1.  Peter Pan

2.  Baking Pans 

3.  Panic

Peter Pan was the DVD. Son 1 aged 4y 11m and Son 2 aged 23m were playing with the toy pirates. We bought Son 1 a new Captain Hook yesterday. He has got through 2 Disney ones, so now we’re on Toyshop Traditional.  The old Captain Hook fell to pieces.  Son 1had found a Peter-And-The-Children pin badge that I’d bought him. ”I’m a Peter Pan fan, aren’t I?”  Orwell fashion, I have come to love Peter Pan. Ignore the dodgy author and the political incorrectness, and name another children’s classic that’s as brilliant on Motherhood.  The Lost Boys and The Pirates who want Mothers, Wendy who doesn’t want to be a Mother to Peter, Mrs Darling sitting in the empty bedroom, and poor Peter, damaged by a closed window and another little boy asleep in his bed. ”If you find your mothers,” he said darkly, “I hope you will like them.”  I bought my copy new in 1972, price 25p.  And I grew up and had a son.  Who feeds pieces of broken Captain Hook to toy crocodiles. 

 A grey day, with two shattered children. We decided yesterday went askew because we got the meals wrong. We drove the Big Town to do a Big Shop. Son 2 fell asleep in the car, Son 1 was car sick. We went down to the River and parked. The Man and I had coffee, the boys ate peanut butter sandwiches for lunch.  In the supermarket, we bought heaps of cake and biscuit making ingredients. I have a week off, the forecast is not good, and I have much Uber Mother ground to make up. Son 1 longs for me to make a cake.  I find cake tins frankly baffling.  There are the ones with the clock hand things in them, presumably used for Getting Your Cake Out. And the ones that are rings with round circles at the bottom. Presumably also used for Getting Your Cake Out.  Greaseproof paper, baking paper, baking parchment. All for Getting Your Cake Out.  I’m only guessing, but is there sometimes a problem Getting Cakes Out?  But anyway. We can manage muffins. And Biscuits.  And Wonder Nanny will be here. I bet she can Get A Cake Out. 

We did a massive pile of shopping with loads of Sunday afternoon yellow stickers.  Son 1’s shopping treat was a Scooby Doo biscuit making kit. I thought it was going to be a box with biscuits for them to draw on with an icing pen. Oh no. Back home there was an egg and milk involved. I put too much milk and egg in the packet mix and ended up with gloop so sticky it glued my fingers together.  I finally fought my way out of the mixing bowl, and the boys rolled it, cut the Scooby shapes and we put them in the oven.  Son 2 washed green beans for tea.  They had roast lamb… I went for a run.

1.  How Many Independent Superwomen Does It Take To Change A Light Bulb?

2.  Leftovers

3.  Blue Glass

Just one.  Oh Yeah, Oh Yeah, Oh Yeah.  Get me.  The light over the dining table has been annoying me. As the years roll on, it’s become harder and harder to read my paper.  Poor light of course, not fading sight.  And then last night, on the first evening of The Man’s two-week absence, the bulb went.  Complicated.  Standing on table to dismantle overhead light fitting.  Staring at bulb the size of a motorbike headlight and wondering whether it comes apart any more.  Getting new one while carrying Son 2 aged 19m in my arms.   Requiring an old man in B and Q to go up a cherry picker to hunt along the Top Shelf.  Climbing up on table again.  Slotting, twisting, bodging, clicking.  And now it is Bright And Beautiful.  And I am Very Clever Indeed.  Yes I know to the casual observer this is just a lightbulb.  But to me, it’s more important than that.  It’s a Start.  

We took Son 1 aged 4y 6m and Son 2 aged 19m to an Old Friend’s.  She has three sons, one a week older than Son 1, a three year old, and a four month old.  The elder three boys went instantly feral, and ran in and out of the large house and garden.  I went to investigate two huge patches of feathers spread underneath some trees.   Clearly a fox had taken a pigeon.  I was looking for blood, bones or giblets - anything that small boys shouldn’t really be seeing.  Nothing at all left but the feathers.   I took the rest of Sunday’s beef, and it was added to the lunch menu of roasted quail and freshly-baked bread.  At least the Mother said it was quail.  Could have been pigeon I suppose.   Our adult friends ate the quail and the beef. I ate the bread.  The boys ate Quavers and pizza.

At home Son 1 watched a DVD while Son 2 clung.  Wonder Nanny did tea.  I put the boys to bed, spoke to Younger Sister on the phone, and sorted out the recycling and bins. Then I did a bit of tidying.  My new mantra is: Eat A Bit Less; Spend a Bit Less; Tidy Up One Thing, Throw One Thing Out.  A Little And Often.  So, I was putting away the vases which loiter by our sink, which don’t really have a home because they’re big and fragile and need looking after properly.  And I broke my big blue one, which was my favourite.  And sliced my finger open on the broken glass.  There are still of course, Good Things.  First, it’s Recycling Day tomorrow, I can give it to the men on the wagon and ask them to sort it out. And Second, I’ve now proved that tidying up is dangerous.  I’d better leave it till The Man gets back.

1.  Where Do The Children Play?

2.  The First Cut

3.  Hard Headed Women

Went down to The Museum with The Wednesday Friends.  We had a full house, thanks to an Inset Day, so the Eldest Boy, in full time school aged 4y 7m could come.  Son 1 aged 4y 4m wore his Captain Hook outfit.  Son 2 aged 17m just wanted to walk and walk.  3 4 year olds, a 3 year old and a 2 year old played, clung to mothers, fell out, fell over…. and the little toddler just toddled.  Out towards the windows.  Down the slopes to the lower floors.  Out to the lifts.  Up the stairs.  And, back down in The Square, off alongside The Museum to where The Man had dropped us all off.  Toddle toddle toddle.   At one point I had Son 1 snuggled up in The Big Pram and Son 2 on the reins.   Son 1 has always stayed close to heel.  For Son 2, There’s Such A Lot Of World To See.

On the way back we stopped in at the Hairdresser’s to see if they could give Son 1 a long overdue trim.  He is now too big for the little cars in front of the DVDs.  Pang.  Where did that go?  He sat on a special older child’s chair, watching Ratatouille, a Gold-Medal winning Pout on his face.  I chatted to the other hairdressers.  We decided they should trim Son 2’s fringe.  We sat him in the car.  He laughed and laughed at the joke.  When the scissors came near his head, he batted them away and tried to grab the hand wielding them.  Then he tried standing up, even though he was belted in.  Then he wanted to get down.  Then he wanted to get into the other car.  I caught his baby hair, and the salon owner put it in a money bag for me.  Son 1 gathered up two cupped handfuls of his hair from the floor and presented it to me.  I needed his hairdresser to tell me: “I think he wants you to keep his as well.”   We gazed in the nearby jeweller’s shop at the lockets in the window.   “Daddy will have to buy me one of those to keep your hair in,” I told Son 1.  “And I need one for my treasure chest,” he said.

Half price food at a local pizza place, so the two other Wednesday mums and I went out for a meal.  We discussed children and men, the days before we had our families,  childhoods, people we know and food and faddy eating.  And had a very nice time.