1.  Red

2.  Silver

3.  Blue

Forgot to say. Yesterday morning Son 2 aged 2y 3m tootled downstairs for his breakfast. He stopped by the lounge door. He went in. He went straight to the Christmas Tree. “Choc choc,” he said, peering at one of the silver and red baubles I’d hung up after the Turkey Casserole.  Demolished instantly. Son 1 aged 5y 3m appeared, Son 2 showed him the chocolates. Demolished instantly. I shooed them off.  They couldn’t stay away.  This morning, after Son 2 had raided the tree for the third time today, I carefully untied the baubles and put them all on the upper branches, at least four foot off the ground.  While I was having my shower, Son 2 shinnied up the piano stool, climbed onto the (closed) keyboard lid and helped himself again.  He is two-and-a-quarter.  He likes chocolate. Chocolate is left within his reach. He eats it. I have taken the chocolates off the tree.

For Christmas, Son 1 was given a Lego-that-isn’t-Lego castle.  He lay on the window seat working on the first layer. And then had a tantrum. “It’s stupid, it isn’t Lego, it doesn’t work.”  I was Yummy Mummy, and sat down to do it with him. Off he wandered.  I ended up doing it all. It took forever. It wasn’t as good as Lego. It wasn’t helped by the fact they’d had the box out previously and I had to track down various bits  locked up in the Playmobil Castle.  Or Son 2 arriving at the moment I had it looking Castle-like. ”I wan’ play wiv i’ ” adding a horse to the inside. “Wow Mummy, well done, good job!” said Son 1.  When I’d finished we then had to hunt for several little Not-Lego Knights.  One arm is still missing, but Son 1, brought up on Captain Hook, is just as happy with one-armed soldiers, because they’ve clearly been in lots of battles. 

The boys went into the garden with The Man while I made minestrone soup. I’ve told Son 1 he’s making them a play area. Unfortunately, Son 1 has the wrong idea, and is expecting a playground, like Manny the mammoth makes for the new baby in Ice Age 3. “When are we getting our play things, Daddy?”  We finished lunch, The Man loaded up the car with rubble and we went to The Dump.  There was a massive rainbow. The Man and Son 1 spotted the colours in it. I sang the chorus of Flowers Are Red: “There are so many colours in the rainbow, so many colours in the morning sun, so many colours in the flowers, and I see every one.” “Sin’ dat ‘gin,” said Son 2.  I did. I did it ‘gin and ‘gin.  Son 1 picked it up, and started singing it to him.  “So man’ cowwers in RAYbo,” sang Son 2. “So man’ cowwers in morny SUN.”  We went to see some friends who live en route. Three boys, aged 5, 3 and 1 yesterday.  We took presents.  The Man and I had drinks, the boys played. Son 1 and the 5 year old used to be at nursery together, and ran round together till their faces were bright red.  The one year old - who’s a big baby - was wearing a beautiful cornflower blue jumper which has gone from Son 1 to Son 2.  Son 2 is still in the matching trousers.  Pang.  He’s 15 months older.  I might, after all,  take him to see the health visitors in the New Year.

1.  Dealing Cards

2.  The Long Shot

3.  A Winner

So.  It was nearly 10pm by the time The Man and I got the boys to bed last night and, whacked out as we both were after heaving Son 2 aged 22m round a two-mile walking carnival, we rubbed our hands and chinked our glasses in anticipation of this morning’s lie in.  Nope.   Atomic Testing began before 7am.  The Man’s birthday, so he was allowed a Lie In, and the boys and I went downstairs to wrap the presents and write the cards. Yes I know, but I’ve been busy. Son 1 aged 4y 10m surveyed the present pile: a DVD boxed set, a DVD and three CDs. He picked the singing birthday card, the DVD boxed set and the DVD, picked the pirate wrapping paper and set about stringing sellotape round and round. It was crinkled, it was wobbly, it wouldn’t have survived the Royal Mail, but he wrapped it all himself.    Son 2 and I did three CDs, my card, his card and a singing Happy Birthday badge.  We took them all up to The Man with a cup of tea, and Son 1 unwrapped everything.  The Man was pleased with his presents, but is still planning to buy himself some essentials for The Boat. 

Son 2 was floppy, clingy, cross and impossible to please.  Son 1 aged 4y 10m wasn’t much better.  Son 2 wouldn’t be put down.  This was a Good Thing, because somewhere - probably Mumsnet - I have been reading about how babies end up with attachment disorders if they have  Distant Mothers.  Since when I have been consumed by trying to decide how clingy is Clingy Enough.   Son 1 was lying full-length on the floor, cheek on the carpet, playing sideways with his Lego.   The Man was allowed to do whatever he wanted, because it was his birthday. He wanted to go and look around DIY stores. Son 1 wanted to go to the Balloon Shop and choose balloons. I thought there was an outside chance that they would both sleep in the Pram/Buggy and then we could Do Nothing.  The Man liked the odds, so we pushed the boys into The Town. Son 2 passed out in the Big Pram, Son 1 didn’t. Back at the house, we piled them into the car and drove to the Big Town. Son 1 fell asleep, Son 2 didn’t.

We were having roast chicken for the Birthday Tea. Son 2 stood at the sink in his nappy and a Thomas The Tank Engine Apron, on a chair, cleaning potatoes with the washing up sponge, singing to himself, squeezing pools of water on the floor and pressing the buttons on the microwave.   The kitchen felt hot, and that was when I noticed I’d had the chicken roasting at Gas Mark 7 for more than an hour.  I whacked the gas down and improvised. The bird was fine, and I cut 20 minutes off the cooking time. Nanna came for tea, the boys ate well, and we popped party poppers. The boys blew out the candles on the Colin The Caterpillar smartie cake. Many times.   At bedtime we read Birthday Stories. Mr Birthday. Ziggy’s Birthday. Happy Birthday Winnie The Witch. Little Rabbit Gets Lost.  Little Rabbit’s birthday present is a trip to Rabbit World. Rabbit World has rabbit roller coasters, a rabbit pirate ship, carrot pedal boats and a rabbit rocket ship.  Son 1 studied the pictures carefully. “I wish there was a People World,” he said.

1.  Bared Teeth

2.  Hand Holding

3.  The People On The Bus

The Man took Son 2 aged 18m downstairs this morning while I grabbed some more time in bed.  Son 2 howled and hollered.  Stood at the bottom of the ground floor stairs baying upwards.  Son 1 aged 4yrs 6m woke, shrieking for Mummy.   I collected Son 1 on my hip and took him downstairs.  Son 2 cranked up his tantrum because I was carrying Son 1.  I picked up Son 2.  He screamed and shouted and pushed Son 1 away. I put Son 1 down.  He curled up in a miserable ball on the kitchen floor.  I tried to get Son 2 to give him a kiss and a cuddle to make up.  He wouldn’t. And he wouldn’t stop yelling.  We gave him teething powder. He quietened down.  He has three canines coming through.  They seem to pop out and then sink back.  The bottom right one is now an iceberg tip - I’m sure it was bigger a few days ago.  And the bottom left one came through with a shred of pink gum up the side.  The pink bit’s gone, but the tooth still looks like it’s gone back in.   Poor child.

Dressed, breakfasted, shoe-d and coat-ed, the boys were ready to leave the house and waiting for me.  Son 1 opened the door. This terrifies us.  He’s fine, but Son 2 never stops trying to escape. A whiff of fresh air and he’s straight outside.  I rolled up the blind and put a chair next to the door so Son 1 could see out.  Then Son 2 needed a chair next to him.  Two little backs. One little head peering out, another little head, shoulder-high, alongside.   Holding hands.  Mush.

 Son 1 has been nagging me to take him on a bus. We are a rural, two-car family, so buses aren’t big in our lives.  We drove to the Big Town to the Park And Ride.  Both boys in raptures.  Son 2 pointed and pointed.  “Buh!  Buh!”  “And what do The Wheels on the Bus do?”  “Rah rah.”  And, as it was raining, The Wipers On The Bus Went Swish Swish Swish. All Day Long.  Son 1’s cheeks were fat with his smiles.  We went to the Big Town Museum. Free entry, and full of other rained-out families. The boys dressed as spacemen and played with lego.  We walked from one end of the Big Town to the other to get the bus back.  We were last off. Son 1 had removed his waterproof trousers and taken his shorts and pants down as well.  And we needed to sort the buggy.  A Bus Man came on and started pressing all the bell buttons.  “It’s the law,” he said, self-consciously. “Because we’ve got them, we have to check they work.”  “Do you need anyone to help you?” I asked.  “Because Son 1 would love that job.”    Son 1 got to press button after button after button.  He did indeed love that job. And The Bells On The Bus did indeed Go Ding Ding Ding.