1.  Sardines

2.  Flounder

3.  Shark

So. After yesterday’s triathlon, what sort of a lie in do you think our perfect children game us? 6am.  Little Baskets.  We put them in the Double Bed with us.  Son 2 aged 2 tried pestering The Man. Didn’t work. Tried pestering me. Didn’t work. Reached over me to bat at Son 1 aged 4 y 11m.  Giggles to the left.  Giggles to the right. “Sweets,” said Son 2. ”Son 2, are you hungry?” “Es.” “Do you want your breakfast?”  “Es.”  Son 2 ate nothing but peas-in-the-pod and biscuits yesterday afternoon.  They promised they’d have a sleep during the day. 

The weather was fine, the water was flat.  We knew we were for it if we stayed in.  We rang round for reinforcements for a Boat Trip.   A Wednesday Mum and her family came. We packed leftover quiche and chocolate cake.  We went to the Yacht Club. The Man brought The Boat into the quay.  We chugged around, fishing.  The Wednesday Mum had a real, live fish on the end of her line. It Got Away.  And then… she, Retired Army Captain husband and The Man started catching fish. RACH took them off the line… And he’d brought a large stone with him.  For killing the fish with a blow to the head. At first, he did it. Then, his son, Five Year Old Friend, did it. And then, Son 1.   I watched him do it.  He’s killed a living creature before he’s five. Forty years older, I still haven’t.  I can clean and gut a fish, and always enjoy meat-eaters’ squeamishness when they see my matter-of-fact technique. But I have no idea whether or not I could kill a crittur.  I just felt as Son 1 lives on The River, he should be able to catch a mackerel.  And put it out of its misery.  He walked round clutching the stone.  “Anyone want to bash a fish?”

Total catch: 10 mackerel and 21 crabs. The crabs went back in the river.  Back home, we wrapped up four fish in greaseproof paper and hung them in a bag on the neighbours’ front door. She told Son 1 that if he ever caught any mackerel, she’d buy them from him. He was heartbroken when she wasn’t in. The Man lit a barbecue, I made new potatoes and broccoli, and we barbecued the two fish we’d kept. The Man wasn’t sure, but I told him he had to eat them to Be A Good Example For The Boys. Son 1 wouldn’t. Sucked a few bits in his mouth, but that was it. Son 2 wolfed it. We had just started to suspect Son 2 may have been a fish in a previous life.  It would explain the unswerveable fascination with both fish and wah-wah.   From the way he gobbled the mackerel, he must, of course,  have been a Big Fish.

1,  Chest Flies

2.  Lord Of The Flies

3.  No Flies

We didn’t get the boys to bed till 9pm last night, so we felt we deserved a lie in this morning. Nah.  The only impact was no little visitor clambering into bed with us during the night.  The Man got up at about 7 and went downstairs… Son 2 aged 23m wailed, I heard Son 1 aged 4y 11m chatter… and that was it. I rested for as long as I felt I could get away with it.  “I don’t understand why my cold’s gone in three days and yours is still going on and on and on,” said The Man. “Because if you’re exhausted your immune system doesn’t work as well.” “Well why don’t you check into rehab or something?”  Not Just My Husband, My Very Best Friend.

The Man wanted to drill holes for the fish tank power. The boys and I took Nanna’s giant stone mushroom to her house - two months after her birthday. We picked her up and then went to the Garden Centre. The idea was that each boy would choose a toy for the fish tank, to be given as a present on their birthdays. Son 1 couldn’t care less about anything I showed him: one-hole two-hole three-hole rocks, hippos with mouths that opened by bubbles, pieces of wood. He only wanted a bag of shells. He said if I bought them for him he would behave for the rest of his life.  It seemed like a good deal. Son 2 got a red ray, and I chose a lump of wood for Son 1. Away from the fish tank, it looked as if it would fit. Back home it clearly won’t.  Might have to saw a bit off.

We walked down through the town to meet Nanna for lunch.  The Man strode off with Son 2 in the Big Pram, Son 1 and I took longer. In the cafe Son 1 wanted pizza. I turned to Son 2.  “What would you like?” “Cips.” Not 2 years old and he can order in restaurants.  I didn’t go into a cafe till I was 14 years old.  The kitchen messed the order up so we had two small, tired, over-hungry boys melting down.  Looking on the bright side, they could have been a lot worse.  After we went to the discount shop, where I bought them each a Playmobil toy with money Nanna gave them for a birthday stocking-filler. Son 1 studied each box on the way home. “Son 2’s is better than mine!” he decided.  Son 2’s cost a pound more.

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.  Waking Up

2.  Speaking Volumes

3.  Tucking In Tails

Teenaged-style lie-ins this morning, from three out of four of us.  Guess which one was up at 6am defrosting rolls for lunches?  Son 2 aged 20m woke at 0730 during my shower.  Son 1 aged 4y 8m, trespassing in The Big Bed, was motionless throughout. He came round when The Man put the telly on… and got him into his Nursery uniform. Son 2 was lovely during his books.  Staring at the pile, choosing which one he wanted.  Usborne Animal Hide And Seek. Twice. Then Diggers.  He had strawberries and apple rice cakes in his tub. “More,” he demanded when he’d finished his strawberries. I didn’t get up, and he ate the rest of his rice cakes instead.

And me. Boat, bed, bus, bread, bath, book, ball, bounce, banana, blueberry, bye bye, baby. Car, cot, cat, chips, crisps, chocolate. Down, down there, dada, door.  Go, grape, hello. ice cream, ice. juice, Mummy. No, nose. oh-oh, peas, please, phone, roller, roll, round, raisin,  rain, ray, shoe,  shark, Son 1, stick, stuck, sweet, toe, tractor, up,  van, water,yes  Moo, baa, woof, snap snap, quack, hoo hoo, sssss, squawk, oink, clip clop, cluck cluck.  The ones I can remember.  He really is a clever little sausage.

I bought The Man a bag from TK MAx for his Business Trip, but it fell apart, so today I had to take it back. While I waited in the queue I spotted a pack of two How Does A Dinosaur books for £4.  Got to really.  For their birthdays, of course.  In September. After The Office, I had another dash across The Big Town to get to Nursery before it closed.  Son 1 seemed very happy and said he’d had a good day.  He fell asleep in the car on the way back.  Son 2 was on fine form, chortling away when I arrived and refusing to head for his bath.  I read the new books to them.  Son 1 was the only one who noticed it was a bit different to the one we usually do, How Does A Dinosaur Say Good night.  We now have How Does a Dinosaur Tidy His Room, and How Does a Dinosaur Play With His Friends.   I am keeping my eyes peeled for How Does  A Dinosaur Earn Enough Money So He Can Buy His Mummy A House And She Doesn’t Have To Work Again.

1.  Rule Number One

2.  Rules Two And Three

3.  Rule Four

Yesterday I ordered from The Man: 1) A Lie In  2)  Breakfast In Bed (scrambled egg on toast.) 3) A Long Bubble Bath With No Children In it. 

Son 2 aged 18m woke up at 0530.   “Mama.”  I trailed downstairs, and Son 2 clung while The Man sorted him a Tub of Grub.   Son 1 aged 4y 6m came down. Cards from all three.  I had already been to the Boots Lancome counter and bought myself two items so I could also have a free gift.  Mother’s Day Rule Number One.  Avoid Disappointment, Buy Your Own Present.  We all went upstairs to the Big Bed and I got in, pulled the covers over me and lay down.  Son 1 stuck Ben 10 stickers,  Son 2 played  Duplo with The Man.   They all went downstairs.  I dozed off.  I was on The Beach with Son 2 playing at the water’s edge. A mist came in, and I said we’d better pack up. The mist turned to snow, everywhere. I couldn’t see  Son 2 but there were snow ploughs in the ditch where I’d last seen him.  An oblongy snowball was skidding down the road but he wasn’t in it.  “Mummy. Son 2 fell off the chair and you’ve got to come.”  A little head at the side of the bed.  I went downstairs.  Made my own breakfast.  I did get a bubble bath, but the children went mad because they weren’t allowed in it.  

I had booked lunch for us all at The Peacock Playground.  Complimentary skincare sample, organic fudge and free entry for mothers. Rule Number Two.  Avoid Disappointment, Make Your Own Lunch Arrangements.  We picked up Nanna, and took the boys to the playground.  They played; the peacocks patrolled.  The Man and Nanna sat in the sun.  I climbed up ladders, slid down slides, swung on swings, climbed through tunnels, lifted up, helped down and held on.  In for lunch.  It all took a while, but Son 1 dived in and out through the sliding doors next to us, checking his stick, chasing peacocks, sitting on a wall.  They stuffed themselves with their pudding, our pudding and the organic fudge.  The Man got very bored with having to look after Son 2 while he was eating his own meal.  Rule Number Three: The Mother’s Day is the only day you can act like Father.  All Day Long. 

We walked down to the lake afterwards.  Son 1 and I played Pooh Sticks every time a stream ran under a bridge.  He loved it.  Son 1 started off with the biggest sticks, and soon realised the smaller ones win.  He leaned over edges, through railings and off bridges.  Absolutely no concept of danger. I hadn’t been down to the bottom of the garden since I dropped Son 2 on his head when he was 4 months old.  (Laid him down in pram asleep after screaming reflux episode, didn’t dare strap him in case he woke up. 30 minutes later, had forgotten I hadn’t strapped him in.  Took pram up flight of steep concrete steps.  Baby slid out like he’d been fired from a peashooter.  Overnight in hospital.  His head was fine. But they got very tired of mopping up the sick, and they gave us a paediatrician and dietician who eventually sorted out his reflux.)  It was very strange passing The Steps, seeing The Tree where a pic of Son 1 had been taken afterwards, seeing the bench we sat on to peer at Son 2’s head… remembering the sick feeling inside as we marched back to take him to the MIU.  Son 1 walked miles, and was soon fast asleep in the car.  Son 2 stayed awake till after we’d dropped Nanna off.  We parked near the house, and The Man brought me a cup of tea and the Sunday papers to read in the car while the boys slept. Rule Four: When Opportunity Knocks, Ask For A Cup Of Tea.

1.  A lie-in

2. Flesh and blood

3. Captain Hook

The good news is I got a lie in this morning because Son 2 aged 11m didn’t wake up till 8am.   However.  He slept in because he was up for HOURS.  He’s got Son 1 aged 3y 11m’s cough.  He doesn’t seem to have the fever, but he’s still very uncomfortable. I wish I could be a bit more forgiving at 4am when I’ve been up since 6am the previous day.  But I kissed him, dumped in his cot, said bye bye, closed the door so I couldn’t hear the ROOAARR and went downstairs.  I made a cup of tea, wrote some birthday cards, copied out Son 1’s New Nursery dates onto the calendar, hung out some washing, drank my tea, went back upstairs… And he’d stopped crying and gone to sleep.  

I fed Son 2 while Son 1 hopped up and down, trying to cuddle his brother, trying to get on my knee, trying to do anything to get attention.  “Why don’t you tell daddy not to empty the dishwasher till he’s brought my coffee up?”  I suggested, helpfully, thinking that would send him padding down 2 flights of stairs.  Son 1 walked to the top of Flight 2.  “DADDEEE. DON’T EMPTY THE DISHWASHER.”  Then there were little sorry-for-himself whining noises from the landing.  Back in he hopped, blood all over his hands, streaming from his nose.  Are there any other children who give themselves really bad nosebleeds by shouting?  It’s his second one in four days, and the other one was caused by a high-pitched shriek.  I suppose I should be grateful he hasn’t shattered any glassware yet.

My ebay bid was a flop, because after I got outbid, I couldn’t work out how to top the higher bid that kept appearing.  I have consulted a Young Thing at The Office who explained what I needed to do.  (”It’s easy.  My husband and I went on a diving holiday last year from the money we made on eBay.”)  Anyway.  The object of my heart’s desire was a Captain Hook outfit, aged 3- 4.  I ordered it full price on Sunday and it arrived today.  I had to let Son 1 try it on to … see if it fits.  He looked fantastic, and he was just so happy.  Bouncing on the bed in it, looking in the mirror.  “Ha-harr.  Give me the treasure lady.”  I gave Son 2 a toy sword, and he gave his huge grin and held it out to touch Son 1’s.  And then whacked me round the head with it, laughing.  He has spent his entire infancy watching Son 1 fencing using swords, sticks, dracaena leaves, wrapping-paper middles, lolly sticks, pencils… So of course he knew exactly what to do when he finally got a toy sword in his little baby fist…     

1. 8.04am

2. Shopping

3. Discharged

0804.  Woke up, son 1 aged 3y 10m in bed beside me.  I remember The Man wandering off in the night.  I remember Son 1 clambering up, and then clambering over as he realised there was an entire half bed on the other side of me.  I remember a cry at dawn from Son 2 aged 11m.  I got up, and put my contact lenses in, my heart slowing and my throat tightening.  This is it.  This is the last time I’ll still think he’s alive.  ”Mummy!” called Son 1. I ignored him and went downstairs. I pushed at the bedroom door.  “Waaaaah!” A little rabbit, sitting upright in the cot, peering at me in the gloom.   It was in fact a shockingly unexpected lie-in.  The whole family got an extra two hours.  That’s a whole night’s sleep between the four of us.  A wee giftie from the little rabbit.

It all made us late for our shopping trip, but who cares?  The idea was to go to the Big Town, go round toy shops so Son 1 could choose his birthday present, choose a birthday present for Son 2, have lunch, and then go to the Hospital.  We went to the Wooden Toy Shop and Son 1 chose a drum set. Son 2 and another baby chose a little music centre.  I chose another present for Son 1’s little friend.  We headed off for TK Maxx, where Son 1 picked a very unpleasant plastic ambulance for Son 2. Then lunch.  Son 1 played merry hell.  After we’d all eaten, I remember I’d chosen the cafe because they had a stack of children’s books and a ton of toys.  Son 1 was silenced and stilled by Where’s Wally.  The others went to the Early Learning Centre. I went back to the Wooden Toy Shop to order the drums.  I joined them at the ELC.  Son 1 doesn’t want the drumkit any more.  He wants a large plastic castle with knights.  Ask Santa for it, I said.  

At the Hospital they weighed Son 2.  Not back on line 9 on the chart. Sigh. Everyone had started to say he was filling out and his face was looking chubby.  I told the consultant that I was happy with him, that I’ve taken him off all his meds, but I’m worried about his weight - I thought he’d be putting weight on now he’s (mostly) stopped being sick. And I’m worried about him getting a gastro bug again.  She said the weight will take a long while to go back on.  And she doesn’t think he ended up in hospital so quickly because of his reflux; she thinks it was just a bad bug which would have done the same to any child.  She says she wants the dietician to see him again, but she doesn’t need to. This evening I spoke to my friend whose first son was a thin baby. Stop weighing him, was her advice. 

1.  Mother’s Tired, She Needs a Rest

2.  House of Fun

3.  Embarrassment

We got the children to bed at 1815 yesterday.  Which meant Son 2, the 11 month old who can tell the time, woke up at 0515.  I changed him.  No poo, so  I put him in one of the plasticky nappies we bought him in Portugal in May when we ran out.  I don’t like them much.  Too hot for him. Give him nappy rash.  And, even though it’s Son 2 and he’s not very big, they are too small for him.  But it was only for a couple of hours till he did his poo.  Fed him, both sides,  and put him back to sleep, next to me on the downstairs double bed.  The Man came down at 0720, and lay on the other side of the sleeping baby.  A lovely lie in.  The Man went downstairs and came back with tea, coffee, pineapple juice and apple rings for the boys.  Son 1 aged 3 y 10m woke up and came in with us.  Son 2 still asleep, so Son 1 snugged next to him, putting his arms around him, stroking his face “Ah, Son 2, I love you, you’re so soft.”

Son 2 woke up and did his lovely four-up, three-down smile.  The Man said he needed his nappy changing. “Oh you do it,” I said.  “I want my coffee.”  The Man unzipped the sleeping bag.  “He’s not wearing a nappy!”  “Yes he is,” I said. “One of the holiday nappies.”  Only Son 2 wriggles a lot when he’s going to sleep.  And he’d wriggled his way out of the cheap nappy that doesn’t fit.  Filled his sleeping bag with poo, and then paddled his legs up and down in it.  Fake tanned his legs and lower body an authentic-looking orange-brown.  A couple of hours before.  Nicely dried.  A bewildered baby in the bath.  And then his first shower.  Which made him laugh.

The Man rang me at work. Could I get the children.  I don’t usually get them from nursery, and when I got there Son 2 was in the arms of Son 1’s favourite nursery nurse.  And he didn’t cry when he saw me.  Just laughed and reached out his hands.  Son 1 raided Son 2’s food bag, which was where the nursery nurses had put the cakes he’d made.  He was allowed one in the car.  “Mummy are you going to look for a Captain Hook costume for me?”  We chatted about costumes until we were nearly home when he said “Mummy, you embarrass me.”  He said it as if he was trying out the word to see what would happen.  So I said “Oh I know darling, when I pretend I think you want a Peter Pan costume, just to make you say you want a Captain Hook costume, that’s embarrassing, isn’t it?”    Which is worse  - a clueless mother embarrassing her child, or a clueless mother trying not to embarrass her child.  I’m sure, in good time, that he’ll let me know.