1.  Big Boys

2.  New Boys

3.  Hello Boys

The Rat Man says we can ring him if we find any more bodies, and he will come and clear them up.  This is a Good Thing, as The Man has left on another Business Trip. Unfortunately, The Man cannot remember which Rat Man we are using.  He found him in the Yellow Pages, he’s very nice, and he’s been back in his discreet, unmarked van to check his boxes and put more toxic waste in them.  But frankly I’d tolerate a van saying THIS HOUSE HAS RATS with a big arrow pointing at us if  it meant his mobile number was stencilled on the side as well.   The Man left at 3am, so yet again I am wandering around like a zombie.  Son 1 aged 5y 1m ended up in the Big Bed, and came down shortly after I got up.  He used to flit around like a little wraith.  He now sounds like a team of rugby players coming down the stairs. It was slightly spooky listening to him… knowing there was no other adult in the house and yet hearing great clunking footsteps powering down. And then a little figure in Lightning McQueen pyjamas pads in, holding his willy and rubbing his eyes. 

I had to go to The City, which is the best part of a two-hour drive away. When I’d finished, I went into The Shopping Centre, because I’d promised Son 1 I’d go to the Disney Shop to look for squirty toys to take on holiday.  And then… Hold The Front Page, Don’t Faint, Shoot Me Down In Flames… they had a set of Peter Pan figures.  Including The Children and The Dog.  This is an Excellent Thing.  I have spent hours on the internet, trying to find the children for Son 1. I have trailed around Disney Shops (Oxford Street: “Yes we’ve got them upstairs because they’re not very popular.” 20 mins later: “Sorry we’ve sold out.”)  We have plastic Peters in several sizes, a finger puppet Peter and Wendy, three or four Captain Hooks, a fair few crocodiles, several handfuls of  Indians and Lost Boys and pirates, pirates everywhere.   Son 1’s Peter Pan obsession began with a charity shop Disney book I bought for 49p in Feb 2007. He got his first Peter Pan things the following Christmas, and he has longed for John and Michael ever since.  So what I’m saying is, yes I bought him yet another toy.  No, I haven’t thrown out/sorted out any of his old ones. And yes, Son 2 aged 2y 1m had to have a Nemo squirty toy bath set to be fair. 

There were comments about more presents from Granny and Grandad, who were waiting with the boys because I was way too late for Wonder Nanny.  Never mind. The Best Thing today was The New Swimming Costume. Not the one I wanted, not one I would have picked out… but it’s slimming, it fits nicely and it was in the sale.  I was excited for a few minutes because the label said 14E.  In better light, I realised that was the Australian sizing. I’d been worried I was stuck with the skanky baggy swimsuit for the holiday. I got put off the Bravissimo website because I needed to think of a password. (Really sorry, can’t. Got a pile of passwords to remember anyway, and a head so full of Other Stuff that not one more fact can be jemmied in. )  I tried another website. Ordered a beautiful costume on Wednesday. Ticked the box for faster postage to beat the strikes. And got an email saying they’re not expecting them in till next week. Today really was my Last Chance.  I don’t think I’ve worn a halter neck in my life but Granny thinks it’s great.

1.  Rendering Unto Caesar

2.  Why Take Ye Thought For Raiment

3.  Suffer The Little Children

How To Halve Your Shopping Bill.  Walk to Tesco Express, instead of driving to the Superstore. Take a Big Pram, a large partner and two small children.  The grown ups are allowed one basket each. You are limited to what you can put under The Pram or carry home. And you have to race round like it’s a trolley dash because of bored, misbehaving children trying to sneak Halloween sweets into your shopping.    The Man took Son 1 aged 5 to choose a breakfast cereal. They came back with Chocolate Cheerios. “If we get those then we will never get them back on normal Cheerios and that will kill our main snack/emergency meal/blood sugar lift option,” I said, barely looking up from the Mild Chedddar.  Son 1’s face crumpled. “But I said he could choose what we wanted,” said The Man. ”Fine. Get them.  See what happens.” “They’re not Cheerios,” The Man tried. “Look, they’re Wheetabix.”  “Fine. Get them.”  “Well how am I supposed to know? This is the first I know about your new rule.  You should have said something.” “I did. Yesterday. When we were discussing how to get Son 1 to eat breakfast before school, and you said you’d seen Chocolate Cheerios. I said they’ll never eat normal Cheerios again if we get them.” “Oh yeah,” he said.  They trailed off together and came back with a Variety Pack.  So. Half price shopping.  The baguette broke on the way back, and so did the handle of the big box of (special offer) Fairy… but otherwise I feel we saved money, burned calories and even gave up drinking because we couldn’t carry any wine home. Value Was Had.

Granny and Granddad are visiting this week. They turned up with fairy cakes and flapjacks for Son 1 and Son 2 aged 2y 1m.  The boys couldn’t be bothered to leave the toys and telly long enough to go and let them in… but when I said There Is Cake they charged downstairs.  The Man went off on his Business Trip. G and G went off to check in to the Hotel With The River View.  We went upstairs into the Big Bedroom, because I want to move Son 2 out of 9m to 12 m clothes. I want him in 18m to 24m, but I have a nasty feeling that because Son 1 was bigger, he was in spring/summer stuff at that age.    I am The Mother So Efficient She Had Two Same Sex Children At The Same Time Of Year. And they’re different bloody sizes. Have some more cake, Son 2.

The Vicar rang on Friday to ask if we were going to Tea Service this afternoon, so we thought we better had. Granny came too. We did David And Goliath.  The boys made cardboard and silver foil shields. They did ok in the service - legged it during the Lord’s Prayer, but at least they started off still sitting in the pew, and then scoffed their dinosaur shapes, cheesy mash and veg tea. In the bath, Son 1 Sang Hosanna.  I tried to explain the words to him, without committing myself. “You can’t say you don’t believe in God, Mummy, or He’ll die,” Son 1 told me.  Eat your heart out Richard Dawkins, all you need is Peter Pan.   At his christening, well over three years ago, he was given a My First Bible, with child-friendly language and child-friendly illustrations .  Time to break it out, I thought. We did David And Goliath. We did Noah. I left Son 1 looking at it while I put Son 2 to bed. When I came back he’d found pictures of the crucifixion. “What are they doing?” “Seeing how long they can stay up there,” I said, quickly closing it and flicking backwards. Jesus in Gethsemane, being kissed by Judas while Romans stood about with spears and torches. “And what are they doing?” “Going On A Bear Hunt,” I said, putting it away and getting out You Choose. ”Did they catch one?” “I think so.”  Wrong on many levels, I know, but he’s five, it was late, and I am a moral coward.

1.  Souvenirs

2.  Keepsakes

3.  A Lovesome Thing

Thank Heavens and Stars we didn’t have to get up for school.  Son 1 aged 5 was already in the Double Bed with us, Son 2 aged 2 roared: “I WANT MY MUMMY!” We brought him in with us, and tried to settle them both back to sleep.  “Big Poo.” Ah.  I switched the light on to change him. Son 1 reached over and switched it off again.  I took Son 2 into the bathroom.  I’d picked up two lollies on my Office trip, and had stuffed them in my vanity case.  He found them instantly. “I wan’ lollipop! I wan’ lollipop!” “No,” I said. “You can have one later.” “I wan’ lollipop!” He burst into tears. “Son 1 will go back to sleep if you keep the noise down,” called The Man. I took Son 2 downstairs. 

We had to take Granny back to the Airport, and decided we would stop off in the Big Town. Granny gave Son 1 a ten pound note, and it was smouldering in his pocket.  I needed to take back part of Son 1’s uniform - the shop had given me an aged 8 size instead of aged 5. Son 1 wanted to go to the Early Learning Centre to look at the toys.  The Man and Granny said they’d go and swap the clothes, and I could stay with the boys. “You can all go,” said Son 1. “I will look at toys and  wait for you.” “No,” said The Man. “We need someone with you to supervise.” “I have super eyes!” Son 1said. “I will look at all the toys and make sure I see everyone. I have the best eyes, don’t I Mummy?”  Son 1 chose a PIrates and Baddies spoons set, and Son 2 wanted a little farm.   How do people keep on top of toys?  We have so many we can barely all fit in The House, and The Man and I have Deep and Earnest (= Somewhat  Shouty) conversations about how The House is full of tat.   

We waved Granny off and went to Nanna’s. No-one in. I’d left my mobile at home. We climbed over various plants, spread out the car rug, got out the boys’ tuck box and a ball from the car, and settled down to read the Early Learning Centre catalogue.  Bees buzzed and big Red Admirals settled on the Michaelmas daisies. The sun shone.  The boys played with Son 2’s farm, and Son 1 whined that he wanted to make his pirates.  Son 1 needed a poo.  It was a difficult moment. All we could do was aim him at an open nappy and fold everything up into a nappy bag.  Son 2 announced he’d done a poo. We’d just used the last nappy. We’d waited an hour, but we had to go. Back home there was a message on the mobile.  Nanna and Teenaged Niece had been delayed.  I rang them and we agreed to meet tomorrow. It was good to be back in the Big Bed.

1.   Hoarse

2.   Croaking

3.   Rasping

I’ve got a throat infection from somewhere. Voice has gone, feeling hot and bothered and sleepy. Hey ho. I spent today travelling back after a night away because of an Office Thing yesterday.  I was with three colleagues, so I didn’t have to drive. We spent hundreds of miles talking, eating sherbert lemons and ringing our mates. I was aiming at a 3.15pm appointment at Son 1 aged 5’s School - the replacement appointment for the Parents’ evening I can’t make.  I got to the School in time, and then got stuck in the queue of cars waiting to go in. Another advantage to being  a Working Mother. You have genuinuely no idea what happens at the end of the school day.

Mrs Smiley the Teacher was lovely. Happy with Son 1’s reading, maths, communication, It, arts and crafts and PE.  He is Popular And Has Lots Of Friends. A bit of a discussion about how sometimes he seems dreamy, unresponsive and slow to respond. Not as smiley on some days.  How’s his sleeping? Does he share a room with Son 2?  Ah, I croaked. We have had rather a mad Birthday Fest September.  He could be… er.. knackered. “Well I wouldn’t of course say that…” she said. Subtext: That’s Exactly What I Mean.   Poor old Son 1. And then of course I forgot to mention the midnight bed-hopping. “What is the first thing in your head when you wake up at night?” I asked once, wondering if he was having bad dreams. “I think: ‘I’ll go and find Mummy,’” he said. 

Son 1 was excited because he’s completed his third sticker chart. As we drove back I asked him how he’d  got on that morning with Granny and Daddy when I was away. “Don’t know.”  “Was it brilliant, all right, or Truly Terrible.” “Truly Terrible.” “What about last night?”  “That was Truly Terrible too.” Son 2 aged 2 was delighted to see me, and then wouldn’t let go.  Neither he nor Son 1 like my creature-from-the-black-lagoon voice.  Granny had made them individual cottage pies for tea, and they did all right.    Nanna rang. Teenaged Niece is staying for a College Open Day. Can we see them tomorrow. We are taking Granny back to the Airport, but we will try, I said.

1.  Second Sons

2.  Settling Sons

3.  Getting Sons

The Man took Son 1 aged 5 to school, which left Son 2 aged 2 and I having a serene start.  He wanted to watch telly, so I parked him in front of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. He sat on my lap. “Mummy wot wi me.” I watched Truly Scrumptious billow chiffon around the annoying children on the beach.  A Wednesday Mum texted. Swimming.  We have been barred from the swimming pool for four years - since the birth of the first Second Son. You cannot go swimming with two under fives in The Town Pool. All our First Sons are now in school… so we can now take our little collection of Son 2s.  Great news. The bad news is I still haven’t replaced my sagging swimsuit.  (I tried Bravissimo, as recommended by Katherine, found a costume I liked but was then asked to register. And I couldn’t be bovved.)  I went to get ready. When I came down Granny had done all the washing up and tidying.   It were brill.

It rained and rained.  We collected one Wednesday Mum and went off to the Town Pool. The other arrived later.  In a knockout swimming costume.   I clutched Son 2 lovingly to my bosom whenever I left the water. He can swim in his armbands now.  I watched him find his balance in the water and, for the first time,  experiment with his arms and legs to see the effect. He swam a good width.  He jumped onto Mummy. He played with the Nearly Four Year Old’s toys.  He splashed in the shallow end. He ordered me into the bubble bath.  He is a joy, and I’m thinking of going each week. We were there 90 minutes, until he lost his trademark ramrod carriage and flopped against me.  We had another soaking getting into the car. We dropped off the Wednesday Mum and NFYO near a cafe entrance. “Ow,” said Son 2, in his most disappointed voice. ”We are going to the cafe, darling, we just have to park.” All three boys were heavenly, sitting still and quietly eating their snacks, proving my theory that over-exercising creates Perfect Children.   These are boys who can sear paint off with their slipstream.

After another drenching, we dropped off Wednesday Mum and NFYO, and picked up Granny.  Son 2 was unconscious.  Down to the Town Square to meet The Man. We lifted Son 2 into The Big Pram and he barely moved. We ordered lunch. Someone I know slightly was in the Telegraph so I went out to get it.  Son 2 woke, unhappy.  He didn’t eat, but he did settle in the end. After lunch we thought about shopping, but the rain still hammered down. The Parking Fairy had two spots outside the house, so in we went.  Son 2, who’d spent all day saying “Get Son 1 from school”  decided he wanted to stay at home and watch Chitty Chitty with Granny. I got wringing wet walking from the car to the school to get Son 1. And back again.

1.  Howlround

2.  Clash

3.  Bump

Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht. Alles schlaft. Until Son 2 aged 2 started SHOUTING FOR MUMMY. I sprang out of bed to get to him before he woke Son 1 aged 5, sleeping next to him, scooped him up and put him in the Double Bed between The Man and me.  Granny is in the Big Bed upstairs, and The Man and I are next to the boys. I checked the time on a clock downstairs.  4am. The little beggar.  He tossed and turned and wriggled and writhed. At 0445 I gave up and got up. On the Bright Side. I copied dates from 2009 into the 2010 calendar. I cleared out the mess in my bag. I paid a bill which had been outstanding forever. I ordered school photos. I made the lunches.

Son 2 wasn’t impressed with being left at home, Son 1 was Perfect Child. A long drive in this morning because of the rain. I dropped him off and had another Hard Day At The Office.  I have muddled up Son 1’s Parents’ Evening. I thought it was today, which I could have left early for.  It isn’t. It’s next Tuesday, and already my whole day is jam-packed.  The Man will have to go without me.  Bright side: I bought a new dress from TK Maxx.  There is an Important Office Do on Thursday night.  I took it round to the Godmother for a second opinion. She approved, and provided pashmina and handbag.

When I got home, Son 2 chortled, giggled and clung.   Both boys were excited… there were two plastic bags resting on top of the water in the Fish Tank. Granny has bought four more fish.  Son 1 has carefully considered, and named them Fluffy, Floppy, Zizzy and Sulky.  Friends for Flossy and Coupon.  An instant shoal.  They seem to be getting on ok.   In Son 1’s bag there was an apologetic note from his class teacher. We can’t have the time we asked for his Parents’ Evening appointment. She’s happy to do another day and time if it would be more convenient. Oh all right then.   As you’re unable to fit us in, we’ll re-schedule.  No, no, don’t mention it, we don’t mind at all.

1.  Hand Prints

2.  Footsteps

3.  Hand Outs

We did a bit better today, although writing this in the evening, me on the sofa, and The Man on His Chair, we are pale, fatter, worn out shadows of our BC selves.  Son 2 aged 2 woke in the night wailing for Mummy. I have decided he can’t have Mummy, Daddy is his reward for antisocial behaviour, so off trogged The Man to sort him out. And then Son 1 aged 5 arrived in The Big Bed. It was 8am before anyone tipped me out of bed, which is a Good Thing. “Can we get Granny now?” asked Son 1, the moment his eyes snapped open.  He swiftly moved on to the plaster-of-paris handprint kits I gave both Son 1 and Son 2 for their birthdays. After breakfast, I said, sternly. You make a mould, and then pour plaster in, and then lo, a spooky Pompeii-style memento of the size your child used to be. Well I like them. And so does Son 1.   And they were cheap in TK Maxx. We messed up the first kit by spreading the gel too thin. And decided to make two out of Son 2’s. Son 1 sat, Perfect Child, his hand absolutely still, flat in the gel. Son 2 cried at having to keep his hand still. So we tried his foot. He cried. The gel crept up his fat little thigh.  We tried his hand again. He crumbled the rapidly-setting gel material in his hand.  He crumbled his mould, and then poured water from the jug in.   It was a craft material. We let him get on with it.  Later, ready to collect Granny from the Airport, the kitchen was spotless, and Son 2 was wearing the latest outfit she’d sent him.  While we were still tidying frantically elsewhere, he climbed up to and opened the plaster-of-paris packet from the handprint kit, sending stiff white powder down his Sunday best and all over the kitchen. I texted this to his Godmother, who has finally been released from hospital.  “I love Son 2,” she texted back. “You can buy him on eBay,” I replied. 

We had a coffee at the Airport while we were waiting for Granny’s plane. And then saw her, trailing forlornly outside, pulling her case on wheels. Oops. The Man and I are veterans of the Airport in the days when the sound of planes landing shook the paint off the tinpot terminal walls and rattled the fillings in your teeth.  It’s all got a bit bigger since then.  Son 1 and Son 2 were skipping with delight to see her. We played Spot The Yellow Car all the way home, with Granny proving almost as good as Son 1. A cup of tea, then lunch, and then we walked into The Town. Son 1 was still pingponging off the walls, and I decided we needed to Burn His Energy Off. He did very well, walking the 3/4 mile down to The Square and then some on the way back.  Climbing up onto every railing, going up and down every step, round and round every column, under every cycle rail and up onto every flat surface offering King Of The Castle potential.  It’s a form of Free Running. Only much, much, much slower.

I made Fish and Chips for tea, Sea Bass I bought from the fishmonger’s yesterday, home-made chips and peas. I was five minutes from landing when friends called round. They’d bought a jacket on ebay for their 3 year old. It was too big, but beautiful. Did we want it for Son 1 for the winter? Ooh yes please. And an unwanted bimini someone was throwing out, which they’d thought we’d like for The Boat.  “Bim bimini, Bim bimini,” sang The Man.  He’s got a great line in malapropism.  “Sit!” he said to Son 2.  “You sound like you’re training a dog,” I said. “I know. I feel like Mary Whitehouse sometimes.” “Do you mean Barbara Wodehouse?”" “Same thing.” Son 1, Son 2 and 3 year old played in the garden.  We drank and chatted. Our friends left. Tea was late.  Bedtime was late.  Oh well, only 2 weeks till half term. We can all have a bit of a rest then.

1.  Resistance

2.  Inertia

3.  Flow

On days like today I need a Positive Blog. We are, all four of us, knackered.  Son 1 aged 5 goes deaf when he’s tired.  My voice gets louder and I repeat myself, repeat myself.  Son 2 aged 2 grizzles and clings.  The Man lists faults. Out loud. We are worried about Son 2’s Godmother, who is on a drip in hospital with a kidney infection. And Granny is coming to stay for nearly a week tomorrow, so there has been some mad tidying, and a rather ill-timed attempt to Improve Your Children’s Table Manners In 24 Hours.  However. Digging deep in the day…  Son 2 wanted to lie down in Son 1’s bed. With Mummy.  He pulled the cover over his head, pressed his soft little face close to mine, and dozed off with snuffly little snores.  He had about 20 minutes’ sleep before Son 1 woke him by throwing toys around.

I got the boys’ hair cut.  After lunch, piled Son 2 into the Big Pram, ignored Son 1’s attempts to get in it, and strode off for The Town.  Son 1 whined every step of the way. He wanted to ride on the Pram. At the bottom of the hill I gave in. He stands on the axle and holds on to the handle, in a sort of makeshift buggy board stance.  I take the weight on my back and arms, and tell myself I’m burning calories.  This time he has perfected his technique.  He rested his bottom on the nappy bag so he had a seat. At the hairdressers’, Son 1 just stared, exhausted, in the mirror and didn’t bother answering any questions. He could barely keep his head upright for her. Son 2 was Perfect Child, sitting in a car in the window watching The Wiggles on their DVD.  People passing pointed and smiled. I hope because my child is so beautiful, and not because they were saying “Why doesn’t that mother just cut it herself?”  They both look great.  Son 1 misbehaved all the way back.

While we were out, The Man changed some of the water in the Fish Tank, so it looks better.  We switched on the skull and treasure chest bubbles, and Flossy and Coupon seemed to play quite happily.   We had a Fishkeeping For Beginners moment earlier.  I asked The Man to turn up the heater because the water seemed to be getting cooler - it’s meant to be 25C, and was barely 20C.  He kept turning it up. Nothing happened. And then… we… er… realised the heater wasn’t on. The water was at room temperature and was getting cooler because it’s getting cooler.  Still.  It doesn’t seem to have bothered Flossy and Coupon, who after 10 days with us are still alive and seem to be having a good time. Excellent. That means 1 in 3 members of our family has in fact enjoyed today.  I knew this Blog was a Good Thing.

1.  A Glorious Day

2.  An Excruciating Evening

3.  A Successful Meal

We have been On Holiday. Fantastic, thank you.  Scorching sunshine, lovely villa, beautiful pools. Perfect.  We were with Granny and Granddad, Elegant Aunt and Golfmad Uncle.    Son 1 aged 4y 7m, Son 2 aged 20m and I spent most of each day in the water. The Man dipped in and out, and Granny joined us yesterday.  Son 1 came on leaps and bounds before our eyes.  The boy who wouldn’t put his face in the water where all about him were jumping in, ducking down and diving under can now swim a length of the children’s pool facedown, pick toys sharks up from the bottom and is pretty damn near being able to copy Marvellous Mummy’s handstands.   Son 1 went to Baby Swimming Classes from about 9 weeks old.  Son 2 has never had a swimming lesson.  By the end of the holiday he could float calmly in his armbands and scrabble back to me if I insisted.   But he didn’t really want to.  On one Amazing Morning, I had them both in the pool at 11am. By 12, Son 1 was asleep under a towel on a sun lounger, and Son 2 was crashed out in the MacLaren.  We all had Bloody Marys. I did 20 lengths in the outside pool, watching an azure-winged magpie flitting around.  I then had the whirlpool and indoor pool to myself, and got to blow-dry my hair after swimming for the first time in four-and-a-half years. When I emerged, gleaming and glowing, Son 2 was Up, Cross and Hungry, on The Man’s knee.

We must do it again, we said, we must stay longer. Son 1 found a leaflet about a 2008 sand sculpture competition. “I want to go here. To the land of the sand.” We’ll try in the autumn, we said, we’ll check out flights and prices… And then the trip home.  Son 2 on a plane. Golly, quel beast.  He was bad enough on the way out, but on an afternoon flight on a plane full of tipsy golfers, there was enough cheering, clapping and ambient sound to absorb his wailing.  On an evening flight, after a long, sleepless day he was Satan With The Baffles Out.  Loudest child there by many, many miles.   He kicked seats, he struggled, he roared, he twisted, he wept, he sobbed, he shouted.  For two-and-a-half hours.  It was past funny, past the point where I could look at anyone else and past the point where I wanted anything to do with him.  He quietened down 5 minutes before landing, and hot, red-faced, glazed-eyed and floppy, ignored the bump as the plane came down. Then, again alert, he peered out of the window, pointed outside at the vehicles whizzing past and said: “Bus.”  

Today we opened post, washed clothes and downloaded photos.  Son 2 wanted to go to sleep, so he and I had a heavenly cuddle on the double bed before he passed out.  Little arms around my neck, a  little cheek pressed against mine, soft breath on my lips… who could possibly ever say a bad word to say about him?  Son 1 had five Euros off Granny for a treat, so we went into The Town in search of a comic, a chicken and some fruit.  Nanna came round , looking, sounding and walking much better since they put her on Warfarin.   The Man made Sunday dinner, and the boys ate chicken, broccoli, carrots, potatoes and gravy.  Big relief to see them eating the right stuff. Son 2’s vocabulary now includes: crisps, chips (same ‘kip’ word for both) sweets, ice cream and chocolate.  Much more advanced than Son 1, who didn’t get a grain of sugar from us till he was gone 2.

1.   The Din In The Dark

2.   Sale Rails

3.  The Lunchtime Lull

Oh. What. A. Night.  The Man was already in with Son 2 aged 15m.  Son 1 aged 4y 3m arrived… whenever… clambered over the top of me and plopped in the Big Bed on the other side.  At 3am Son 2 started the loudest screaming fit yet.  Louder, louder, more and more hysterical.  Code for: I WANT MUMMY AND IT IS THE END OF THE WORLD GET HER GET HER GET HER.  It must be an evolutionary thing.  If he makes that noise just because he’s got the wrong parent in bed with him, he’s got to be able to fell bears with a shout under real attack.   I went down.  It took 15 minutes to calm him down; he had so completely lost it.  I slept with him, and he spent the next five hours waking every… whenever… and sobbing his heart out till I soothed him back to sleep.  I planned to get him back into his cot as soon as he went into his deep sleep - he didn’t.  Every time I moved away even an inch he shot out a hand to find me.   I vaguely heard Son 1 and The Man upstairs with the telly, and eventually went up.  It was 0830.  The latest I have slept in a very long time. 

And of course today was the day I wanted to be out of the house at 0830 to get to the Big Town for The Sales.  I skipped the books, skipped the shower, skipped breakfast, skipped dressing children, did my hair, put my make up on and left in 15 minutes.  I called into The Hotel to get Granny’s jumper which needed taking back.  Granny came too.  We did Monsoon - little boy trousers, little boy tops, odds ands ends, we did TK Maxx, we did Jaeger, we did Lakeland.  And we were back within an hour and a half. 

After Son 2’s lunch we packed up the boys and set off for The Square.  It was brutally, bitterly cold, with a gale force Easterly freeze-blasting skin and clothing.  “I’m getting draughted everywhere!” complained Son 1, so we rolled him up in his blanket and sat him in the battered MacLaren.  I tried to  pull the blanket down over his face so he could see.  “Leave it,” he said. “It’s cosy in here.”  By the time we got to The Square we had both boys asleep.  The Man, Granny, Granddad and I had wine, starters, pizzas and coffees while both children slept on.  Never in our Family History have we achieved this.  Granddad paid.  The waitress said they’d box up Son 1’s meal for him.  As we left, they made him a new pizza because his other one had dried out.  When we got home he ate every scrap, including his dough balls.  An honourable mention for PIzza Express.  They didn’t have to do that, but it made a big difference.