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.  Assumptions

2.  Avalanche

3.  Aquabatics

I didn’t see the children yesterday. I went out before they were up, and didn’t get back till way after they were in bed asleep.

“Apparently,” said Son 1 aged 4y 11m over breakfast this morning, “everyone in Reception can read except me.” Cannon ball blast through stomach moment. Many moons ago, linguistics was part of my degree, and I have Strong Views about teaching young children to read.  Forget it. Unless they are hanging on your leg and bashing a book against your knee eveytime you see them, concentrate on helping them speak well instead. Son 1 can read and write his name. Weren’t me, guv. Wonder Nanny?  Nursery?  No idea.  And so. If he had picked up the book called “How To Skewer Mummy Right In The Know-It-all-Assumptions” he couldn’t have chosen a better line. I questioned him.  He named two children. One a boy who has an older sister. Second children. Always learn faster. The other a child from Nursery whose parents sent him elsewhere.  A little prodigy who could swim, climb, run, write, draw and talk better than anyone else, and who is probably on his sixth or seventh symphony by now. Way out of our league.  So I worried for a few minutes, but then Looked On The Bright Side, and decided that any four year old who can use “apparently” correctly is going to be All Right.

After The Man has taken Son 1 to school, I left Son 2 aged 2 upstairs watching Chitty Chitty Bang Bang while I put washing on, hoovered, tidied up, ate breakfast, had a little read of the paper and rang a few friends.   I discussed reading, parties, starting school, birthday teas, and had a very nice time.”I do have to go,” I told the last one. “I’ve left Son 2 on his own upstairs for ages and I really must check on him.” I ended that call and then thought I’d quickly ring  a Wednesday mum while I was going upstairs. I dialled the number and there was a massive thump, a wail, then another thump, then a silence and then a loud, terrified howl.  Son 2 was lying about three foot from the bottom of the stairs, face down and crying so hard he could barely breathe. Cuddles. Ibuprofen. Chocolate buttons.  He was ok. I rang a friend to tell her what happened.

We walked over to the Beach By The Garden to meet the Wednesday Friends. All the big boys are now in school.  Son 2 slept on the way over.  We dug, we went to the sea to get him water, we had ice lollies. Another lovely day - less wind than on Friday, but still with a mighty sea swell.  I dug two big sandcastles.  Son 2 trashed them, depending on which one I was building.  A Wednesday Mum dug a big levee and a massive hole for when the tide came in, so the boys could sit in it when the water rushed round.  I swam in the sea. I’m getting faster at going in. Or maybe the water’s warmer. There were a few set, grey hairdos and one bald head bobbing up and down.  Mmmm.  Clearly I am Yoof discovering something that old ladies do. It was fantastic. I prefer it flatter, but I swam out past the big breakers and let the current take me along parallel to the shore, then swam back against it and headed diagonally back in. It was wonderful. Reacting to the power of the water, enjoying breathtaking scenery, touching nature.  The Man had stopped off during his lunch break.  I came out of the water smiling. “Look at the state of your swimming costume,” he said. “It’s disgusting.  Chuck it. I’m throwing it out tonight.”  Just been washed a few too many times, that’s all. Oh dear, if he’s noticed I shall have to find a new one.   Who knows where I can get a forgiving, flattering one-piece that doesn’t automatically admit me to the grey-hair-bobbing-in-the-sea club?  And that also has plenty of space in the bodice.

1.  A White Rabbit

2.  Halloween Bats

3.  The Enormous Crocodile

The alarm went off.  Son 1 aged 4y 11m was in the Big Bed.  I had a nice snuggy cuddle, and woke up 50 minutes later. Oh my ears and whiskers.  Poor old Son 2 aged 2 didn’t get any stories.  Got up. Breakfasted Son 1 and Son 2, showered, dressed, did face and hair, scooped up Son 1, gave him a toothbrush and told him to do his teeth in the car…  and outta the door. Hellish traffic, but I have a Rat Run. “Have you cleaned your teeth?” “Yes.” We got to School in time to park up the Muddy Path. And then I saw the toothbrush. He hadn’t touched it.  “Just clean them now.” “No.”  He cried, he stropped, he dillied, dallied and dawdled.  The doors were closed by the time we got there.  And Son 1 was very upset. “It’s my fault,” I said. “For rolling over and going back to sleep.”  

At lunchtime I went looking for Cookie Cutters for the party bags. It is a Scooby Doo party, and I’ve been after for one Nice, Lasting, Cheap Thing to go in the bags.  They are getting Halloween cutters. I haven’t yet worked out how many children we have coming.  Doesn’t matter. We like making biscuits in our house.  We do, it has to be said, have a heck of a lot of boys coming. And two girls.  I haven’t told the parents of the girls that we have a slight imbalance.  Tra la la.   When I picked Son 1 up I let him see the cookie cutters, and he of course wanted to do the party bags when he got in. Oh boy.  As a friend said to me recently: “Why don’t you just try saying ‘no?’”   

Son 1 does Activity Time with The Man each evening while I’m bathing Son 2 and putting him to bed.  Then Son 1 and I read, him snugged next to me in the Double Bed, just ahead of popping him into his own bed, in his room, where Son 2 is already asleep in the cot. The Man’s being doing Son 1’s Jolly Phonics with him. We also have a reading book with a list of words we’re supposed to help hime learn. This week it is “I” “a” and “look.”  Son 1 and I read The Enormous Crocodile. I tried to get him interested in looking at the “looks.”  “I don’t want to.  Just read it.”  Then we got onto Bugs In The Blanket.  “I’ll give you a chocolate button for each ‘look’ you can find.” I said. He went to bed with a pile of seven chocolate buttons waiting for him in the morning.

1.  Travelling

2.  Leaving

3.  Arriving

Today was an 18-hour day. Everyone in bed when I left. EVeryone in bed when I returned.  Fortunately Son 1 aged 4y 11m had crept into bed with us during the night. So I did get a bit of contact with him.    I had some Office work to do Miles Away and was out of the house at 0530, struggling with the Sat Nav.  The trip up was ok, apart from the bit where I got there. As always, the Sat Nav got me within 500 yards of my destination and then just seemed to give up.  Turn Right On Such And Such Road it said, as I sped along.  0 miles to the next turning. 

I set off for home at 1630 and had a long, hard trip back. Roadworks… Friday evening traffic…  I queued on motorways for miles and miles.  I took my knee highs off as I drove along, which probably isn’t in the Highway Code.  A colleague sent me a text. His father has been rushed to hospital, gravely ill.  Not expected to survive the weekend.  Horrible, horrible.   

I got back at 2245.  Checked out Son 1’s school things - he’d clearly been swimming, and he had a little Jolly Phonics book. We have to practise Snaky Ss with him.  I have a dream in which when he can read he sits quietly in the corner with a book. Or does that only happen with girls.

1.  Writing

2.  Talking

3.  Reading

I have been back at The Office, full-time, for One Whole Year.  I just read my blogs from March last year.  Pang.  Little six-month-old Son 2.  I know I’ve done brilliantly keeping at work, keeping well, keeping everything together and keeping time with the boys sacred.  Keeping at The Blog, which I think has helped ward off depression.   But Pang Oh Pang.  You really don’t get it back, do you?  Thankfully I have a week off now, which is why I’m writing this so late. It always takes me forever to finish on Fridays before I have leave.  Stinking cold.  Exhausted. And I’ve been reading a year ago, when I was hoping to get back into my pre-pregnancy clothes.  Wouldn’t it be great if you lost weight wnen you cut down on your sleep?  Much fairer to mothers.

Little 18 month old Son 2 is sliding down the stairs on his tummy now.  Fast. With a daredevil grin.  A year ago he was just on solids, and just had his first teeth.  Now he wants the Wiggles on the telly, he wants a smoothie from the shopping, he can say bear, and ba (for bath, sheep and ball) and dum dum for dump truck and di di for digger.  And bye bye and mama and hallo, and mi for milk. And snap snap for crocodile. Accompanied by a dance. And a point at the DVD pile. 

Son 1 aged 4 y 6m finished at Nursery for Easter today.  He lay on his bed this evening and looked up at his animal alphabet wall chart, sounding out the start of all the letters.  Foxed a bit by N. And baffled by Q.  He also for the first time stopped me in a story to sound out the letters of a word m-on- k-ey.  I was thrilled, but none of it is anything to do with me.  I’ve deliberately not taught him to read because I Do Not Believe In Forcing Boys To Read Too Early. It Will Put Them Off.  Nothing to do with never having a minute to sit down with him.  26 letters and 40ish sounds?   I haven’t got the time.  Just that year.  Sitting in cyberspace. Maybe one day he’ll read about himself.

1.  Spelling Out

2.  Pigging Out

3.  Running Out

Son 1 tells us he Cannot Wait For Christmas several times a day.  There are presents under the tree from some friends.  They are driving Son 1 aged 4y 2m mad.  He can’t stop feeling, poking, peeling and shaking.  “Who are they for?”  He asked.  “We don’t know.  We’ll have to see what Santa says.”  Son 1 investigated further.  “This one’s for me.  Look.  It says ‘Son 1′ on the card.”  Another lurch further forward down the bye-bye-baby path.  The one where you realise he’ll now always recognise his name when he sees it written.  The veg man cameth, bringing vegetables, mince pies, cheese, yoghurt and bananas.  The turkey is coming tomorrow.  And the eggs.  I showered with both boys playing in the bath at my feet, plug in, bubble bath squirted.

After breakfast Son 2 aged 15m played with the zoo, making animal noises, pulling the fence to pieces, stuffing animals in the pens. I put him down for a sleep, lying on the double bed next to him.  Then I went upstairs with Son 1, who wanted to lie down and watch a video.  Babe.  He managed to watch the whole thing without clocking what upset Babe enough to run away.  And as the closing credits ran, I asked what he wanted for lunch.  “Anything,” he said. And then thought: “Sausage. And mash. And beans.”  Splendid.  One vegetarian in the house is quite enough.

Granny and Granddad have come for Christmas, staying in the hotel down the road.  Son 2 and I went shopping, while Son 1 and The Man went down to say hello.   We all met up in Boots.  In Marks, Son 1 chose the cake for after Christmas Dinner.  At home they all played upstairs while I made what seemed like industrial quantities of Shepherd’s Pie.  The boys gobbled it up.  Son 1 ate some kale - how I love my small triumphs.  At bedtime Son 1 was playing his Ben 10 Top Trumps again.  And showing no sign of speeding up so I could read to him.  “I want to go running.  Do you want to play Top Trumps or have your stories?”  “Top Trumps,” he said.  I kissed him and off I went.  I won’t do that again.  When I came back, he was asleep, so I had a shower to wake him up.  He stayed asleep.  And I woke Son 2.

1. Welcome home, Daddy

2. The Last Day

3. The First Lesson

The Man got back at 2.30am.  Son 2 aged 11m woke up at 0345 and SCREAMED.  I tried everything.  I rocked him standing up, put him in the cot, lay him on the double bed with me next to him, and he just wriggled and writhed and cried and crawled up and down the bed till I had to put him back in the cot.  Son 1 aged 3y 11m had been in the Big Bed with me, and came padding down looking for me, went into his room, and to his delight, found The Man there, so they were both in the single bed.  I gave Son 2 calpol, I changed his nappy.  He was beside himself.  In the end we moved the fan from Son 1’s room to Son 2’s room, I lay down with him  and he passed out with the white noise.  I was telling a colleague from The Office about it this morning: “He just wanted to be held upright.”  Ah, I thought as I said it.  The one thing I didn’t try was Gaviscon.  I bet he had reflux.  In mitigation Your Honour, it was 4am and I have just done five 19 hour days in a row, solo. 

It was Son 1 aged 3y 11m’s last day at The Nursery today.  This is quite a big thing for me, but I know nothing about it.  The Man picked the boys up, and I got back from The Office late because I needed to finish something off.  Son 1 never has a clue what he did at Nursery, and The Man, who did a 20 hour day yesterday, plus the 4am family get together, went to bed after his takeaway.  Son 1 went into The Nursery a day before he was 6 months old.   The Man did stop off and bought the Nursery Nurses a couple of boxes of Milk Tray, but… but… but… it feels like An Event to me, and we haven’t had An Event to mark it.  I do hope Son 2 will be ok there without him.

I’ve given in and have bought a couple of learning to read and write books.  Son 1’s vaguely interested.  On Saturday, in the car with Mother on the way to the Bird Park, she said “I wish I had a memory like yours, Son 1.” And he said “I’m good at finding things too.  The only problem is, I can’t read.”  He said it to The Man this morning too.  He has got such a spookily fantastic memory that I’m kind of wondering if it will in fact be easier for him if he learns now.  Oh well, I’ll try it and if he hates it we’ll toss the books aside and have another Teddy Bears’ picnic instead.   We’ve got as far as A a.