1.  Dough

2.  Bread

3.  Darkness and Hail

They wanted to play with the Playdoh, and like a fool I let them.  Son 2 aged 2y 1m plays with it during the week, under Wonder Nanny’s gentle supervision.  Son 1 aged 5y 1m plays with it at school, charming teachers and Tea Club Helpers with the delight he takes in it.  Together, on the little yellow table, they were murderous.  If Son 1 rolled, Son 2 wanted the roller.  If Son 2 squodged, it was the blob Son 1 was going to use. There was snatching and scrapping and shrieking.  And finally there was a lump of blue, trod into the bottom of Son 2’s shoes… and then into the stairs, and the hall carpet, and the lino.  While we were away, the carpet cleaner came and did the lounge, which was looking a bit Jackson Pollock.  ”If one bit of Playdoh gets on the carpet upstairs, I’m throwing it all out,” I said.  We went shopping. “Is it pocket money day?” said Son 1, as I counted out coins in the fishmonger’s. I gave him a £2 coin. We had to go to the toyshop. The only thing he wanted for £2 was a Playdoh toy.  And like a fool, I let him.

We met the Vicar in M and S.  We were trying to control a tantrumming Son 2… he was wandering round with a basket, peering at the ready meals. “Is it your turn to cook?” I asked.   No. The Vicar’s Wife is going on a trip, helping one of their sons move to a town many hundreds of miles away.  “But The Church is full of great cooks,” I said. “Can’t you just work it into a conversation so that someone will arrive carrying a casserole?” “I haven’t told anyone she’s going,” he said. “I don’t like to impose.”  That’s why I like the Vicar.  One of the most imposed-upon people I have ever met… whose flock includes scores of ladies of a certain generation who would rain pies upon him if he asked… but he doesn’t like to impose. He headed off to the check out with a bottle of wine on top of his shopping, so I liked him even more.   I simply don’t have enough life to cook for The Vicar.  But I know someone who might.   I think I’ll mention it…

Son 2 finally fell asleep in The Big Pram; Son 1 and I went to change the library books; The Man strode off home with the shopping.  Son 2 woke up just as we were leaving the library, and picked up his tantrum where he left off. ”I wan’  ge’ ou’!”  “No. It takes too long to get you back in.”  I pushed him up the hill, Son 1 trailing behind us looking at his Playdoh toy.  I suddenly noticed the sky, very, very low, and very, very dark. “Son 1! Will you please hurry! There’s an enormous black cloud up there and I want to get us home now!”  He walked slowly on.  “Son 1, MOVE! That big black cloud is just about to dump everything it has on our heads.” He got the message, but he couldn’t move fast enough.  It started to rain, so I swept him under the handle of the Big Pram onto his nappy bag seat, and pushed them both up the hill so fast my heartbeat pounded in my ears.  We were 300 yards from home when the hail started machine-gunning down on us, hammering onto the road so hard it bounced back hip high.  Son 1 and Son 2 screamed.  The Big Pram is a Big Pram because it’s a three-wheeled, heavy-axled, jogging buggy, bought in the days when I thought I would still run 30 miles a week. Son 1 and I went running with it seven whole times, but Son 2’s reflux meant we never tried.  Until today.  I RAN.  It still does its stuff. We crammed ourselves into the porch, soaking.  “I wet,” said Son 2. “Big back cowd.”  It stopped his tantrum.  But I can’t quite work out if it means I’m supposed to cook something for The Vicar.

1.  Ghost Busting

2.  Crowd Spotting

3.  Crab Grabbing

I’m keen to watch Wall-E, which had fab reviews. Son 1 aged 4y 10m and Son 2 aged 23m have had it a week now. They’ve seen it, The Man’s seen it, Nanna’s seen it.  This morning I sat down to watch it with the boys. Son 2 stuck it for about half an hour and then started drifting about. He posted coloured craft lolly sticks and crayons through the hole in the side of Son 1’s bass drum.  He spread small Playmobil pirate pieces all over the floor. He climbed the sofa, the Man’s chair and my chair. To the top, scaling the summit of the seat backs.  “All right,” I said “I’ll get going and have my shower.”  Son 1 tried to persuade me to stay. “You haven’t seen the ghosts yet.” “I can watch them next time.” “Do you know what you need if you see a ghost?  A magnet. Did you know that?” “No, I didn’t know that.”  Son 1 nodded. “And it has to be a strong one.”  I can only assume this is something to do with Scooby Doo.

We took the boys out. To the library to change their books, and then down to a cafe to give them chips for lunch. We picked up Glamorous Young Friend, who we’ve not seen for a while.  She’d been in The Town working on her fancy dress outfit for the Festival finale. We sat outside at the front of the cafe so we could people spot. We usually sit in a great big area at the back, usually empty, where small children have no impact on other people. The change was enough to send Son 1spiralling off into orbit. He was awful. He knew the cafe, he knew where he sat.  “Oh come on Son 1, sit here, watch the people and let’s see who’s the first to see someone we know.” It was me. Thank God our friends and his little 3 year old friend headed past. They joined us. “Rude not to,” said the Dad. Little 3 year old is so delighted because Son 2 says his name. 

We bought crabbing lines at the Discount Store, and went down to the riverside at the end of The Terrace.  We’ve had various comedy fishing trips on The Boat: “Omelette again, Mother,” and we’ve had the odd successful crabbing session on assorted quays and jetties up and down the river.  This afternoon though it was like we’d Cast Our Nets On The Other Side. The crabs almost jumped out of the water into our buckets.  Little 3 year old’s Mum was the champ - she caught a whopper.  Which did in fact jump out of our bucket into the water.  Son 1 was leaping around with excitement, barking orders, spotting crabs, tugging at lines. Little 3 year old was casting bacon with a fishing rod. Son 2 was sliding around on the slippery green river wall trying to be Big. I caught a few tiny shrimp with him and put them in a bucket so he could look at fish. The Man caught a couple of huge shrimp, which he put in our bucket. I’m pretty sure his shrimp ate our shrimps. It’s a crab-eat-crab world.  It was brilliant, but Son 2 was very hard to handle.  He wanted to lean into the water, he wanted to grab the bait hooks, he skidded and stumbled on sea weed and limpets, he wanted to carry the buckets. He wanted to catch something himself.  With a score of well over 15 crabs, not including our escapee, and two shrimps I declared for tea.  “Can we go fishing again tomorrow?” asked Son 1, as I got tea ready. I said we could. “Can we got straight after breakfast?” I said we could. I have a feeling tomorrow’s may turn into our earliest family breakfast since December 25.

1. Soaking

2.  Nesting

3.  Choices

I had a bath.  Door closed. Several drops of Tea tree oil.  I have a stinking cold, and The Man entertained the boys this morning while I soaked and steamed.  It was great. Younger Sister gave me a very nice bottle of bubble bath for my birthday last year and I’ve only just finished it.  I never get near the bath. Just showers. With one or two boys at my feet, playing in the water collecting with the plug in.  Or with the plug out. If they like.   I used to be very into aromatherapy, but then I had a godawful cold lasting about three weeks, and afterwards I had no sense of smell. About 6 years ago.  No-one minded except me. I saw a consultant privately: “Oh sometimes you get catastrophic nerve damage with upper respiratory infections. There isn’t anything anyone can do.”  So. I still can’t really smell anything, but I had a tea tree oil bath last time I felt fluey and the bug wandered off again.  I’ve been putting lavender oil on Son 1 aged 4 y 6m’s pillow, and Son 2 aged 18m’s sleeping bag, and, unarguably,  they have been sleeping better.  And this morning I was wrecked and wretched, but able to function after my bath. Even though I can’t smell.   I am reconverted. I think you’re supposed to alternate camomile with lavender for sleep problems, because in the end your system gets used to the oils and they won’t work as well. But can I use it on children?  I never learnt that Before.  

The Man is stressed, so he was building shelves all day.  Under pressure,  it is usually sheds, but sometimes shelving. Or compulsive tidying.  We now have a new shoe and coat rack in the hall.  Hooks expected any day now.  He’s also made a mammoth book shelf in Son 2’s room for all the childrnen’s books. While he went to B and Q and Jewson, we played.  Playdough mainly.  Son 1 was engrossed in operation: making little shapes that the patient had eaten.  Earlier, his game had been scratching in an ink pad with a feather to try writing.  Son 2 was now pressing the feather into a big lump of red playdough.  Then he was waddling around with the playdough under his sock and the feather stuck to his foot by the playdough.

The boys and I went to the library.  I’n't Libraries Great? They just are.  I apologised for our 14 books. ”It’s ok, it’s 18 per ticket.”  Son 1 had a book that I said we shouldn’t get. He took it over to the scanning machine and put it in the tray. “Mummy bring me the ticket!” Won’t be long before he can download all my pictures and back up my blog for me.   Of course we took out the book he wanted.  Nanna came over.  Son 2 took one look at her, did his dance and pointed upstairs.  = “Shall we watch The Wiggles?”  He cried when the DVD finished.  I made Jamie Oliver fish pie for all. Reasonably successful, although Son 1 has decided he doesn’t like prawns. He had two helpings of cabbage though. Paragon sticker to him.

Nanna waited after bedtime and The Man and I went out for a drink. I had a champagne cocktail to celebrate being back at work a year.

1.  And The Little One Said…

2.  Bags Of Books

3.  Moondance

Son 1 aged 4y 5m and Son 2 aged 17m slept through, and I had another Reasonable Night’s sleep.  I am Glad About This Good Thing but am being careful about getting excited.  Son 2 woke just before six and The Man went down.  He can get Son 2 back to sleep by putting him in the double bed with him.  It all went quiet.  Then Son 2 started to cry.  And then it got unambiguous.  “Ma Ma!  Ma Ma! Ma Ma!”  I got up.   

I took their books into the library in the Big Town at lunchtime.  Two carrier bags full of books, lugging them from the car park all the way through town.  We usually get them from The Town and put the books under the Big Pram, so weight’s never an issue.  It was today.   I put 15 books back in the machine.  And I have still left one at home.  I picked a couple of books for Son 2 and a great pile for Son 1.  When Son 1 was very small I used to choose him books from The Big Town’s library, but must be nearly 3 years since I’ve been.  It felt strange.  Usually I pick educationally, multicultural, boundary-broadening books while Son 1 pulls out about 20, all of which he has to have, and in the end we put my choices back.  Today there was no-one buzzing round ”Can I have this one?” “I want this one”  Just me, in my big coat and high heels and M  and S Bags For Life.

They both loved their choices.  Son 2 had the book with hardly any words and lots of vehicles twice… Son 1 had 5 out of 6 Winnie The Witch stories.  I held off on the lavender oil to give them a rest form it.  I went out for a run.  It’s been weeks.  I ran down to the Bridge Over The River again,  walked for a bit at the two-mile mark because of a hip flexor twinge, but ran home after a bit of a rest.  A clear, cold, moonlit night.  Very nice to be out.  On the way back the surface of the river was shining silver in the full moonlight,  slightly rippled by a breeze.  Reflected orange, red, blue and white lights wobbled in the water in the distance by The Pier.  There are a few more boats on moorings now… another sure sign of approaching Spring.

1.  Warming Up

2.  Endurance Event

3.  Prizegiving

Wrecked this morning. Cold-ridden.  Exhausted. To bed at 0130.  Woken at 0630 by Son 1 aged 4y 2m screaming the place apart.  Son 2 aged 15m woke up.  In the summer, when it’s warm and light, Son 1 padded upstairs and clambered into the Big Bed.  Now it’s cold and dark he just screams and screams till a parent goes and gets him.  And by the time we get there of course his brother is awake.    

Not a day to aim high.  I needed to take a suit to the dry cleaners (dropped melted butter down the skirt yesterday rushing to get ready for Nursery) and we wanted more library books.  But that was about it.  I had dreams.  Both boys were so tired, I thought if we put them in the prams and pushed, they would nod off, and there would be a few minutes’ Peace On Earth for The Man and me.  Well we went to the library, where Son 2 pulled out all the baby  books, all the early reader books and started on a little pile of DVDs… and we went through The Town.  All the way to The Square.  Son 1 was singing Jingle Bells and Son 2 was cooing and calling All The Way.  I told Son 1 he could have a sweet from his Trick Or Treat bucket if he had a snooze, and the poor boy really tried… but nope.  Pulling the buggy hood down over you and pretending didn’t count.

When we got home we did our usual late lunch for starving boys, and then  I snuggled Son 2 to sleep on the double bed in his room.  He was way past wanting to nap, but was happy having a cuddle with me.  I have made cuddling progress with him at last, but it has been a long haul.  From being ramrod alert the whole time, and viewing Mummy’s arms as something you use to reach things or transport you, he is slowly starting to relax and snug in/cuddle when he’s asked.  And he even does it now without being prompted.   The feeling of a soft, fluffy head snuggling in under my chin is a money-can’t-buy luxury I wish I could somehow save.

1.  Mummy time

2.  “Shop for food together”

3.  Escape

The Man’s gone away on a Business Trip.  We waved him off and had breakfast.  Son 2 aged 1 his usual banana, weetabix and yoghurt.  Son 1 aged 4 hummus, red pepper and breadsticks.  Which is what he had for tea last night.  Son 2 insisted on breadsticks and dipped them into his mush.  He’s still off form.  Hacking cough, streams of snot, a fever.  “We’ve got chickenpox,” the Old Nursery said, matter-of-factly yesterday.  I’ve peered at his skin all day.   He slept for two hours this morning.   Son 1 had a fire in the Scooby House, attended by the big wooden fire engine, the little wooden fire engine, the little wooden police car, Son 2’s ambulance and the tiny wooden ambulance and Harold from the Thomas set. Play abandoned in favour of pestering Mummy to watch telly with him.  So we did.  Shark’s Tale.  Which I’m sure is a DVD I bought well before we had children, but never had time to watch.  Maybe I was busier in the old days than I think.

Out we trudged in the rain to the library to change the books.  We went to Tesco because we needed fromage frais and yoghurt.  We ended up with: crumpets “these are my very very favourite,” laughing cow soft cheese portions “I like these,” trifles “can I have a treat because I didn’t have a DVD?” a box of Fab lollies (half price) and a four-pack of plain yoghurt with jam at the bottom.  I’m sure I wasn’t choosing food in shops when I was 4.  Mind you, I’d left home before I’d heard of half the stuff which is the boys’ favourite.  Hummous? Pesto? Breadsticks?  Maple Syrup?  I think I used to eat breadcrumbed things full of cheese sauce and a heck of a lot of Angel Delight. And I’m pretty sure there was always a cake on the table while we ate our (savoury) tea, which we then had afterwards.  I can’t have a cake in the house if I want Son 1 to eat his main course.    

Son 1 started tucking into his shopping as soon as we got back, so we did tea early.  Son 2 did well.  Couldn’t manage crumpets, but enjoyed a Plum 10m+ pot of spinachy pasta.  Ate about half and mortared the cracks in his high chair with the rest.  And then fed me Cheerios, cackling joyfully. I left them in the bedrooms while I came downstairs for the laptop to play Son 1’s Horrid Henry Cd.  When I went back, Son 1 was demurely lifting the flaps in his dinosaur book.  Son 2 was nowhere to be seen.  There was a crash from upstairs.  He’d legged it up a floor as soon as my back turned and was trying to get into the soft bricks.