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.  Like A Duck To Water

2.  Proud As A Peacock

3.  Eggs

4am. Son 2 aged 19m woke screaming.  I went down and got him back to sleep in the double bed. And went back upstairs to read Two Lives.  He woke again. I went down again. It’s His Teeth.  Fast Forward. The Hotel Pool.  Son 1 aged 4y 6m wanted to go the Hotel Pool because he wants to go swimming with Son 2.  The Man won’t go with us, and you need two adults for two children at the Town Pool.  Not at the Hotel.  Son 1 had the noodle, Son 2 was in foam armbands and a swimming costume wetsuit.  We played in the baby pool, we splashed in the fountains. We played Humpty Dumpty.  Son 2: (pointing) Dump! Dump!” We swam. Son 2 can float a bit.  Son 1can push and glide, do dolphin dives and do star, pencil and frog floats.   Only not in the Hotel Pool, which is four foot deep all the way through.  They both worked incredibly hard.

After, we drove over to the Farm Butcher to get a joint for tomorrow’s lunch. Son 2 passed out in the Hotel car park.    He woke up when we stopped the car at the Farm Butcher.   Peacocks wandered around the car park.  As we all watched, a male spread its tail, shaking and shimmering at an unconcerned female idly pecking by.  It was fantastic.  Amazing moving colours, brilliant blues and emerald and lime greens.  In the shop, at the back, there were scores of peacock feathers sticking out of a row of about 10 vases.  “Let’s buy one,” said Son 1. “I don’t think they’re for sale,” I said.  “Ask the gent,” he said.  I did.  It is apparently bad luck to take a peacock tail feather outside.  You can take them in to a building, but not outside again.   Many people have asked for a peacock feather, but the Butcher is superstitious.  The Butcher himself went out to look for new one.  It was left outside by the door for Son 1, who was truly delighted with it.  Back home, the feather has not come into the house. 

We went to Nanna’s for tea.  Nanna always comes to us.  It was easier. But after a particularly difficult teatime, we decided to try every other Saturday at her house.  I dropped off Lightning McQueen buckets for her to use in an egg hunt.  We arrived. The boys took their buckets and went into the garden.  Son 1 found one egg and started eating. Son 2 found one, I peeled it halfway and he started eating.  Son 1, squealing, found marshmallows and more chocolate.  Son 2 found a Creme Egg.  “Ur Ur,” he said, having bitten through the foil to eat it, the other egg still in a hand.  I removed the foil from his mouth.  Nanna has a tiny ancient bird pond full of dark green water.  Son 2 went for it.  So did Son 1.  Nanna gave them tubs.  They scooped and poured.  Within 10  minutes Son 1 had soaked his clothes and was stripped naked. Son 2 was down to his vest. It was freezing, the skies charcoal. Upstairs was a vintage tin bath which Nanna used to bathe us in, 40 years ago.  I put a kettle of boiling water in it, added cold, and put it in the garden.  The boys both went for it, and, spotting it as the only available outside warmth, wouldn’t come out. The Man brought out new clothes, and we had tea.  Nanna had bought oven chips. “They’re not as nice as I thought they would be,” said Son 1 casually.   Our chips start life as potatoes, cut into chips, blasted  in the microwave for five minutes, dried and then roasted off for 20 minutes in olive oil in the oven.   ”Delicious, yum, yum,” says Son 1. Now all we need to do is get his manners as refined as his palate.

1.  Reception

2.  Remembrance

3.  Remedies

“Thankyou Mummy for waking me up when Daddy got back.”  In the middle of the night.  Son 1 aged 4y 5m, climbing into the bed. Being sarcastic.  No memory of my carrying him down two flights of stairs for Daddy cuddles.   The Man being back is a Good Thing.  Yesterday marked 22 years of us Being Together.  One day Son 2 aged 17m will feel special because his parents were together for well over 20 years before he was born….  Two pairs of hands, so things were easier, although kick off was still 0615.   Son 1 was excited, Son 2 was happy but clingy.  Now both parents were around, he wasn’t going to get fobbed off with the Second Best one.  

We went to a Garden with a friend and her 3 year old.  There were nature trails for the children with treasure hunts, and we needed seaweed from the beach, so we trailed down the long steep woodland.  Son 2 walked a bit, was carried a bit, picked up gravel a bit.  Son 1 and 3 year old friend found sticks and fought, and looked in ponds for fish and frogs, and trampled through bamboo clumps.  Son 1 fell over and smashed his nose and forehead on the path.  The sky was blue, the sun was warm, there were few other visitors.  The big pond at the bottom of the valley was filled with foot-long rainbow trout, clamouring underneath a viewing platform, suggesting many packed lunches have headed their way.  Last time I’d stood there I was miscarrying Son 1 and a half.  The memories were vivid. Who we were with.  Son 1 aged 2y 2m in wellies, saying “I’m stuck!” when his foot was jammed between two rocks.   Holding his sticks all the way down.  The bleak, hopeless, misery.  We didn’t get onto the beach that time, so the vivid flashback vanished as we walked up and down the steps. All three boys loved the seashore.  Son 1 and his friend charged around, climbed rocks and balanced on walls.  Son 2 scrunched on the shingle and headed, time and time again, for the sea.   

Back home again and we were all exhausted.  Son 1 and I watched Madagascar.  Son 2 played “beds,” laughing, giggling, cuddling Mummy, and finally pulled out the Thomas Wooden Railway.  Son 1 joined us and we built a track and Son 2 put electric trains on it and added carriages.  He pushed the engines up the bridge and watched intently as they rolled down the other side.  At tea time I made pizza while they both went out into our miniscule yard with The Man, who was trying to put an artificial grass playsurface down across the lethal concrete.  Son 1 rushed for his toy tool set,  hammmered walls and tried to fit pieces of astroturf together.  He was in raptures, helping Daddy, playing with his tools, knowing what the job was.   Son 2 tottered about and fell over a lot.  They were both asleep in minutes of us getting them in their beds.

1.  Gardening

2.  Dancing

3.  Running

Son 2 aged 15m slept till 8am.  A record.  Which we expect to stand a while as Son 1 aged 4y 3m is back in Nursery tomorrow.  Oh and we’re back at work. So we have to get up early.  We went out in the garden… The Man in and out of his sheds, us clearing up leaves.  Son 2 played on the ridealong car.  Son 1 got the noughts and crosses out.  He lay across squares to stop me putting my noughts on them… and then he ran off with all my pieces.   I took lots of pictures of the boys, and may have got one or two half decent ones.  We are rubbish at pictures.  There is still not a single picture of Son 2 up in the house.  And the pictures of Son 1 stop when he’s about 2, when we bought a digital camera.  New Year’s resolution.  I will make an effort and get some printed.   

After lunch we walked to the Discount Store at the other end of The Town.  Son 1 pestered for a Ben 10 annual. I said “no,” he melted down, I removed him from the shop.  We trudged back, him Very Unhappy Indeed.  In Tesco, Happy Feet was cheap, so I bought that and we watched it when we got back.  I went down to the kitchen with Son 2 to make a stir fry… after a bit The Man came down to fry some chicken.  From upstairs came the sound of an elephant stomping.  The ceiling shook and the plates rattled.  “What was that?” asked The Man.  “I think you’ll find it was a penguin practising his tap dance,” I said.  At bathtime we asked Son 1 if he’d been dancing like the penguin.  “Yes!” he said, casting off his towel. ”I’ll show you!”  We suggested he wait till tomorrow so he didn’t get Son 2 over-excited.

The wind has changed.  Definitely a Good Thing.  We ‘re usually pretty weather-proof and Do Outdoor Stuff in a hardy, British way through rain, hail or storm.  But the Easterly has beaten us back inside all week.  I went for a run and it was Northerly.  Still cold, but crisp and fun, instead of downright unpleasant.  Oddly, the wind is no longer blowing from the East, and Wonder Nanny will be back tomorrow.  She was supposed to be on holiday, but she was probably riding ponies through pavements somewhere.

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.  Skating

2.  Climbing

3.  Running

We went over to the ice rink for Babies and Toddlers’ Skating.  Brilliant.  £2.50 for Son 1 aged 4y 2m.  There was an inflatable snowman, giant balls, big paddles, a big pile of snow with spades and buckets, pushalong toys, sleds and artificial snow falling every 15 minutes or so.  Son 1 skated, propped by a parent, and eventually got up to shuffling around on his kiddie skates alone.  Son 2 aged 14m was towed around on sleds, and spent a great deal of time pushing a Winnie The Pooh aeroplane from one edge to the other, stopping occasionally to push buttons to make Eeyore or Piglet pop up.  Son 1 was in raptures when the snow fell, dancing, laughing, trying to catch it.  And boy, did he want a snowball fight over at the snow pile.  Too many books.  We will go again.  We had to give up after Soon 1 fell over outside the rink and cracked his face on a metal prop.  He then crawled into the cosi toe on the Big Pram because he was so cold.  And we had to carry Son 2.

We went to a cafe for lunch with some Friends we’d met there.  We gave Son 1a hot chocolate to warm him up.  He ate all the marshmallows off the top and left the drink.  He then did his usual screaming circuits.  We were there with Friends with a nearly-three year old, and Son 1 led him down the rocky road to rack and ruin.    There was also a Garden there, and we took the boys round one part.  Son 2 insisted on finger-walking and climbing up stairs, but could not understand why he wasn’t allowed to root around in the borders, rockeries and flowerbeds.  Tantrums, back-arching.  There was a Christmassy Performance Artist in the garden doing a turn for children, and they all enjoyed it.  Son 1 adopted Nursery pose. Sitting cross-legged at the front, hand shooting into the air to volunteer for everything.  We have a fragment of Santa’s coat from last year, and we wrote labels of Things We Are Going To Do For Other People to hang on a white-sprayed tree.  Son 1 is going to Be Kind To Santa.  Son 2 is going to go Straight To Sleep.

This evening I went running.  It was bitterly, bitterly cold.   In the Good Old Days, I ran occasionally at night, but I never remember being this cold.  I was out of the house and straight into a Northerly and I was freeeeeeeeeeeeeezing.  Better on the way back of course, with the wind behind me.  But still really Not What I Am Used To.

1.  Breakfast

2.  The garden

3.  Five boys

4. Visitors

A 0430 start today.  Son 2 aged 1 woke up and then wouldn’t go back to sleep.  Nappy change, calpol, lying next to me on the double bed, fan on, he finally passed out at 0530.  Son 1 aged 3y 11m had woken and gone upstairs to wait for me in the Big Bed.  I snuggled with him for a few minutes, looked at the clock, saw it  was 6am and snuck downstairs for coffee.  Son 2 didn’t wake till 8am and the knock on the door from the organic veg man.  Son 1 didn’t wake till 9am and the phone call from Nanna.    I listened to the radio and did some Office work while I was waiting.

It was a beautiful morning.  We met the Wednesday Friends at the Garden next to the Beach.  Son 1 and one friend played pirates, climbed trees, ran through hedge tunnels, trampled down mighty elephant grass, went ankle-deep in boggy mud and pestered for Twiglets.  Son 2 and the friend’s younger brother played in the gravel surrounding some mega-succulents.  Son 2 chewed on very round stones, carefully laid stones on the grass, examined the plants and crawled and crunched.

The Son 1 and his Friend wanted to go onto the beach.  I pushed Son 2 in The Big Pram till he slept, and then went down to the water with them.  They stripped off and went in, shallow paddling, splashing.  The other two Wednesday Friends arrived, running towards the two in the sea.  The first Friend’s little brother ran in.  They were lovely.  Joyful, innocent, unselfconscious and full of delight in the moment and delight in one another.  Although there was a lot of wet sand throwing going on.  The sand was shining, the sky was blue and the sea was rippling in with very tiny, widely spaced waves.  It was very special.

We had to get back for two because more friends were coming round.  As I hunted for a parking space, there was a familiar sound from the back seat.  Son 2, vomiting like the exorcist girl.  ”Get me out of here! It stinks!” yelled Son 1, helpfully.  I parked in a one-hour bay, scooped the boys up and got them indoors.  I cleaned up and changed Son 2. The friends - pregnant mother, two boys aged 4 and 2 - arrived.  I gave her Son 2 ,and went out to move and clean the car.  And when I got back he was being sick again.  Nanna and Elder Sister came round, Son 2 ate minestrone soup and cheese and then was sick again.  And then had a nappy which overflowed on to the floor.  He’s in bed now.  I do so hope it’s not that bug he had before.  

1.  The Family

2.  The Garden

3. 1820

Teenaged niece has been sea-swimming again.  She, Teenaged Nephew, Brother and Sister In Law stayed with Mother over the weekend.  The competition finished too late each day to see us, so we met up late this morning for an early lunch.  TNc won a gold medal.  For a 1k run on the sand.  Brother and Mother like the Harbourside Brasserie.  Glamorous 22 year old graduate is working there as a waitress.  We had her hungover friend.  Son 1 aged 3 y 11m dealt with the wait for food in his usual way, and I picked him up, plonked him outside in The Big Pram and told him I’d come back when he was behaving.  “Go away,” he said when I went back.  “I’m having a nice peaceful rest here.”   Son 2 aged 11m dutifully chewed his egg, potato and cheese sauce, The chips came.   He nearly bounced out of his seat with excitement. I’d given him a couple of chips last Tuesday when we were out with Wonder Nanny.  Oh God. I didn’t realise that’s all it takes to create a junk food addict.

Son 1 had packed a deflated beach ball to play with his cousins in The Square.  They did this last summer, and he remembered.  Spooky memory.  Poor old TNp was red in the face and had really had enough.  We said our goodbyes and pushed the Pram and buggy back through the town.  Neither child slept.  Son 1 was borderline, but then we passed the last pub before home, and our Little Friend from The Big Zoo was there with his Dad.  So they came round for tea, smoothies and a play in the garden with the bubble gun.  I tried to do a bit more work on the bindweed.  It has superglued itself to a roll of Astro-turf like stuff we have outside, waiting for us to get around to putting it across some gravel to make another play area.  No point in worrying about Global Warming. While there is bindweed there will always be life.

The great, glad, glorious and grand thing about the boys not sleeping during the day was that they were faces in plates with fatigue by teatime.  Son 2 just sat in his highchair and sobbed.  Son 1 couldn’t sit down or still.  I was chopping up vegetables for minestrone soup… but gave up and slung an M and S cottage pie in the mike for them.   Poor old Son 2 was carried away howling.  Son 1 stayed up for ice cream.  But we had them both asleep at 1820.  It was fantastic.  Time to finish the minestrone soup, make salad for us, have a glass of wine, get ready for tomorrow… Wow.  We can have a life.   If we poke them awake all day and then feed them at four o’clock.