1.  Congestion

2.  Consumption

3.  Commotion

I have still got this bogging cold.  I have to hold my forehead  to stop my head exploding every time I cough - weirdie look, especially with my other hand in front of my mouth to prevent germs spraying. I am stone deaf apart from the crisp packets someone’s crinkling up in each ear, my nose is streaming, I wheeze when I breathe, my face is fat, I can’t swallow and every time I take a step in my clippy-cloppy shoes it hurts my head. But I do not have a temperature so it is Nothing Serious.   We have a Swine Flu Strategy at The Office which involves Not Going In If You Don’t Feel Well To Protect The Health Of Your Colleagues.  So I had a day of people telling me to Sod Off.    But I have Thursday and Friday off for Son 2 aged 23m’s birthday and no matter how hard I hope the work just doesn’t do itself.   And no I can’t work from home because there is a child and a Nanny there.  And God said: “Have a read of Active Conversations on Mumsnet and Stop Complaining.”  So I have. And I will.

Son 1 aged 4y 11m arrived in the Big Bed during the night. I woke at 0630 and went downstairs to make coffee, lunches, breakfasts and put a pile of work and school things together.  I got up Son 1 and Son 2 and they ate Coco Pops.  Son 1 and I set off and got to School on time. “We’ve been hearing a lot about his Fish Tank,” said the Teaching Assistant. “We’ll have to have a photo when it’s up and running.”  Son 1 sat and quietly did puzzles while we talked about him. At lunchtime I went out in search of decongestants and accidentally ended up in TK MAxx.  Stocking fillers for the boys’ brithdays. And trousers, a shirt and a red-stickered cashmere top for me.  There was a beautiful CK coat there but it was, sadly, Too Tight In The Bodice.

I picked Son 1 up and we drove home. “I need a poo,” he said, matter-of-factly, about half-way back.  “Can you wait till we get home?” “No.”  “Can you hold on till Asda?”  A loud, long farting noise came from the backseat.  We stopped in a picnic area.  He’d already peeled off his shoes and socks.  I improvised with an old FT from my briefcase and a Waitrose mag for him to stand on.   He was interminably slow dressing again and getting back in the car.  Back home he sprang inside to find The Man and Son 2 and I posted his efforts in the dog mess bin opposite. i bathed Son 2; he stayed downstairs with The Man working on the Fish Tank. Then I read him Tabby McTat - the new Julia Donaldson and Axel Scheffler book which we’ve bought Son 2 for Friday. “Do you think he’ll like it?” I asked Son 1. “It’s a bit more complicated than the others.” “He’ll love it,” he said.   When i finally came down after putting them both to bed, the Fish Tank had water in it, the light was on and bubbles were floating about.  We were right. It is going to be good for our stress.

1,  Chest Flies

2.  Lord Of The Flies

3.  No Flies

We didn’t get the boys to bed till 9pm last night, so we felt we deserved a lie in this morning. Nah.  The only impact was no little visitor clambering into bed with us during the night.  The Man got up at about 7 and went downstairs… Son 2 aged 23m wailed, I heard Son 1 aged 4y 11m chatter… and that was it. I rested for as long as I felt I could get away with it.  “I don’t understand why my cold’s gone in three days and yours is still going on and on and on,” said The Man. “Because if you’re exhausted your immune system doesn’t work as well.” “Well why don’t you check into rehab or something?”  Not Just My Husband, My Very Best Friend.

The Man wanted to drill holes for the fish tank power. The boys and I took Nanna’s giant stone mushroom to her house - two months after her birthday. We picked her up and then went to the Garden Centre. The idea was that each boy would choose a toy for the fish tank, to be given as a present on their birthdays. Son 1 couldn’t care less about anything I showed him: one-hole two-hole three-hole rocks, hippos with mouths that opened by bubbles, pieces of wood. He only wanted a bag of shells. He said if I bought them for him he would behave for the rest of his life.  It seemed like a good deal. Son 2 got a red ray, and I chose a lump of wood for Son 1. Away from the fish tank, it looked as if it would fit. Back home it clearly won’t.  Might have to saw a bit off.

We walked down through the town to meet Nanna for lunch.  The Man strode off with Son 2 in the Big Pram, Son 1 and I took longer. In the cafe Son 1 wanted pizza. I turned to Son 2.  “What would you like?” “Cips.” Not 2 years old and he can order in restaurants.  I didn’t go into a cafe till I was 14 years old.  The kitchen messed the order up so we had two small, tired, over-hungry boys melting down.  Looking on the bright side, they could have been a lot worse.  After we went to the discount shop, where I bought them each a Playmobil toy with money Nanna gave them for a birthday stocking-filler. Son 1 studied each box on the way home. “Son 2’s is better than mine!” he decided.  Son 2’s cost a pound more.

1.  Under The Weather

2.  Under Surveillance

3.  Under Pressure

Son 2 aged 23m’s dramatic, croupy cough rattled out after we’d gone to bed. I couldn’t see how Son 1 aged 4y 11m could sleep through it, so way past midnight, I sent The Man downstairs into the Double Bed, scooped Son 2 up from his cot and took him up into the Big Bed with me.  Mummy Serotonin makes them get better quicker.  The idea of sleeping with Son 2 is always lovely.  I agonise over him snugging himself up in his sleeping bag in his cot - I’m sure Son 1 was in with us most nights at that age. So I dream about Son 2 and I cuddling, dozing, drowsing, in tune with each other’s sleep cycles. In reality? Even ill and exhausted, he’s always up for a party.  PUshing and towing pillows off the sides of the bed.  Feeling for nose and ear holes and sticking fingers in them. And endlessly, endlessly, turning over, crawling, pulling the quilt up, kicking the quilt off… Until: “Son 2!  If you don’t lie down and go to sleep I am going to put you back in your cot and leave you there!”  He laid his little fluffy head on the pillow and went straight to sleep. 

We’d planned lunch with Nanna.  She said she’d brave our colds, so we decided on the Big Town.  We arrived, parked, and went to TK Maxx to look for shoes for the boys. Nanna was left in charge of Son 2 in the toy section.  The Man was with Son 1 in Children’s Shoes.  There was an argument about a grey pair. “He won’t try them on,” said The Man. “I don’t like them.” “Why not?” “I want bright shoes.”  It’s TK Maxx. Their entire business plan provides leftover pairs of orange shoes for little boys like Son 1.  We got him sorted, and I looked up to see Nanna walking out of the open double door and then back in again. “Where’s Son 2?” I asked. “I’ve lost him.” She continued to look round clothes racks. “Where?” “He just ran off!”  I looked for The Man. “I’ve seen him!”  He strode off halfway across the shop.  Son 2 nearly made it back to the escalator.   We got the reins out.    The boys were heavenly at lunch.

On the way back we stopped off at fish tank shops.  The Man is looking at tanks the size of Swan Vesta matchboxes. I am looking at tanks you could pickle cows in.  This is supposed to be a joint birthday present… we have less than a fortnight before Son 2’s big day.  It took us 17 years to decide to have children.  We have asked Son 1 if he’d rather have a rabbit.

1.   True Love

2.   Little One

3.   A Swell Party

Son 2 aged 23m has a hacking cough. Son 1 aged 4y 11m is sneezing and coughing.  I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.  It’s the end of August, and because The Man has spent the summer re-fitting and painting and sanding we’ve only been out on The Boat twice. The forecast was so-so, and worse for tomorrow.  The Boat it was.  Son 1 and The Man went off to get the dinghy ready. Son 2 ran after them, a sandal in each hand, “and me!” and sobbed when they left without him.  I put him outside in the yard on the astroturf, naked,  with a bowl of warm soapy water, some washing powder jugs and two beach buckets.  I started on the sandwiches.  Son 2 toddled back in carrying the empty bowl.  “More wah wah!”  “Who tipped out the last bowl?” I asked. “Me!”  Off he went.  I carried on.  He came back in twice more for water.  I chopped vegetables. Then he came back in and pawed at his clothes. “Dest.” “You want to get dressed?”  “Yes peez.” And then “Pooo.” He pointed to the yard. There, on the sodden, soap-soaked astroturf, was a damp, squashed poo. 

Son 2 was hard work. Clingy, insistent, tearful.  He also kept falling over.  The Man and Son 1 came back and we went down to the Yacht Club.  Son 1 and Son 2 played races on the lawn. “Ready… Steady… Go!” yelled Son 1 as they pelted across it. Son 2 was still falling over.  “Try ‘Ready, Steady, Lie Down.’” I said.  “Ready, Steady, Sleep!” called Son 1, and they both fell down. In lifejackets. Stuck on their backs like upended tortoises. 

So we took the baby with his fluey cold and balance problems and put him on a motor boat in a heavy swell.  He fell over. In the cabin. Bump on the forehead. He fell over on the deck.  Bump on the forehead.  We had lunch, and then bribed the boys. If they went to sleep they could have a sweet when they woke up. They both slept.  I read the paper, The Man and I drank coffee.  When they woke up we caught crabs. The world-record for Biggest One Yet.  Barely fit in the bucket.  Son 1 was a stroppy, screeching pain all the way back. I did not cope well.  I think that’s Three Down, and The Man in charge.

1.    Infection

2.    Confection

3.    Ingestion

I have a stinking cold, and there is no hope that Son 1 aged 4y 11m and Son 2 aged 23m won’t get it. Son 1 was in bed with me last night, his hands seeking my eyebrows and eyelashes, via my nose and mouth.  Son 2 spends a great deal of time with his fingers up his own nostrils, and also trying to get them up mine.  So although I’ve spent the day trying to Catch It Bin It and Kill It, I have a nasty feeling that next week, when I will be back at work after my holiday, when Son 1 starts reception and when it will all be a bit tense and fraught… I will have two littl’uns feeling awful. Never Mind.  Being Positive. I’ve had a massive stretch of time with neither of them being ill. 

We iced the cakes.  Son 1 and Son 2 on their chairs.  The liquorice allsorts, jelly sweets and sugar letters on the chopping boards.  They stuffed their faces. And spat out the liquorice.  I made icing - first time, ta da! - and they drew on it with writing pens, scattered sprinkles, and stuck sweets on. We had nine cakes, and they looked great.  “Was this as much fun as you thought it would be?” I asked Son 1. “Yes.  Can we do it again?”  Yes. But we will swap our liquorice allsorts for dolly mixtures next time. 

We went to Best Friend’s house for lunch. The whole Wednesday gang was there.  Five year old - who we’ve hardly seen this year since he started school in January, his little brother aged 3 and a half… Best Friend aged nearly 5 and his little brother who’s just three, and Son 1 and Son 2. The five elder boys formed a wolf pack. Son 2 decided to stay with me. The two younger brothers were spat out. There was screeching, strutting, chasing, shoving.  Best Friend accidentally head-butted one Wednesday Mum so hard her nose bled. Son 2 kept getting into various beds, making me think he’s already got The Bug. Five Year Old seemed incredibly grown up.   I have such a clear mental picture of him at 17 weeks old, Son 1 at 9 weeks old, Best Friend at 5 weeks old, lying on pillows at Breastfeeding Group.  Breastfed boys, organic and sugar-free in their early diets.  They polished off the fairy cakes in seconds flat.

1.  Son 1.5

2.  Sinking

3.  It Seems Like Only Yesterday

Still not doing very well with the fluey cold. I woke this morning with Son 1 aged 4y 8m in bed beside me, tiptoed downstairs for coffee, and suddenly it seemed a very long and hard day ahead. Yesterday was the due date for the one we lost, and even though the following month I was pregnant with Son 2, I still wonder about that child.  The LMP date for him (I will always think of him as a boy) was Sept 11, which is Son 2’s birthday. The only person who will ever know or care about this stuff is me.   Son 2 aged 21m woke, on fine form.  “What would you like in your (snack) tub?” “Gape.”  “What else?” “Boobee.”  We read and stuck stickers upstairs. Son 1 aged 4y 8m pootled down. “I think I should have my fish when I am four, and then I can have more fish when I am five.” “You can have your fish when you’re five.” “I can’t wait that long!” Son 1 says his fish will be called Fluffy and Coupon and Walbert.  I might have to get them early just because he’s chosen such great names.

One Wednesday mother was working. We went to a playground.  The other Wednesday Mum had made sandwiches for all the boys, left on a table top in a takeaway container. A seagull pecked through the lid.  It rained. We gave up, and went back to the other family’s house.  I drove down, and as we arrived we were told that Mother had had to break into her house because she’d left the chain on the front door and gone out the back.   Son 1 and Son 2 had a good play with the three and a half year old.  My paracetamol cocktail wore off, and I started flaking out.  We came back, went into The Town because Son 1 wanted Apple Pie and Custard for tea, and then I made tortilla and buttered spinach.  Son 2 tried licking the butter off the spinach before giving in and scoffing the lot.  We are still boiling kettles for washtime, and yet again, it was very hard. Both of them machine-gunning me at top volume for attention at once, and me with zero energy craving stillness. I think the hot water is the Final Straw. They’re upset by the hole blasted in their routine, The Man being away, and me being incapable because of my bug. Bedtime was awful, and I wasn’t very nice. Being Postive, both The Plumber and The Man will be here tomorrow.

I have had an email from The Boy Who Broke My Heart When I Was 19. I logged in yesterday and there he was.  “I’m betting it’s you. You may not welcome this contact in which case tell me where to go, or ignore, else how are you?”  I replied and said don’t worry, it was fine, how was he?  He’s emailed today with a bit more detail about him.  I’m sure this is the plot of a book.  Our heroine, in relationship for 22 years, married for 18 of them, has children incredibly late, and while struggling with her work-life balance, her besotted small sons, her often-absent husband, swine flu and a major domestic crisis, is suddenly contacted by someone from half a lifetime away.  I’m also sure They All Live Happily Ever After.

1.  Cold Remedy

2.  Cold Symptoms

3.  Cold Water

Feeling very rough today, so I didn’t go into The Office. I had a pile of work to do at home, and planned to get a kip in the afternoon while Wonder Nanny took the boys out.   Son 2 aged 21m woke, and we did his books session. Son 1 aged 4y 8m joined us. i put the boys in front of the telly a few minutes before Wonder Nanny was due, and went upstairs for a Tea Tree bath. Not enough hot water.  Strange, because we usually only have hot water problems if we’ve had a set of back-to-back showers. 

Wonder Nanny had arranged to go to a playground to see her Nanny friend with the two little boys she looks after. She made a picnic and off the three of them went. For the first time ever, I was glad to see them go. I worked through the morning, and then walked into The Town for a break. Big mistake. I wasn’t up to it and didn’t really  recover. I had lunch and went to bed. I was woken at 3.45pm by a little face beside me: “Hello sweetie, are you all right?”

Wonder Nanny gave the boys their tea and left. And again, they went loopy.  I couldn’t really cope. I tried washing a beaker for Son 2’s bedtime milk. No hot water.  This meant Completely No Hot Water. I rang The Man, who, as this is a Positive Blog, I shall described as Not Very Much Help. i rang a plumber who can’t come till Thursday morning.  I boiled a kettle.  In my 70s childhood our council house had no central heating and no hot water. Boiling a kettle always marked the start of wash time.  Mind you, even then we had an immersion heater.  I have no idea where ours is, and The Man can’t remember.  I washed the boys one at a time in the bathroom sink, Son 2 first.  By the time I came to dry Son 1, I’d had enough.  No hot water, flu-stricken, single mother, and two rowdy, noisy, out-of-control boys.  Son 1 bounced and swirled as I tried to dry him. “Son 1 will you - ” “- Bugger off!” he said, laughing madly, his eyes dancing. He detected my I think I’ll ignore this thought. “Bugger off, bugger off, bugger off!”  “I don’t know where you’ve got that disgusting language,” I said. “Bugger off, bugger off, bugger off,” he said, pointing both fingers at me.  ”Mummy, do you want me to Bugger Off?”  he giggled.  No. But I do want you to shut the f*** up.  I think that thought stayed in my head. I suppose I will find out at bath time tomorrow.

1.  Off Colour

2.  Off Day

3.  Off Switch

The Man left ridiculously early on a Business Trip.  I was up at 6am, to tidy up, get the lunches, sort out the clothes, chop chop busy busy work work bang bang. The boys slept and slept.  Oh for them to lie in their comas on a day when I can sleep in as well. I showered and did my hair and make up. Still no sign of life.  I woke Son 2 aged 21 m and did his reading with him.  I woke Son 1 aged 4y 8m. He flopped on to the double bed in Son 2’s room.  Son 1 has a cough, his throat sounds sore and he was clearly exhausted. Wonder Nanny arrived and we got him in his uniform. We said our goodbyes and off I drove. I looked at him in the rearview mirror. He was flopped in his car seat, his head propped by the side rest, his eyes glazed and staring.  I spun round and took him home. 

I too am blatted by the lurgy, and had a wretched day at The Office.  Being positive, I saw a colleague on maternity leave who’s returned one of Son 1’s potties for Son 2 to try.  But throughout the day I got more fluey, and I really shouldn’t be driving.  Just little things go, like my ability to judge speed and distance. After work I took about 4 goes to reverse park the car outside the house. I looked up and Wonder Nanny, Son 1 and Son 2 were sitting in the window clapping and laughing. Wonder Nanny said they’d been fine, they’d both had a sleep, she’d kept them calpol-d up and they’d had a quiet day. She left. 

And they sprouted horns.  I was feeling dog rough.  i put Son 2 in his cot, sang him his lullabies, did my usual Night Night with my hand on him, left to go into Son 1 and hell was unleashed. He cried and screamed. “Mummeee! Mummmmeee! Mummmeee!” It went on and on and on. One of those Oh-God-I-Should-Have-Gone-To-Him-Earlier-But-I-Can’t-Now-Because-He’ll-Just-Scream-Forever-Next-Time horrors.  All through Son 1’s stories. When it finally stopped, I tiptoed in to check him. And he was still awake, lying exhausted on the pillow. As soon as he saw me he started again. I gave him milk, held him, put him down, stroked him, kissed him, said Good Night and left. “Mummmeeee!”  I got down from Son 1 at 20 to 8.  By 8 he was already downstairs again, crawling around under the washing.  “Come child, you have delighted us enough,” I said, serenely.  All right then.  Cold-ridden, tired, pissed off, I snapped. “Bugger off Son 1, this is Mummy Time.” He burst into tears and scampered upstairs. I ate, worked and rang a colleague from The Office. And again, down came a little ghostie. ”I couldn’t hear you and I was worried sick about you.” I put a fleece on him, gave him a hot chocolate and let him sit there and watch the mundanity of my late evening world of housework.  “Can I wee in the potty?” he asked.  “No,” I said, 17 times. “Why?” “Because I can’t be bothered to clean it out.”  He went for a wee. He did it in the potty. He tried to empty it himself.  I cleared up the wee from the loo seat, the side of the loo, the loo floor and washed the potty out.

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.