1.  Greetings

2.   Vision

3.  Lights

I am trying to heave myself out of bed earlier, so when Son 2 aged 23m cried, I gave The Man just enough time to get to him first for the nappy change.  Son 2 called ”Mummy! Mummy!” at the sound of my tread on the stairs. The Man attended the business end on the changing mat… I had the little starfish hands reaching for me and giggles and smiles and shining eyes. 

The Man came into The Big Town, and we met for lunch. A Good Thing. He ordered for me before I got there.  There was me planning to have a green salad and mineral water, and he went and ordered hummous, ciabatta and a cappacino. Dang him.  Opposite the cafe is the optician, where weeks ago I ordered new contact lenses.  And week after week I’ve forgotten to pick them up. The Man marched me in to make sure.   I’ve been dangerously short-sighted all my life.  I knew vaguely that you get more long-sighted as you grow older, and I thought vaguely that meant I’d have perfect vision one day. Even if starting from my base line I’d need to live to be 900 to benefit. So it’s been a sad shock to realise that the near focus just… goes.  And, as you can probably tell, reading is my whole world.  Still. I travel hopefully.  My lenses are still in the bag. They will solve it all.

The Man worked very, very late last night, and I did books, bath and bed on my own. I  got back this evening and the boys were watching CBeebies.  Television After Tea!  Hell in a handcart.  They were, The Man said, sitting quietly watching it till I got in. Can’t think what made them leap up and down screaming.  No need to be that loud once the telly was off. There were fireworks at 10pm for the end of the Festival.  Son 1 insisted we wake him. “I’m a big boy! I can get up!” We woke him. He sprawled out on the window seat, his vision obscured by the window frame.  Lights and patterns exploded in the misty sky.  He drowsed. “Take me back to bed.” The Man obliged.

1.  Daemon

2.  Pumpkin Soup

3.  Fireworks

A tough morning after a tough night before.  The Man conceded that after devoting weekends, evenings and agreed time off to work, he could spend a bit of time helping me today.  Maybe the fact that I drove 15 miles home from the Office last night in the pitch black with just my sidelights on, and I reversed the car into a barrier helped him realise I was suffering.  He took the boys to the Museum to see the Wednesday Friends while I lay in bed and watched telly.  Of course I couldn’t cope.  The Western World was wheeling cartwheels but I ‘m a full-time working mother and on my day off I wanted my baby.     

I rattled an empty pushchair down to the Museum, and joined everyone just as the Business Mother was scooping up the children to say goodbye.  Son 2 aged 13m clapped and laughed as soon as he saw me.  Son 1 aged 4y 1m soared off somewhere with The Man.  Back home Nanna came round.  I made pumpkin soup, with caramelised onion and a roasted pumpkin straight out the veg box.  “Yuk,” said Son 1.  I piled it into a cabbage-shaped tureen Younger Sister bought me in the days I had time to select witty serving dishes.  It worked.  Son 1 agreed it was The Best He’d Ever Tasted, and ate a grown up bowl.  Son 2 just ate and ate and ate.  The Man wasn’t doing the pumpkin soup, and made himself leftover chicken with pasta and pesto.  Son 2 ate that too.

I wanted to go the fireworks.  Son 2 was clearly exhausted, and there was some discussion about Nanna babysitting while the three of us went out.  Son 1 cuddled Son 2 and cuddled me: ” I want us all to go.”  We took a taxi up to the display.  We started talking to the firemen outside. “You’re going to miss it if you don’t hurry,” said one. “They wouldn’t have said that if you were 18 and blonde,” said The Man.  Fab fireworks.  We’d taken the Big Pram so Son 2 could sleep in it while we all walked back.  Son 1 decided he was going to sit in it.  “Put it down, I want to go to sleep.”  So I did.  So he did.  Son 2 fell asleep in the sling.  Our pram is 0 - 3.  Our sling is 0 - 1.  We had a four year old in the pram, and a 13m old in the sling.  So we stopped off in a pub for a drink.  And had a great time.  Till Son 2 woke up, as he always does, and we walked home through The Town, with the skies flashing and explosions echoing across the evening.

1.  Pre-match

2.  Kick off

3.  Post-match

Another grim night.  Son 2 aged 1 was hot, fretful, unsettled. He was in his cot at 0045 when he woke  needing a nappy change - and that was that.  I couldn’t get him back to sleep.  By 0330 I was giving him Calpol and water.  Then he needed another nappy change.  If he gets a long sleep this morning, he’ll still be able to enjoy The Party, I thought.  He didn’t.  I got him back to sleep over breakfast, but Son 1 aged 3y 11m, beside himself with excitement, was making up party bags at 7am.    And woke Son 2.  We wheeled them both in The Town for some last-minute stuff we needed… and went 3/4 of a mile to the cheap department store.  And all the way back.  But Son 2, eyes hanging, head lolled over in The Pram, cheeks hot and red, didn’t sleep.

The party was great.  Really good.  20 children - everyone we invited except one who’d got a better offer and two who’d gone camping on the only nice day we’ve had all year.     A whacking great bouncy castle - me and The Man had a go before everyone arrived (harder work than it looks,) a nursery nurse leading games, various children from Son 2 up to a 6 year old in various costumes, and a great spread of mums with four dads.  Son 1 was in his Captain Hook outfit and bounced and ran and played and laughed and chased and danced.  I was needed three times.  To ask if he could take his (Captain Hook) socks off (yes;)  to complain that he wasn’t finding anything first in the Treasure Hunt (no action: an important Lesson of Life;) to ask if he could go and play when everyone was still eating their tea (don’t you want to wait for for your birthday cake?)  We had a Peter Pan cake, black skull and crossbone cupcakes and party bags with Peter Pan finger puppets in.

Son 2, I can safely say, had a miserable time.  He was tired, hot, and not at all in the mood.  I carried him around with me all afternoon.  He ate a tiny breadstick, some strawberries and some grapes - great food for nappy rash.  But all he wanted was to be with me and go to sleep.  His Godmother was brilliant, sorted out drinks for grown ups, arranged the food, did small people drinks when they were all gasping… cut cake, wrapped it in napkins, and put it in party bags.  After Son 2 poo-ed on my hand I thought I’d better keep away from the food.  I am worried about him.  I’m going to sleep with him tonight in the hope he gets better quicker.  Son 1 came back exhausted.  I’d told him he could open Son 1’s presents, as his birthday has been, but not his own. “Is this Son 2’s?  Is this Son 2’s”  You’re nearly four years old now child, learn to read your own name.  I didn’t say. (He did surprise us this morning, by writing a perfect initial when we asked him if he could.  Tum ti tum.  Didn’t learn that at the knee of his highly-educated mother.)  In bed I asked him if he’d enjoyed his party.  “Yes. But we had to come home too soon.”  As I write this there are fireworks across the river.  Might have to have those next year as well.      

1. Nightime Action

2. Morning Action

3. Afternoon Action

4. Evening Action

A truly awful night.  The Man was leaving at 3am for his Business Trip flight.   Son 2 aged 1 woke up when we tried to go to bed and then nothing, but nothing would make him settle.  The Man left.  And the three of us slept till 0745, which is very late for us.  I didn’t rush getting up, because we had nothing on for today, and I thought we should have a quiet one.  Then Younger Sister rang from The Hospital.  Nanna was in and she had to ring at 12 to see how she was.  She was coming over.

We went down to The Festival again.  Son 1 aged 3y 11m in his Captain Hook outfit again.  It’s a long old walk, so we had Son 2 aged 1 in The Big Pram, sleeping it off, and Son 1 in the buggy with his hook and his sword.  We saw some friends, with their 2 year old in the buggy, also dressed as a pirate.   They ran round together.  The friends had to go. We walked up and down looking at the attractions, Son 1 and I queued for one for just a few minutes, got on and then had a much better time than yesterday.  Son 2 screamed.  Younger Sister, performing valiantly, offered him cocktail sausage, sandwich and breadstick.  He went for apple.  When Son 1 and I got off he ate nearly an entire banana in a few seconds.  Many, many people asked to take Son 1’s photo.  Younger Sister rang The Hospital.  She needed to get Nanna at 2pm.  So we needed to leave.  The weather was truly awful and we (the grown ups) got very wet.  The boys were in their buggy bubbles and were fine.

When we got back Son 1 played with the new toy he’d blagged off Younger Sister.  I hung out the washing while Son 2 played in the kitchen.  I heard him doing baby singing.  I wonder if he’s got the Nursery Rhyme finger puppets, I thought, and started singing “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” from the hall.  When I went back in to the kitchen, Son 2 was playing with the Nursery Rhyme puppets.  Sweetest Boy.  And then Son 1 materialised.  He’d heard Mummy singing and had deduced that Son 2 was getting Mummy Time.  And was downstairs in a heartbeat to claim his.  Son 2 has been balancing on two feet a lot today, and then plopping down on his bottom with a proud grin.  Showing two new teeth which have just cut through.  I must, I must, give him the benefit of the doubt at night-time.

Nanna’s angiogram was fine.   Son 1 made it onto the regional telly news.  I’d invited our friends to the house to watch the Festival fireworks.  They rang to say they couldn’t come, as he was feeling ill.  Son 1 cried and cried.  We decided that however tired he was, I would wake him in time for the fireworks.  At 9pm, while I was washing up and drinking yesterday’s champagne, the friends texted. Feeling better.  Coming now.  I woke Son 1 but he never really came round.  Wouldn’t watch the fireworks.  Which were lovely.  We finished the champagne. 

1.  Off

2.  In

3.  Out

Hooray hooray as of 2248 I am Out of the Office till August 26.  I really like The Office normally but I am  getting pretty tired.  In my glad, Pollyanna way, I know I have life a lot easier than many people - I find having a lurk round the Talk pages on Mumsnet is a good way of making myself count my blessings.  But I’m still tired.  This feels a bit like doing the MBA - the 6am to 11pm slog day after day, with every single moment committed three times over.  Only there were fewer Cheerios in those days.   So .  I will list my Three Good Things quickly and get some sleep. 

Son 1 aged 3 y 10m was ok this morning.  Last night he was burning up, dragged himself up to bed as soon as I got home and had fallen asleep by the time I’d finished feeding Son 2 aged 11m.  Record time last night.  I was putting Son 2 down to sleep at 1850… and then he threw up down my clothes.  I lay him in his cot while I peeled them off and he was violently sick.  Gallons of orange bolognese sauce. Sigh.  So the fact that they both got into nursery is a Good Thing.  They were both shattered tonight.  I am not the only one getting burned out by the pace.  There is a apparently an article kicking around about the damage full-time working mothers are doing to their families.  Fortunately for us, I don’t have time to read it. 

It’s  the end of Festival Week so at 10pm there were fireworks for me to watch from the windowseat across the water.  Like I said, l don’t have it so bad.  I’ve been watching these fireworks for years.  When we lived in The Village, we would drive into The Town for the evening just to watch them.  We’d meet local friends… or, after we moved, people would pick this week to come and stay, with the fireworks always a feature.  No-one comes to stay now.  We’ve got no room, and our lifestyle is  incompatible with anyone without children under 5.  And there never used to be smudgy, smeary, smeggy little handprints on the bay window either.  Not that we ever used to watch the fireworks through the window.  We were always Out.