1. It’s Raining, It’s Pouring

2. And Bumped His Head

3.  Up In The Morning

Up at a dawn to do some Office work because we wanted to take the children out tonight.  Then Son 1 aged 4y 8m woke up, full of excitement because it’s school sports day.  Less so when he realised he couldn’t wear his shiny new PE kit to school and had to wait.  When I dropped him off it was raining. “Ring at 11 to see if it’s still on,” they said.  I remembered at 1230.  Off. They’re trying again next week.

The Man came into The Big Town for some Business stuff and we had lunch. Very nice to see him.  He collected Son 1, which meant I was let off the usual Friday tear-across-Town to get him in time.  Back home The Town is having a Singing Festival. We thought it would nice to take the boys, listen to some Singing, wine for us, ice cream for them, put them to be late and get a lie in tomorrow morning. Easy.  So we listened to some Singers. Chatted to lots of people we know.  Had a glass of wine. They had orange juice and put money in the charity buckets. Ran around with the other children.  Son 2 aged 21 months climbed up on a plastic chair and held on to the back, just like he does with the ones at home. The heavy ones.  He pushed this one right over and fell, 3+ feet, flat on his face.  And screamed. 

His forehead was bashed in. I gave him Ibuprofen, he calmed down and we packed up and headed home. We put them to bed; we ate a takeaway; we went to bed.  I’ll go in with Son 2, I thought, so I can check he’s ok during the night.  I got in the double bed with him. I looked at his head.  Red and grey and big and bumpy.  I rang the Minor Injuries Unit. No answer. I rang the doctor’s out-of-hours service. Take him to A and E, they said. And so there we were, midnight on Friday/Saturday, me, Son 2, several groups of loud drunks, two very fat women and an old woman with long, dyed-black hair and tons of make up. Waiting Time Four Hours flashed by on a ticker screen.  Swearing. Police. Hospital security. Son 2 wanted to get down on to the floor, but I was sitting by the infection-control MRSA/c.diff noticeboard and didn’t want him to catch anything.  He grizzled. I let him, figuring nothing motivates officialdom like a screeching infant.  The receptionist apologised. She’d reminded the nurse we were here, but there was a difficult patient… After 45 minutes the nurse saw us, and we were put into a children’s waiting room. Son 2 came alive at the trucks, cars, fire engines and diggers. ”Someone’s got a nasty bump,” said an ambulance man, dropping off a baby with croup. A very young, very pretty, smiling doctor appeared. She shone lights in Son 2’s eyes, looked in his ears, watched him play and examined his bump. He was fine, she said, but he clearly had a bad fall and I was right to bring him in. She gave me a list of things to look for, and said keep him quiet and give him Calpol and Neurofen, because he would have a headache. We got home at 0230.

1.  Rule Number One

2.  Rules Two And Three

3.  Rule Four

Yesterday I ordered from The Man: 1) A Lie In  2)  Breakfast In Bed (scrambled egg on toast.) 3) A Long Bubble Bath With No Children In it. 

Son 2 aged 18m woke up at 0530.   “Mama.”  I trailed downstairs, and Son 2 clung while The Man sorted him a Tub of Grub.   Son 1 aged 4y 6m came down. Cards from all three.  I had already been to the Boots Lancome counter and bought myself two items so I could also have a free gift.  Mother’s Day Rule Number One.  Avoid Disappointment, Buy Your Own Present.  We all went upstairs to the Big Bed and I got in, pulled the covers over me and lay down.  Son 1 stuck Ben 10 stickers,  Son 2 played  Duplo with The Man.   They all went downstairs.  I dozed off.  I was on The Beach with Son 2 playing at the water’s edge. A mist came in, and I said we’d better pack up. The mist turned to snow, everywhere. I couldn’t see  Son 2 but there were snow ploughs in the ditch where I’d last seen him.  An oblongy snowball was skidding down the road but he wasn’t in it.  “Mummy. Son 2 fell off the chair and you’ve got to come.”  A little head at the side of the bed.  I went downstairs.  Made my own breakfast.  I did get a bubble bath, but the children went mad because they weren’t allowed in it.  

I had booked lunch for us all at The Peacock Playground.  Complimentary skincare sample, organic fudge and free entry for mothers. Rule Number Two.  Avoid Disappointment, Make Your Own Lunch Arrangements.  We picked up Nanna, and took the boys to the playground.  They played; the peacocks patrolled.  The Man and Nanna sat in the sun.  I climbed up ladders, slid down slides, swung on swings, climbed through tunnels, lifted up, helped down and held on.  In for lunch.  It all took a while, but Son 1 dived in and out through the sliding doors next to us, checking his stick, chasing peacocks, sitting on a wall.  They stuffed themselves with their pudding, our pudding and the organic fudge.  The Man got very bored with having to look after Son 2 while he was eating his own meal.  Rule Number Three: The Mother’s Day is the only day you can act like Father.  All Day Long. 

We walked down to the lake afterwards.  Son 1 and I played Pooh Sticks every time a stream ran under a bridge.  He loved it.  Son 1 started off with the biggest sticks, and soon realised the smaller ones win.  He leaned over edges, through railings and off bridges.  Absolutely no concept of danger. I hadn’t been down to the bottom of the garden since I dropped Son 2 on his head when he was 4 months old.  (Laid him down in pram asleep after screaming reflux episode, didn’t dare strap him in case he woke up. 30 minutes later, had forgotten I hadn’t strapped him in.  Took pram up flight of steep concrete steps.  Baby slid out like he’d been fired from a peashooter.  Overnight in hospital.  His head was fine. But they got very tired of mopping up the sick, and they gave us a paediatrician and dietician who eventually sorted out his reflux.)  It was very strange passing The Steps, seeing The Tree where a pic of Son 1 had been taken afterwards, seeing the bench we sat on to peer at Son 2’s head… remembering the sick feeling inside as we marched back to take him to the MIU.  Son 1 walked miles, and was soon fast asleep in the car.  Son 2 stayed awake till after we’d dropped Nanna off.  We parked near the house, and The Man brought me a cup of tea and the Sunday papers to read in the car while the boys slept. Rule Four: When Opportunity Knocks, Ask For A Cup Of Tea.

1.  Lying In

2.  Lying Down

3.  Laid Up

Son 2 aged 17m shrieked, sobbed and shouted at 11pm. I got him back down in his cot.  Son 1 aged 4y 4m woke screaming at some Godforsaken hour.  I went down. He was still half asleep, so I carried him up to the Big Bed.  Son 2 slept till 7am, starlet.  We went downstairs, he had snacks and milk, I had coffee.  We came back and read some books.  We had a shower… I dressed him.  I didn’t dare go back up for either my clothes or contact lenses, so I sat playing with him in Son 1’s abandoned bedroom till Wonder Nanny arrived.  We headed on down for breakfast, and Son 1 materialised at about 0845, draped round a stair rail, half-crying, half-sulking.

We had a slow morning; Wonder Nanny took Son 2 upstairs for a nap.   He cried and reached for me, his eyes beseeching.  She got him settled without so much as a dust speck stirring.  How can that happen?  She took him upstairs… she came down after 15 minutes.  No yelling, so screeching, no punching through ear drums like he’s opening a new jar of coffee.  On the Bright Side, she’s an excellent Control in our childcare experiment.  Son 2 doesn’t toss and turn and refuse to settle because he’s a wired child, acutely receptive to stimulus, who finds relaxing very difficult.   Son 2 has no problems at all with Wonder Nanny.  Son 2 just Wants His Mum.

We roasted a chicken and some vegetables which they kind of ate, and then went out on an expedition to get a present for, and visit, the Three Year Old With The Broken Arm.   Playdoh Operation.  I thought it was funny.  At the invalid’s house, we inspected the new bunk beds.  Very nice indeed.  “We were hoping they’ wouldn’t sleep in our bed anymore once they had these…” said the Mother, as Three Year Old heaved himself up, the plaster casted arm trailing.  “Well it’s worked for Three Year Old, hasn’t it?” I said.  “Two nights in hospital instead.”  Back home, The Man returned.  Son 1 chose stories about sleepovers and poorliness for bedtime.  We read “There’s No Place Like Home,”  in which a mole looks for a new house.  “There’s no place like my home,” said Son 1, snuggling down.

1.  Daring To Kiss

2.  Spring Animals

3.  Dinner With A Friend

I spent the night with Son 1 aged 4y 4m.  He’s still hot and bothered. I got up just before 5am, and decided I Do Not Drink Coffee till 6am.  I cracked at 0520.  Did some admin/paperwork.  The Man got up.  Off on a Business Trip.  Very pleased to see me Downstairs.  He’d thought, as I wasn’t with Son 1, that I must be behind closed doors with Son 2 aged 17m.  The Man dares not go into The Lightest Sleeper In The World’s bedroom, and thought it would be bad luck to leave without kissing goodbye.  After all these years I think that counts as a Good Thing.

A text from a Wednesday Mum.  Little Three Year Old Friend fell off the new bunk bed ladder last night and has broken his arm. Overnight in The Hospital, in theatre this morning.  I rang.  Tib and fib.  Carried off in an ambulance.  Five weeks in plaster ahead.   We went off to the Bird Park.  It was indescribably busy.  Every table packed, buggies everywhere, people standing round the edges.  The Other Wednesday Mum went for coffees while Son 2 and I played in the toddler area.  A table became free right next to it.  I stepped over and plonk.  Camp struck, Good Thing bagged.  Son 1 played, but as his calpol wore off his mood crashed.  We went outside. Down to the Farm.  The goats weren’t hungry - half term, they ‘d eaten hundreds of bags of pellets.  they just wanted grass.  There was a great fat black pig with ten gorgeous tiny piglets.  As a vegetarian, I can enjoy the cuteness of piglets guilt-free.  The quails had chicks.  The Big Fat Hens had laid eggs in the hen houses.  We went up to the Penguin Pond.  Son 1 climbed up on the wall and sat, in a “W,” which meant he takes up three times as much room as a child sitting cross-legged.   About sixty children were crammed round the wall.  Buckets of fish arrived with two keepers.  “We need about 12 volunteers!”  Every had shot up.  Son 1 has learned from previous disappointments, and is now much better at getting picked.  He was the best penguin-feeder by far.  Coat off, shoes off, dive into bucket.  Fling Those Fish.

Only. We’d forgotten Nanna was coming at 4pm.  I tried ringing, and off we sped.   Her car was parked near the house, no sign of her.  My mobile went.  She was waiting with our neighbours.  We drove down to The Square and went into Pizza Express for tea.  The boys were worn out and loudly fractious.  And then in came Son 1’s nearly six-year-old friend with his Mother, just back from the panto.  They sat on the other side of the restaurant, and Son 1 spent the entire meal with them.  I sent over a glass of Pinot Grigio as a babysitting fee.   So. Rude to Nanna, but he wate nearly every scrap of pizza, and Nanna and I got our food. Son 2 went for a walk round the restaurant with Nanna, fell over, hit his nose and split his lip open again.

After a long, late, exhausting bedtime, I rang 3 year old’s father at home, and then his mum in the hospital. They were both within 1m of him when it happened.  Second rung from the bottom of the ladder, foot slipped in, child fell and they heard the “snap.”  He has two greensticks and one proper fracture.  He was X-Ray Of The Day.  He’s on calpol.  He seems fine.   In the next bed is a little girl still recovering from the car crash in which her brother died.  It’s really only a scratch on Son 2’s lip.

1.  Overture

2.  La Donna E Mobile

3.  Finale

A little crittur aged 4y 3m slid into the Big Bed at an Ungodly Hour.  Thin snakey arms around my neck, bony body snugged into mine, fingers eventually falling away from my eyebrows and eyelashes.  He was in a coma.  I wasn’t.  The alarm went at 6.  I reached over him and switched it off, and then the fingers got going again.  I’ll wait till he goes back to sleep, I thought, and then get up and get drinks and snacks.   I lay still and silent till a stage whisper enquired “Mummy are we getting up yet?”   

The day of my Heart Scan. The Man is still away.  So I had to wait for Wonder Nanny, zoom to the Doctor’s to pick up the letter for the cardio people, and then head out to The Hospital in the Big Town.  Yet again, I was late leaving.  But I was ok.  If the roads were all clear, if there was somewhere to park, if I’d worn different shoes so that I could stride across the car park rather than totter.  I got to a Roundabout two miles out.  Something Was Up.  Stationary traffic, cars doing U-turns, nothing coming the other way.    I can get in the queue, I thought, and cut cross country.  I moved 20 yards in 5 minutes.  I’ll have to ring and tell them I’m stuck.  So.  Still parked,  I opened the doctor’s letter.  The appointment was back in The Town.  At the surgery next door to ours.  Ah.   I reversed and drove back.  “I work in the community,” said the physiologist.  “I’m cheaper than The Hospital, even with the cost of the consultant.  People had to wait eighteen months for this before the PCT started using me.”  She is a Good Thing.  My heart is fine, thank you for asking.  Another Good Thing.

The time at the Heart Scan made me late to The Office, and Very Late Indeed getting away.  Poor Wonder Nanny bathed the boys and was trying to keep them awake so I’d see them when I got back.  Son 2 aged 16m was grizzling and tantruming… Son 1 was just lying down with his eyes closed on the middle of the bed in Son 2’s room.  I am slowly cutting down on the time it takes to get Son 2 to sleep.  He has his lullaby, three rounds of “Summertime,” 5 counts down from 100 and then a “night night darling, I’m just going to say night night to Son 1 and then I’ll come back.”  WAAAAAAAH.  Three nights in a row now, although he is only crying for about five minutes before he drops off.   It makes me sick inside, but as the songs and counts take place when I’m bending into the cot with my head next to his, I do think it is A Good Thing that we’re trying.

1.  Walking pace

2.  Normal Walking

3.  Nearly Walking

Getting to Nursery On Time was a Good Thing.  I was out of the door at exactly the right time to jump in the car and go, and get to Nursery avoiding the glacially-paced Monday traffic.  “Where’s the car?” I called to The Man, who’d parked it on Saturday.  “Outside XXX and YYYs,” he said.  XXX and YYY are friends who live 10 minutes’ walk away.  Oh dear.  I wasn’t a very good Example For The Children.  However.  The conclusion is that the longer, rural route to the Big Town is faster than the normal way, despite the mile-long crawl near the Industrial Estate.  Son 1 aged 4y 2m got there in time for the Hellos.

I had to pick him up again at 1.30pm because he had an appointment with a paediatric physio.  I think his right foot flays out when he runs.  She asked me lots of questions, watched him sit, walk and run, and then moved his legs up and down while he was lying on a couch.   She says both feet flay out, but when he’s walking both feet are turned in.  His hip joints in the sockets turn in, so his thighs turn in when he’s tired, so his lower legs flay out.   Stop him sitting in a “W” - which he’s done since he was a baby; he need to be cross-legged.  And get him to stand on one leg, and hop, when he can (he can’t yet.)   In the range of normal, but he’s never going to be an athlete.  Dang, and there’s us with athletes on both sides of the family.  Was it because he was breech? I asked.  She didn’t think so, it’s hereditary.  Somewhere on either side there is another “W” sitter.  It’s just how he is.

Back home and Son 2 aged 14m is almost ready to lift off.  He can comfortably walk eight or ten paces… and managed to slalom through a doorway this evening to get to me when I went upstairs.  He can walk many steps, several times in a row before he pretends to lose interest, plops down on his bottom and goes crawling off to change the subject.  He gives himself a clap before he starts, and then steps out confidently until he lets himself fall into the arms of whoever’s in goal.  And when he totters over to Son 1’s outstretched arms and plops on top of him at the end Mummy’s heart turns to mush.

1.  Rahrr

2.  The Dietician

3. The Green chair

I went in the double bed in Son 2 aged 11m’s room in case he had another bad night.  He slept soundly, and so did I.  This morning I was wakened by him stirring. I froze because I thought he might go back to sleep.  Nope. This is Son 2 we’re talking about.  He lay in his cot going “Rahrr” which is his What-Do-You-Say-To-A-Lion noise.  And then patted his open mouth with his open palm, Apache-fashion, which he’s just learned and likes doing.  And then lay there in the dark going: Da-da-da-da-da-da.  It’s the first time I’ve known him wake and not cry instantly.

I had a vague memory that his dietician’s appointment was at the start of September, and a vague memory that the dietician clinic is on a Tuesday. So I rang the Hospital.  Yep.  Appointment at 1.30pm.  A Good Thing we didn’t miss it.  Anyway, she says not to worry that he’s small, he’s just small.  9th centile for weight, 25th for length and 9th for head.     The red book dots show the story of his reflux.  Born on the 50th, on the 25th for eight weeks while he was refluxing and not being sick, and then dropped to 9 and stayed there when the vomiting started.  With a little dip down to the 2nd when he was ill in July.  “He’s had a rough time,” she said. Put butter and oil on his pasta. Give him lots of cheese. ”He’ll catch up.”  Wonder Nanny brought the boys to the Hospital, and I met them there.  It was fantastic to see them in the middle of the day, but hard saying goodbye.  Especially as I’d hoped I’d get out early but ended up trapped in The Office…

Son 1 aged 3y 11m has, since he was barely 2, pushed his little green early learning centre chair across the kitchen floor to stand on when he wants to stand at the worktops. Cooking, stealing food or just general pestering, the little green chair is steered across.  Son 2 did it today, for the first time.  He knew how, and he knew where he was going with it - same place Son 1 goes.   How weird to think that he is sitting there watching us the whole time and everything is going into that little 9th centile head.

1. 8.04am

2. Shopping

3. Discharged

0804.  Woke up, son 1 aged 3y 10m in bed beside me.  I remember The Man wandering off in the night.  I remember Son 1 clambering up, and then clambering over as he realised there was an entire half bed on the other side of me.  I remember a cry at dawn from Son 2 aged 11m.  I got up, and put my contact lenses in, my heart slowing and my throat tightening.  This is it.  This is the last time I’ll still think he’s alive.  ”Mummy!” called Son 1. I ignored him and went downstairs. I pushed at the bedroom door.  “Waaaaah!” A little rabbit, sitting upright in the cot, peering at me in the gloom.   It was in fact a shockingly unexpected lie-in.  The whole family got an extra two hours.  That’s a whole night’s sleep between the four of us.  A wee giftie from the little rabbit.

It all made us late for our shopping trip, but who cares?  The idea was to go to the Big Town, go round toy shops so Son 1 could choose his birthday present, choose a birthday present for Son 2, have lunch, and then go to the Hospital.  We went to the Wooden Toy Shop and Son 1 chose a drum set. Son 2 and another baby chose a little music centre.  I chose another present for Son 1’s little friend.  We headed off for TK Maxx, where Son 1 picked a very unpleasant plastic ambulance for Son 2. Then lunch.  Son 1 played merry hell.  After we’d all eaten, I remember I’d chosen the cafe because they had a stack of children’s books and a ton of toys.  Son 1 was silenced and stilled by Where’s Wally.  The others went to the Early Learning Centre. I went back to the Wooden Toy Shop to order the drums.  I joined them at the ELC.  Son 1 doesn’t want the drumkit any more.  He wants a large plastic castle with knights.  Ask Santa for it, I said.  

At the Hospital they weighed Son 2.  Not back on line 9 on the chart. Sigh. Everyone had started to say he was filling out and his face was looking chubby.  I told the consultant that I was happy with him, that I’ve taken him off all his meds, but I’m worried about his weight - I thought he’d be putting weight on now he’s (mostly) stopped being sick. And I’m worried about him getting a gastro bug again.  She said the weight will take a long while to go back on.  And she doesn’t think he ended up in hospital so quickly because of his reflux; she thinks it was just a bad bug which would have done the same to any child.  She says she wants the dietician to see him again, but she doesn’t need to. This evening I spoke to my friend whose first son was a thin baby. Stop weighing him, was her advice. 

1. Staying down

2. An invitation

3.  A Big One

We’re back.  Highlights of the last 7 days in a paragraph.  3rd Birthday Party. Long trip. Zoo with Granny and Auntie. Barbecue at Auntie’s house. Hotel. Swim: Me, The Man, Son 1 aged 3y 9m, Son 2 aged 10m. Son 2 sick. Son 2 temporary patient at GP.  Son 2 in hospital. 2 doctors and a nurse hold Son 2 down to get a canula in fat baby foot.  Son 2 on drip. Son 2 discharged. Golden Wedding lunch. Son 1 sick. The Man sick.  Me sick.  Granny sick. Grandad sick. Return delayed by a day. Long trip. Son 2 sick. Son 2 sick. Son 2 sick.  Clearing up in laybys. Febreze. Changing clothes in car parks.  More Febreze. 10 hours to get home.  Back home, put the boys to bed at 10pm. Give Son 2 his breastfeed. Son 2 sick. 

I took today off work to be with Son 2.  He kept his morning breast feed down and then slept.  Then bits of bananas.  Then because he looked interested in Son 1’s lunch, some apple and baby rice.  More banana.  Water. Pear and baby rice.  Breast feed. Cheerios. Everything stayed down.  Which is the positive bit.

Son 1 had a snooze after lunch, so did Son 2.  I was heading to the shops, so rang The Man to see what he wanted for tea.  Come down this end of town, he said, and we’ll have a coffee.   ”I’ll be back at 3″ I told Wonder Nanny.  “Just go,” she said.  “Text me if they wake up.” “Just go,” she said.  “Don’t touch the washing, you might catch the bug,” I said.  She made a shoo-ing gesture with both hands, so I went.   Sat outside in the square.  Topics of conversation:  Annabel Karmel’s house on the market for £8.5million, down from £10m.  AK saying it’s hard to keep recipes below fat and salt limits.  Why we keep Son 2 off salt and sugar only to have sodium and glucose dripped into him, 35ml an hour (I didn’t have anything to read.)  The Man’s conversations this morning about good fishing spots. The Man got invited to go sailing tonight but said no.  He needs to get a diver.  He had a salad baguette for lunch.  The Town is full of foreigners, there’s a cruise ship in. Wouldn’t it be great if Son 1 was here to play on that bouncy castle with those children?

Granny put a bubble gun in the luggage, which was seized by Son 1 last night.  The Man,  Son 1 and Son 2 went outside to play with it while I stir fried.     Son 1 was a vision of happiness.  Giggling, shrieking, calling, laughing.  Pearly white baby teeth in an open-mouthed smile, blue eyes dancing.  Son 2 - who’s better, but still feeling rough and only vaguely tolerating being more than 6 inches from Mummy - watched from The Man’s arms, interested, but worn out, an occasional little starfish hand reaching out.  Son 1 sent the bubbles in through the open kitchen window.  More gales of laughter.  “Don’t bring that in here, it’ll make the floor too slippery” “No it wo-o-  ” Splat.  Bambi on ice.  Peels of laughter.