1.  A Thousand Cuts

2.  Thanks A Thousand

3.  A Thousand Times

Son 2 aged 22m didn’t wake up screaming till 0615.  This is a Good Thing. Lately it’s been unremitting before 0530.  The Man has tried.  I’ve just left him, his screams not quite drowned out by the klaxon of my guilt. I wonder what’s wrong. Wonder Nanny says he’s the same when he wakes up from his daytime naps. I wouldn’t know. He never sleeps in the daytime when he’s with me. Which all leads me to the Pang Pang Pang conclusion that he needs to see me more. Oh Lord.   At least we have Wonder Nanny so he doesn’t have to go to Nursery.  He stood at the door and cried after she left tonight. Pang Pang Pang.    

Cheer Up, Said George.  (Son 2 and I are doing The Smartest Giant In Town at the moment.)  The Man has taken some time off.  This is cause for the firing of cannons and a public holiday.  I have tried pointing out that even Junior Doctors are barred by law from working more than 48 hours a week but for some reason he thinks he’s exempt from the Working Time Directive.   And the boys’ Elegant Aunt has offered us her timeshare week. Hoorah hoorah.

I tried to get home from work a bit early to see a little more of Son 1 aged 4y 10m and Son 2.  Didn’t work.  When I cuddled Son 2, Son 1 went mad with jealousy, and relentlessly tried to bash him off me or force his way between us. When I cuddled Son 1, Son 2 let out intolerable ear-splitting shrieks and I ended up dumping him in his cot.  I left him there for five minutes, and then went back up. He was standing, in his dungarees, cute as a kitten, in the corner of his cot.   A big smile. “Mummeeeee!” “Are you going to stop shrieking?” “Yesssssssssssssss.”  And he made it till bedtime without a single screech.  And then, after I’d laid Son 1 down in his bed and closed their bedroom door, their day ended as it began. “MUMMMMEEEEEEE! MUMMMMEEEEE!!!!”

1.  Goat Bait

2.  Candlemass

3.  Brothers In Arms

The Man left at 3am on a Business Trip, so we collected Nanna and headed for The Bird Park.  Son 2 aged 16m couldn’t get into the Baby Area fast enough.  Ball Pool.  Jet Bits.  Sitting over one of the holes so the remaining air streams blew even stronger.  The thin, four-inch wisps of his anyhow pre-haircut fringe blown up vertical.   He waved at Nanna. “Eh-yo.”  He concentrated as he threw balls overboard.  He got down.  We crawled up and around.  Son 1 aged 4y 3m was cross.  Growling.  Clawing his hands.  Pushing me away.  He wanted his Best Friend.  Only his Best Friend understands his game.  I tried to get us all playing together and might have succeeded at times.  He had a great time when Son 2 was sitting on the jets and throwing balls down at him.  He liked it when we followed him over the Big Children’s Stuff.  Son 2 slithered on his stomach and went down the baby slide on his own.  He learned to go down steps the same way today.  We went to see the otters and the owls.  Son 2 was in his reins - he loves walking, we’re hoping that having him in them early will mean he accepts them later.  When we know we’ll need them.  We looked at the Guinea Pigs.  £12 each.  Son 1 and I looked at each other.  If they’d sold hutches we’d've taken two.  We fed the goats, Son 2 managing to hold the food so the goats licked it from his hands, giggling his head every time their tongues shot out over his fingers.  The goats were standing in a quagmire, and everytime they leapt up their hooves spattered us.  Slathered in mud and goat spit, we washed our hands and made for the penguins.

We went early (for us) because it was the Family Tea Service at The Church and I felt we should go.  Son 2 didn’t wake up between car, house and street, and stayed asleep till we were at the bottom of the church steps.   Son 1 was exhausted, but will fortunately do anything if promised a comic, so trudged down like a trooper.  Numbers were few.  The theme was “light.”  The student priest put everyone under a tablecloth to show how Dark Things Were When God Forsook.  “And then Simeon saw a little baby just like this one (Son 2, possibly about 15 months too old for the role), and said ‘here is the light that will save the world.’”   We went back to our pews.  “Is Son 2 Jesus?” asked Son 1.  We sang “Shine Jesus Shine,” the words on a screen at the front.  My eyes are dim, the light was poor.  I so liked the idea of Kindly Brightness that I googled “Shine Jesus Shine, lyrics” when I got back.  Ah.

And then they provided tea.  Vegetable Bake, sausages, pizza, squash and cake.  Brilliant.  We zigzagged home across the main street - closed to traffic while they dig it up, Son 1 liked leading us from one side to the other.  We bought a Shaun The Sheep comic.  It was late and we were all whacked.  The boys went in the bath.  I insisted on washing their hair to remove goat saliva and hoof flecks.  I washed Son 2’s. Then I washed Son 1’s, singing him his lullaby to keep him calm.  Seeing him lying back on Mummy’s arm, being sung to, destroyed Son 2.  He cried, stood up, grabbed the arm holding Son 1 and sat his little bare bottom down on Son 1’s face, sinking him under the water. Then he stamped his foot on his ear and slid off.

1.  Toothache

2.  Begrudging Beijing

3.  Driven

Son 2 aged 1 has four whopping great canines coming through at once, plus one odd front tooth on the bottom.  He’s sleeping badly, he’s cross when he wakes up, he doesn’t want to be put down, he doesn’t want to play with Son 1 aged 4.  All he wants to do is be carried around with his head on my shoulder.  We are now at the end of our two-week Birthday Fest, and we are all knackered, so today was Toys, Telly and Tidying.  Poor old Son 2 wrote off the first part of the morning - I could do nothing because he would not be put down.  So I put him to bed.  I lay down with him to soothe him to sleep… and he snapped awake whenever I moved.  In the end I had to leave him in the cot to cry.

One Wednesday Mother is on a Business Trip to Beijing.  Earlier this year she had a Business Trip to Borneo. We remaining Mothers are very pleased for her.  The other Wednesday Mum came round with her 2 year old (the 4 year old is at school.)  Aged 2 fell down the stairs, hollered and woke Son 2.  Son 1 and Aged 2 dressed up, Son 1 in his new Fireman Sam outfit and Aged 2 as Sportacus. The boys had cartons of smoothie.  Son 2 instantly demanded a share.   The visitors didn’t stay long, and I got the boys lunch and put Son 2 down.  He slept for three hours.

Son 1 and I watched his new Sinbad DVD, played with his new airport, played with Son 2’s toy ambulance and did some colouring.  Son 1 was tired, lying down a lot, sitting on me to watch telly, sitting on the floor.  We didn’t get any tidying done. Son 2 woke up, I started tea and The Man came home.  And Son 1 transformed into Wild Child, getting up from his tea constantly, sword-fighting and hitting both of us with a balloon left over from the party.  So I popped it and threw it out. “Oh bother,” said Son 1. I think the problem was me playing with Son 2 during tea - with a balloon.  I was pleased to see Son 2 smiling again and showing an interest in life… Son 1 couldn’t handle the sight.  He clung to me during Son 2’s reading time too.  Their need for me is simple, over-powering and incredible.  I’m sure I was never like that with Nanna. Hadn’t I been shoved out into the snow with a broom at their age?         

1. Lonely heart

2. Aching heart

3. Pathfinder

Son 1’s oldest (5 and a half) oldest (saw him at two weeks old) friend came round this morning with his Dad.   Son 1 aged 3 y 10m squeakily excited, bossy, wired, thrilled.  5 year old quieter, more measured, keen on playing with Son 1’s toys… but not on his terms.  But they were happy for 20  minutes upstairs, enough time for me, The Man, and Dad to have a cup of tea and Son 2 aged 10m to play downstairs.  Then both big boys came downstairs.  And then 5 year old started playing Fisher Price zoos with Son 2, and wouldn’t leave the new game to go back to play with Son 1.  Son 1 could just about hold it together while he was sitting on my knee on the floor… but when I stood up to put away a pen that Son 2 had been chewing, he pulled the zoo to pieces.  “Me and Son 2 were playing with that, Son 1.” said 5 year old, in his mild, wise way.  “It’s my zoo,” said Son 1.     

We all walked into town.  Sat outside the bistro in the The Square.  Wine and coffee for me. Lager for The Man.  Apple juice and ice cream for Son 1.  Lunch for Son 2.  Next to us, in dribs and drabs, a party of about 15 or more women, aged between 40 and 60+ settled, ordering wine, soft drinks, some food.  Two at one end of the table got out sandwiches wrapped in silver foil and started eating them.  I went into the baby change room to freshen up Son 2.  Must have forgotten to lock the door.  It sprang open, and one of the women got a full view of Son 2’s pooey bum, jack-knifed up in the air as I yet again failed to keep him lying down.  She apologised, and the door closed.  We met her again when we were going back to our table.  She twinkled at the baby. He did his full eyebatting, smiley coy boy thing back at her. She told me how wonderful he is. “I’ve got none of my own, I’ve got lots of nieces and nephews and they’re lovely, but I couldn’t have them.” “Well we came to it late,” I said. “and it’s all been a bit of a shock.” “Oh no, he looks so good, and you can’t be that old.”  I mouthed my age.  “So am I,” she said. “Well it needn’t be too late,” I said, “look at this one.” “Oh no, I can’t, there are medical reasons.  I’ve got my nieces and nephews though and I’m very happy.  But I’d give it all up for him in a moment.”  

I will stop moaning and be nicer.  I will stop moaning and be nicer.    

I took Son 2 back to the table, and went back to the loo.  When I was washing my hands, the washroom door opened, and a waitress held it for Son 1 to come in.  “There’s mummy, look.”  Son 1 giggled.  “I came to find you.”  “That’s very good, you came a long way across the restaurant, how did you find me,?” ”I followed my heart.”   OK.  It’s the sort of restaurant where a three year old boy can see the cooks working straight ahead as he’s walking to the end where the loos are.  And it’s a line from Ratatouille.  But it worked very well for me.