1.  Travelling Hopefully

2.  Going Underground

3.  The Wild

Court finished at lunchtime on Friday (memo to self. Make sure boys go into the Law. These people are not over-working.) so I packed all afternoon.  Set off at 6 and drove at a fair crack.  We are so rural it takes more than four hours at 70mph to reach the M25.  Younger Sister and Godfather 2 stayed up.  I tried to put Son 1 aged 4y 8m and Son 2 aged 20m to bed when we got there but they outvoted me. ”Cat,” said Son 2, repeatedly, whirling round in circles to make himself drunk like he does when he’s excited. ”You see these teddy bears which are cats’ toys,” said Son 1. “I expect they’re for us now.”   They stayed up till midnight.   

On Saturday we went with Younger Sister to their local wildlife park.  We fed goats and chinchillas.  Son 1 gave a lamb a bottle of milk. Hot hot hot. On Sunday Son 1, Son 2 and I got on the train, went into London, crossed it on the Tube (hot hot hot) and met The Man, fresh off the Gatwick Express at Victoria.  Then we went to Kensington Gardens and watched Peter Pan.  Son 1 of course thought it was fantastic. Son 2 sat through the whole two-and-a-half hours with barely a fidget. The child who is hated by a planeload of holidaymakers. “Isn’t he good,” said the lady in front. “Mine could never have been that good at that age.”  We think the fairies swapped him.  His favourite characters were Nanna “Woof woof,” and the Crocodile  ”Snap snap.” When Wendy was carried off from Marooners’ Rock on a kite tail he let out a show-stopping baby chortle.  “It’s not funny,” hissed Son 1.  I do love this story but I am with Son 2 on that bit.  On the way out I said “Son 1 please stay with us. You know what will happen if you get lost in Kensington Gardens.”  “Mummy it’s not real life,” he said, scornfully.  I saw ya, you little beggar, staring transfixed and whispering ”I believe in fairies” to bring back Tinkerbell.

We had planned to do London Zoo on the Monday, but it was too dang hot to brave on a working day, and there is a massive zoo about 10 miles from Younger Sister’s, so we spent the day there.  We did the Big Five… hippos, lions, giraffes, elephants and cheetahs. Went on a steam train, ate ice creams… and got hot hot hot.   At Younger Sister’s we took family photos, and the children again stayed up for dinner.  On Tuesday we drove to see Aged Aunt and Eldest Brother. Aged Aunt looked brilliantly well, their garden was great, the boys were Perfect Children.  And then we drove back. On the hottest day of the year. Fortunately we had wiped Son 1 and Son 2 out and they slept for most of the Very Long Indeed trip.

1.  Cuddling

2.  Waiting

3.  Laughing

Court didn’t start till 1030, so, in principle, I had a nice slow start this morning.   Son 2 aged 20m woke up and I snuggled in the Double Bed with him.  The child who has never liked lying still in bed is  becoming delightfully tolerant of 15 - 20 minutes’ cuddling.  I pin my hopes on his going back to sleep; he pretends to have a doze and then crawls off with an “Up.” I put Cars on for Son 2 aged 4y 8m and  Son 2 and I did some books.  Bear Hunt was a great success.  The Man rang… and we all sat in the bay window and waited for Wonder Nanny. 

Court didn’t actually start till very late.  I’m getting to like the waiting around. Everyone brings books and papers but we don’t read them, we just sit and chat, chat, chat.  It’s very Big Brother/Lost, as people’s backgrounds and stories slowly emerge.  I was the cliffhanger today.  “Was the baby all right yesterday?”  Of course he was. It was Mummy who suffered.   

I walked past the window as I got home and saw Wonder Nanny, Son 1 and Son 2 sitting demurely at the table having tea. And then within seconds of my arriving, the whole thing had disintegrated. Son 2 was wailing to be picked up, Son 1 was in a sulk and the noise levels were rocketing.   “I think I’d better have a glass of wine,” I said. Son 2 shrieked in excitement and leaned over my shoulder.  He was pointing at the wine rack.  20 months old and he knows his way round alcohol.  Oops, said Bridget. We waved Wonder Nanny off.  We had a pretty good natured books and bathtime… with both boys standing up in the shower together, looking wet and shiny and gorgeous.  After, we went into Son 1’s room, where I read How Does A Dinosaur Say Goodnight to both of them before I take Son 2 off to sleep.  They both started blowing brilliantly rude-sounding raspberries on my tummy, reducing all three of us to helpless laughter.  Son 1 is a master at comedy slobby farty noises… and Son 2 did some crackers too.  They both loved making me laugh.  Even when I was putting Son 2 down in his cot, with the usual bend my head right over to be near his, he was still trying to find something soft to use for flobber noises.

1.  Hell Hath No Fury Like A Mummy Forced Onto A Jury 

2.  Big

3.  The Naughty Queen

Both boys slept past 8am.  Not just a Good Thing, an Unheard Of Thing. On every other Wednesday in their lives, an Astonishingly Wonderful Thing.  Today, however, I was still on Jury Service, due in court at 1015, and feeling spectacularly Awful because Son 2 aged 20m was going to someone who, to him, is a near-stranger.  My whole life is run so that I have Wednesdays with my children.   I’ve had every Wednesday of his life with Son 2. I did, I admit, miss half a day of a Wednesday with Son 1 aged 4y 8m - now, why was that?  Anything important I was doing?  Oh yes, giving birth to Son 2.   And try finding someone suitable to look after two small boys for one day only in Half Term week. It was fine. He sobbed miserably when I went, but ate an enormous lunch, and refused to go to sleep all day.  It’s Over. Another Good Thing.  I  know this is a Positive Blog, but just in case any politicos crawl over Mumsnet in search of the Zeitgeist: Do Not Jackboot Mothers Away From Their Toddlers For Jury Service.  It pisses them off.  I posted my vote today, and gentlemen, the score is now even.

Back home for tea. The boys had my leftover rice, kidney beans and sauce from a jar.  “Chair,” said Son 2, insisting on eating it standing on a dining room chair.   We moved Son 1 out of his highchair when Son 2 was about 7 or 8 months old. He would never have dreamed of sitting on anything else until we gently suggested he might like to let his little brother have a turn.   Son 2 is turning into a regular refusnik.  Highchairs are for babies. Bibs go on the floor. Doidy cups are for babies. And give me that big fork, this soppy one with a bear on it is also going on the floor. We don’t actually have enough chairs to let him sit on a big one.  We’ve only got four, and I can’t really put Nanna in the highchair when she comes round.     I may have to involve  Son 1 in a little reverse psychology.

At bedtime, I told Son 1 I was very tired, and needed Daddy back from his Adventures to Do His Share.   “Daddy’s had too many adventures, hasn’t he?”  I agreed. ”I will write a notice for the door. It will say, Daddy, we command you.  Only One More Adventure and then No More Adventures. I will write it and put it on the door and he will see it when he comes home.”  We are reading That Bear Belongs To Emily Brown.  Son 1, although recognising that the Naughty Queen is the Baddie,  is very taken with the idea of Commanding people to do things.

1. Lying In

2. Swimming In The Sea

3. Bubbles

The trial I was sitting on involved a lot of complicated details about ants.  The whole court was deeply interested, but I just didn’t understand a word. “Mummy, Son 2 wants you.” Son 1 aged 4y 8m, standing by the side of the bed. 0750. “GoandtellhimI’mcoming.”  I got up slowly, put my contact lenses in and went down. Son 1 had switched on both lamps and was lying in the cot with Son 2 aged 20m. “I said did he want me to get in with him and he nodded!”

We went to the Beach Between The Headlands with friends and their 6 year old. A glorious Factor 50 day. Son 1 played in the sea in his wetsuit, Son 2 played and paddled and sat in the water.  I willed him to sleep, but he didn’t want to. “Ball.” The Friend fed him jammy dodgers, and he liked her enough to sta with her while I went Swimming In The Sea.  The water was flat and freezing. I could get away without the boob lift if I make this a habit.  My skin shrank and goose-bumped so much as I inched my way in that I was positively pert by the time I was shoulder-high. It was perishing, but as usual, bearable after a few minutes. The water was emerald from the reflected greenery either side of the cove.  It was heavenly.  A Good Thing that I got a sea swim in May, a Good thing that I’m still able to manage it when The Man is away.  Dressed and dry, I took the boys for ice cream. Son 1 and I chose a Mr Man raspberry ice lolly for Son 2. He cried with wanting it while we waited to pay.  I unwrapped it and he took one look, burst into tears, wouldn’t touch it and stomped back to the freezer to gaze longily at the Smartie lollies. He cried all the way back to the Pram, repeatedly refusing the raspberry one. I ate it, and he shared my choc ice.

Bathtime was lovely.  I was signing. Son 2 was slotting cotton buds through the end of an empty cleaner tube.  Son 1 was chewing the cotton off the ends of cotton buds, and doing great long bubbly farts, to great comic effect.  He farted, both boys laughed hysterically, I laughed. Their eyes shine, their smiles sparkle, they are full of joy and love and fun.

1.  Like A Jungle, Sometimes

2.  Smash And Grab

3.  Collateral Damage

Today was just a bonus.  I thought I’d be on Jury Service, miserably ordered out of my children’s lives by the Iron Heel of David Blunkett’s determination that Middle Class People Must Stop Dodging It.  But with one wave of a magic wand (yes oh yes I believe in fairies) I was on the beach, taking pictures of the boys, swigging from my credit-crunch coffee flask and awaiting the Wednesday Friends.  The Sister-In-Law has lived to fight another day.  Son 1 aged 4y 7m ran off with Best Friend (aged 4y 6m,) Second Child aged 3 and half and Best Friend’s little brother, aged nearly 3. Son 2 aged 20m dug sand, watched a playgroup, besotted,  and tried to wander off On The Road, again and again.   After lunch they moved into the Garden By The Beach. We discussed the ethics of letting four small boys dive in and out of infant ornamental grass in the presence of 20 council gardeners putting out the bedding. And decided it served the council right for laying out a formal garden for the over-60s in land that could have been a perfectly lovely playground.  We pretended we didn’t know that three of them had escaped into a vast thicket of 7ft gunnera.  We couldn’t see them, or the gardener who said sternly: “Lads, I don’t mind you being in there, but don’t pull that up, it’s there for a reason.”  They’re allowed in the gunnera, we thought.  

At 2pm we headed home.  The parking fairy put us close to the house.  Son 2 fell asleep in the car of about 5 minutes and refused to go back to sleep. I put A Shark’s Tale on for an exhausted Son 1, and fish-mad Son 2 decided to he’d rather watch that than cling to me.  Son 2’s Godmother called round, and we drank tea as she test-drove her new presentation.  Son 2 appeared, and coyly flirted and giggled, and “hallo”-d her from the Dishwasher Box House. He then tantrummed when she left. I put him on a chair at a sink full of warm water and bubbles while I made Eggy Pie - tortilla - for tea.  I called Son 1 down to break the eggs. As soon as he saw Son 1 smash and plop the first one, Son 2 slid down from his chair and up on Son 1’s.  Gimme Gimme Gimme.  I patiently said no, blocked off his access to the egg box and let Son 1 get on with the job of breaking another four eggs into the jug.  Son 2 got down from the chair and played on the floor.  Five minutes later I looked down.  The little b**£$%^!# was patting and paddling in a broken egg on the floor, egg shell everywhere.   In the four seconds he’d had available, he’d whipped an egg out of the box and either dropped it or taken it down to the floor with him. Neither Son 1 nor I saw a thing. 

I cleared up the egg, and let Son 2 up on the chair again. The recipe includes two tablespoons of parmesan in the egg mix.  I put a spoonful in  a tub and let him pour it into Son 1’s jug.  “More,” he demanded. I obliged. “More.” I put some more in his tub. He poured it in. “More.” And cried when I wouldn’t give him any.  “You’ve put courgette in this,” said Son 1, peering in the frying pan. “Only a bit,”  I said. “Because I like courgette, but I know you don’t like it.”  Subtext. Because courgette was in the veg box and you won’t notice it when it’s all mixed up with the peas and potato. Between us all, we made a Damn Fine Eggy Pie. Son 1 cut and served it. “I think from now on we should always help you make tea,” he said.  I agreed it had been fun.  He helped himself to a vast portion, and then, very slowly,  dissected it to remove every molecule of courgette.

1.  Conflict Averted

2.  Conflict Resolved

3.  Conflict Avoided

We are not wanted in Court tomorrow, which is a Fantastic Thing. I’ve done 4 10-hour days with Wednesdays off since I went back to The Office after having Son 1… so I’ve never had more than two days without a day with the children.   I wasn’t happy about being forced to do a five day week on Jury Service.  And then today… Ping. Don’t have to. Can you all come back on Thursday.    It means The Man can go on a Business Trip tonight instead of tomorrow night.  He’d made all his original plans for today, not realising there was a slight Home Alone problem with the boys if Mummy was busy fulfilling her civic duty.  We met up for lunch to celebrate.

In another Thing That Didn’t Make The Blog Because It Wasn’t Positive… I had a Parking Rage set-to with a neighbour the other week.  She had apparently been waiting ages to park, and was furious when I came along with Son 1 asleep in the back and innocently drove into a space near our house.  She tried to drive me out of it, which has never happened to me before, and wasn’t pleasant.  As I was in it, there wasn’t much she could do, apart from wind her window down and screech how annoyed she was.  I didn’t really respond, just told her there was also another space further up the hill which she clearly hadn’t seen.  I saw her again today and although she didn’t apologise, she made a lot of excuses for her behaviour.  We agreed some people park very inconsiderately and take up two spaces instead of one, and now we are Bestest Friends again.     

After the boys’ tea we went over to the Yacht Club at the invitation of a Dad we know, there with his two girls.   I agreed to go, but told The Man that if he sat down with his mate talking boats and left me in charge of four children, I would come home.  We had a couple of drinks; the children played.  I sat chatting with the Dad; The Man played football with the children.  Son 2 was so tired he could hardly stand, but was determined not to miss anything and kept on and on.  Son 1 cried with disappointment when, at 8pm, we said we had to get home.   Half past nine before we got them to bed.   That just wouldn’t and couldn’t happen on a normal work night.  Jury Service is a Good Thing.

1.  Sod’s Law

2.  Law Courts

3.  The First Rule Of Parenting

Both boys decided to have a lie in this morning.  On holiday, when we had nothing to do except Find The Family in the cafe at 11, whenever… 6am.  On Saturday, flying back, clear out of the villa by 1030… we had to wake them up.  This morning, needing to get Son 1 aged 4y 7m to Nursery… needing to get me to the Big Town by 9am… zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.   I had breakfast, showered, sorted holiday washing, did my hair and make up, made snacks… still nothing.  I eventually got Son 1 up with the promise of Ice Age 2 in the lounge.  And Son 2 aged 20m finally stirred when I marched into his room braying Good Morning and pulling down the blanket and blackout blind.

We got out in plenty of time for Nursery.  All very pleased to see Son 1, and took a delighted interest in the holiday photos we’d printed off.   Then I went off to Court for Jury Service.  Rather baffled about whether I can say anything about it at all.  We never got into court, there was lots of waiting around and then we were all sent home.  Is that ok?  And  hilarious male-female split while we were all loafing around waiting for anyone to want us.  All the men sat singly aloof, reading papers, out of sight of the women.  Who sat on two tables, drinking coffees, trashing the lunch menu, comparing jobs, where we all lived and how many children we had, and what they want to do when they leave school.

I picked up Son 1 a bit early, which was nice, and we headed home.   Son 2 had had a quiet day with Wonder Nanny.  She moved house while we were away, which is all part of her spectacular marvellousness.  A Very Good Thing.  Too complicated to think about if she’d needed time off when I can’t get out of Jury Service and The Man is away…    One of our neighbours is an elderly nun who can’t hear very well.  Which means in 8 years I’ve had very few conversations with her. And they’ve all been started by me. Sister X stopped me yesterday to tell me how lovely Wonder Nanny is with the children and what a very sweet girl she is. When Son 1 and I came back today I watched Son 2 in the back garden for a while.  He was playing with the water in the sand pit.  Wonder Nanny, sitting on the steps watching, said something to him and he waddled over to her.  Then he waddled back again, with a Shane Warne-style strip of suntan lotion down his nose.  He went back to her, and again, returned to the sandpit, this time with a stripe under his lip to protect his scar.  Outside, I protested it wasn’t fair.  “He never stands still for sun lotion.  He’s like a bat in a barrel when I try!”  Wonder Nanny smiled. ”They never behave for their parents.”

1. Tax and Justice

2. The Event

3. Eating

2 positives involving unexciting officialdom today - I got Wonder Nanny’s tax form off to HMRC - due in tomorrow and all manner of unpleasantaries if I missed the deadline.  I tried to do it online before we went away but I had to wait till they sent a PIN… which meant I spent the week wondering whether or not the website would seize up with all the other last-minuters.  We got to bed at 20 past 2 this morning, and I was up at 7am filling it all in.  And also I can defer my jury service for a year because I’m breast-feeding. That was also on the “just what I needed” pile, and unmentionable in the blog till sorted.  

I did a charity run today and really enjoyed it.  Probably not the wisest move for a family who were still eating  ice creams in Portugal yesterday afternoon, but it all seemed very achievable in February when I was writing it all on the calendar.  I ran over to the start from home, and The Man walked Son 1 over on his shoulders, with Son 1 in the pram.  I saw lots of friends, had a good run and - courtesy a friend I ran the last part with - did my first every sprint finish.  I have a feeling I’ve done something I shouldn’t have to my arthritic ankle, it is complaining loudly as I write.  It may not have been the sprint - it could have been carrying Son 2 home in the sling, the little chunk.

Son 1 and Son 2 were both exhausted after the journey back = it’s about nine hours door to door from The Algarve.  We planned to go out for lunch but Son 1 went to battle stations over a new packet of coloured pencils, and we ended up staying in and putting him to bed.  Son 2 then ate nearly four cubes of home made spag bol.  He’s spent the last week on food out of plastic pots, so it was good to see a little birdy-mouth for stuff I’d made.  He’s really come on in his eating in the last week.  Um.  Possibly because he’s spent several hours on end, two and three times a day, sitting in a high chair eating bread while we lolled about over long breakfasts and lunches.  We got them both out to dinner three times, and they were angels, if a little fed up with the world the following day.     I wonder whether we’d get away with that here.