1.  Fungus

2.  Fertiliser

3.  Photos

A ridiculously long, complicated day, involving a drive over to The City which meant I wasn’t home till 8pm… then a quick night night to Son 1 aged 4y 10m and Son 2 aged 23 m, who’d been kept up specially, and then zooming out again for an Office Thing. We were up daftly early though, so I did have time to read to Son 2 this morning.  He pointed at a mushroom in a picture book. “Mush mush.”  Hmmm.  I spend hours each week patiently going through piles of children’s books with Son 2. They are very heavily centred on cartoon cats and dogs, jungles and farm animals, vehicles and babies. Mushrooms don’t really come into it.  I’ve told him what they are a couple of times - on the odd occasion he’s been through the veg box before I’ve had chance to put it away. Clearly a genius. Or possibly something to do with Wonder Nanny. 

I fetched the hairbrush to brush Son 2’s hair. “Me do,”  he said firmly.  And for the poppers on his sleepsuit.  He also wants to wee in the loo. Won’t use his potty. Doesn’t want to use the booster seat.  Just wants to stand up on the plastic step and point.  I went into the bathroom to see Son 1 and Son 2, starkers, Son 2 on the step and  Son 1 beside him gently holding Son 2’s willy while he weed in the loo.  Both with beaming smiles.  Sorry, but I’m leaving that one.  I’m very happy for Son 2 to toilet train himself, and skip all the extra bits of plastic Son 1 used. I still remember having to take the Big Chair Potty to the beach under the Big Pram, because he wouldn’t go in anything else. And I can remember packing a booster seat in the suitcases to take to Portugal.   But if he wants to wee standing up he can hold his own willy. You Do. 

The Man has had some holiday pictures sent to him by the Elegant Aunt. A lovely picture of all four of us sitting on a sofa in the bar area of the holiday village, and others taken in the cafe/pool area. The Man flipped back and forth between them. “Son 2 looks different in this one.  His hair’s longer…”  “No darling, ” I said as gently as I could. “This one - ” the family shot ” - was taken last year, in May 2008. This one -  ” - Son 2 and I, on the terrace, “was taken on this year’s holiday. He’s eight months old in that one, and 20  months old in this one.”

1.  A Hard Day’s Night

2.  This Will Be The Last Time

3.  You Really Got Me

Son 1 aged 4y 5m was in with me all night.  He’s always allowed the night before The Man comes home.  He is a heat-seeking missile who cannot be stayed from his course.  He is in bed to snug with Mummy, to lie against me and feel my eyebrows.  (Used to do it when he was breastfeeding.  Has never stopped.  Does it when he’s asleep. In my absence anyone’s eyebrows will do.  Also does it on Son 2 aged 18m.)  Son 2 aged 18m slept through, but woke at 6am.  I put his fan on (white noise) and got into the double bed with him.  He dozed.  Then he woke, cried, and wanted his sleeping bag removed.  I took it off.  He slithered out of bed, onto the floor, and off he went on his own.  ”Mummy’s staying in bed.” I said.  “Bye bye,” he said, stopping only to pull the blankets off the chair as he went past, opened the door and went out onto the landing in the dark.  He had the grace to totter back again and stand in the doorway.  “Mama.”  Ha.  Yes I had to get up but I think I still won on goal difference. 

We went to the New Play Centre.  On the positive side  (I Do Not Like The New Play Centre)  Son 1 had a blast, playing with Best Friend, Best Friend’s brother and another boy they know, Son 2 loved it.  He loved the Ball Pools, he loved being pushed around the baby area in a Little Tikes ride on car, he loved walking over the rope bridge, he loved playing with the sponge ball cannons, he loved rolling and climbing and sliding and pushing and just generally Being Big.  Son 1 was hilarious when I told him we weren’t buying lunch there. “Is that your tricking voice?”  No darling, they have again annoyed me and I shan’t be giving them any more money.  How do you explain the concept of a boycott to a four year old who wants sausage and chips.

Back home we had a good time. The boys ate their picnic lunches.  I got out some ham. It was smoked, and I’d bought 2 packets. “Try it, and if you don’t like it I’ll give it to Nanna.”  They wolfed it.  We played with the Wooden Railway.  Son 2 did a poo so big it went up to his neck.  Too much information, sorry.  But there was a big part of a crayon in his nappy.   He wears a one-piece vest.  His nappy tabs are fastened too tight for a crayon that size to fall down.  If something was blocking the tubes, that would account for the sheer volume when it came out.  But if Son 2 had swallowed that crayon he would have choked.  So how did it get there?  

Nanna arrived.  Son 2 wanted to watch The Wiggles again.  I booked tickets for The Wiggles.  Nanna will come.  I made Veggie Mince and tomato sauce.  Son 1 didn’t want the Veggie Mince.  But then ate it all.  A real breakthrough, offering  the possibility that I may be able to eat the same as them.  “Shall we try Daddy on this?” I asked Son 1.  “Daddy won’t eat Veggie Mince,” he said wisely.  The Man came home.  Nanna waved goodbye to Son 2 in the bath.  “Bye Bye,” he said.

1.  Independence

2.  Insurrection

3.  Initiative

Son 1’s star chart means he stays in his own bed.  But it also means the odd foghorn blast in the early hours. My choice: leave him and face hell unleashed if Son 2 aged 17m wakes up, or go in with him.  I woke up in Son 1’s bed.  Son 2 was calling.  He had his snack, we read, he came in the shower with me.  As I got out, he suddenly cracked how to scoop up water in a tub and pour it in the top of his Winnie-The-Pooh stacking cup tower so that all the water comes out of the elephant’s trunk at the bottom.  He chortled.  He squealed.  He panted. He laughed.   Suddenly he no longer needed to wait till Mummy or Son 1 did it for him.  He could do it himself.  There it was! The water coming out of the trunk! He could put his hand under it! He could collect it in another tub!   He could put his finger over the end of the spout!  All by himself! He sang.  He giggled.  He was magical.

We had five boys under the age of five round this morning. The Three Year Old with a broken arm can’t get sand in his plaster, and probably shouldn’t be climbing over boats in The Museum.   Son 2 stood on his table and nearly bounced off in excitement when Best Friend and Little Brother arrived.   They all played very well, considering what they’re capable of.  Tinkerbell’s head was pulled off by Son 2 before they arrived.  (Every Child Is Different.  Son 1 always went for the wings.)  They played with the Wooden Thomas, the pirates, the castle and the monsters.  Three Year Old and his mother left, the others stayed for lunch.  In the time it took to make, Son 1 and Best Friend had pulled most of his bedroom and all of the lounge to pieces.  Mountains of miscellaneous books, toys and pieces of games spread across the floor.  

Put a sobbing Son 2 to bed, tidied lounge, cleared up lunch things.  Son 2 woke, put him back to bed. Heard Nanna downstairs. She’d  knocked on the door, got no answer, rung the house, Son 1 had answered the phone, and she’d got him to go down and let her in.  Son 2 woke. Tidied Son 2’s room. Started tea.  Son 2 hadn’t slept enough, and was demanding, fragile, clumsy, loud and clingy.  I put the Wiggles on and he loved it. ”Snap Snap”ped to the crocodile, and got up and danced.  He went across to Nanna and held her hands so she’d dance too.  Again, he was absolutely lovely.