his jar.    The two of them trashed Nanna’s lounge.  Son 1 got blue face paint on the front of  her sofa, Son 2 smeared vegetable noodles on the back.  Son 1 tried on all her glasses.  Son 2 tried biting the bulbs and the birdfood.  Son 1 went in the garden, Son 2 went up the stairs.  Son 1 threw the loo roll in the bath. Back home they had dips for tea.  Son 1 said “This pepper is really sweet, thank you mummy.” Son 2 got hummous everywhere, but enjoyed it.  I tried rinsing blue face paint out of Captain Hook’s lace and collar.