1.  The Most Beautifully Behaved

2.  The Most Tired.

3. The Most Deserving

Son 1 aged 4y 1m got Star of The Week at Nursery.  Knock me down with a feather.  He sat in the car all the way there on Monday and talked non-stop about how he wanted to be Star of The Week.  And today, there he is, with his sticker and his certificate.  Named called in assembly, up to the front, children and teachers clapping.  “How did you feel when they called your name?” I asked.  “Happy,” he smiled. His certificate says “for trying very hard and behaving beautifully all week.”  I have told The Man it would be good to see him winning next week.

The Man is back.  Nice to see him.  We have been engaged in a game of competitive tiredness.  He has driven overnight but slept in the daytime from 11am till Son 1 scurried upstairs to get him at 5 pm.  I got five hours sleep last night but have worked all day and all evening.  And the  Certificate goes to….    Mummy.

I had a phone call from an Old Friend, a twenty-something we’ve known since she was eight years old.  She rang my mobile, and then texted.  “I can ring you back at 11am,” I texted.  I finally rang her back at 7.30pm. Second boy born nearly three weeks ago.   And he has reflux.  We had a long chat.  She’s giving him formula just to settle him; he’s bringing up the breast milk.  She’s got Gaviscon but they’re having problems getting in.  And he howls all night.   I suggested she gives the Gaviscon before or during the feed… that she mixes it with milk - formula, or if she wants to try to help her supply - expressed milk.  And to hassle the health service again so she gets some help.  It was very nice to hear her voice, but she sounds worn out.  Might let the Who’s The Most Tired certificate go to the New Mummy.

1.  Dancing, Glasses

2.  By George, She’s Got It

3. I Fought The Law

Son 2 aged 11m was asleep. Son 1 aged 3y 11m and I were in the kitchen dancing.  I high-kicked over his head; he ducked.  Laughing and laughing.  Then we tried it the other way round.  Me limbo-ing and Son 1 sticking his leg out.  Joy bubbling out of him.  Son 2 woke up and we could not keep him out of Son 1’s chokeable toys.  Son 1 was getting so tired he was squash-balling off the walls.  We gave them lunch and pushed them to The Square.  Son 1 fell asleep in the pushchair.  Son 2 didn’t.  The Man and I had coffee and played with Son 2, us putting sunglasses on, him taking them off.  Son 1 slept.  He missed a Fire Engine, a Diving Suit, and a Bouncy Castle.  I longed for him to wake up.  The Man prayed he wouldn’t.

Cauliflower cheese for tea.  The Man added bacon.  Son 2 ate two mouthfuls, and some garlic bread.  But he was wiped out with tiredness, and fussed, and fidgeted and cried and shrieked.  I gave him milk from his Doidy cup.  He drank a bit and then blew bubbles.  “He always gets the bubbly cup!” cried Son 1 in delight.  Son 2’s been off the Gaviscon for about a month now, but watching him fuss and yell, I said: “I think I might get him some Gaviscon.”  He lit up, bounced and bounced, and clapped and clapped his hands.  Ah.   I can add that to the list of words he understands.  As he’s heard it at least four times a day for 90% of his life I don’t know why I’m surprised. 

I went out running with The Man’s new iPod.  The Story of the Clash.  I ran round The Headland, which is four miles - my usual route is three, so I’m pretty pleased about that. There’s a half mile steep incline to get up to the top of the Headland.  Straight to Hell.  Matching the deep breathing.  It was easy.  It must be well over four years since I’ve run to I Fought The Law: “I left my baby and it feels so bad, I guess my race is run.”  It took me back to the days, six months pregnant with Son 1, when I ran up there and felt my heart hammering in my chest, ears and throat like it wanted to get out. IPod product review: very clever. I can see why people like it.  But I might leave it behind next time. I don’t know that I got to watch the light or the sea or the people as much as usual.  ”I don’t believe in sitting down, saying how bad my luck is.”