1.  I Can See You

2.  Pub Crawl

3.  Sand Dunes

So if Margaret Thatcher got by on three hours sleep a night, why wasn’t she permanently ratty or cold-ridden.  The Big City on Tuesday, 400+ miles round trip, 15 hour day including 8 hours driving.  Round a Wednesday Friend’s house last night; the carriage returned here well after midnight.  I was in with Son 2 aged 18m.  Now the mornings are light, he can see me lying in the double bed.  It doesn’t matter how still I am, how quiet I keep. When he wakes up, I get up.

We drove over to the Sandy Beach. Played Pooh Sticks on the bridge.  Got the tent up.  Sunny, but with a bitter wind, and a cold mist rolling in and out from the sea.  Son 1 aged 4yrs 6m was not on good form.  Not enough Mummy Time apparently.  He played in the sand in his sun suit. I could see from how he was standing that he was frozen, but left it to him to tell me he wanted more clothes.  In my defence, he’d said “no” to every single thing I’d suggested all day long. He pitter-pattered off the sand towards a beachside pub.  “I’m cold. I’m going in that warm cafe.”  I got his parkha on him, and followed him, asking him to come back so he could get dressed.  An out-of-season, barely-open, dim and dark beach bar.  But.  On the plus side.  Loos.  Coffee machines. And a sign saying children mustn’t be left alone on the play equipment.  There wasn’t any play equipment.  But maybe there is in the summer. 

By late afternoon I’d managed to work out that he wanted me, me, me.  So, still carrying Son 2 who was refusing to be put down, I suggested we explored the sand dunes.  “What’s a sand dune?” “You know, like the Crocodile Hunter. ‘Rolling down the sand dunes…’”  Son 1 loved the Sand Hills.  The grass was very scratchy, but he loved climbing through the fenced wire, he loved the little tracks, he loved going up and down.  He rolled, he scrambled, he scrabbled, he climbed. He Could See For Miles.  He wanted to poke in the remnants of illegal campfires. “Please be careful!  There are lots of sharp and dangerous things in sand dunes!” On the way back he told me he’d found treasure and wanted to take it home. ”It’s Not Sharp Or Dangerous.”  It was a brilliant blue hard plastic crescent.  A decorative bead from a bag perhaps.  On the way back Son 1 thumped Son 2 so hard in the back he fell flat on his face in the sand.  And I let him off, because he said he didn’t mean to be so rough, and he didn’t realise Son 2 would fall over.  Then he went and played in the tidal stream in his new flashing trainers.  And after that, there was No Ice Cream.

1.  Be Good For Goodness Sake

2.  A Winter Wonderland

3.  Santa Baby

Had a lie in till 0715.  Heard the boys and The Man downstairs but couldn’t get up and didn’t. Eventually a cup of coffee arrived, and then Son 1 aged 4y 2m.  I tried reading to Son 2 aged 15m, but Son 1 was maddening.  Loud, boisterous, destructive, annoying.   Eventually I said “What is in your head when you behave like this?” He said: “My heart is broken because Son 2 is getting all the Mummy Time.”  Ah.    They  both do this.  They’ll both take turns and be sensible when it’s just me, but as soon as The Man or Nanna is added to the equation - which I think will make things easier - they both squabble and roar and irritate, ready to fight to the death not to be the one who gets the second best.

We went to a Garden to see Santa.  It rained as we drove there, grim charcoal-black clouds getting thicker and lower.   When we arrived the boys were asleep, and the rain driving harder.  And it was ARCTIC.  I bought the tickets and sent everyone else into a barn to keep out of the rain.  “Follow the Christmas Trees to Santa,” said the chap in the booth.  Son 1 wouldn’t pull his hood up because he was wearing his Santa hat, and wanted the Great Man Himself to see it.  And then it started to snow.  Proper, light, swirling, coming-faster-and-faster snow.  It snowed all the way down to Santa.  It snowed while we were waiting and looking at all his small but gorgeous reindeer.   A rainbow arched across the sky… faded and then re-appeared.  “This is how you know it’s really Santa,” I told Son 1.  “He needs the snow for his reindeer, and he’s using magic to make rainbows.”  “With his computer?”

Santa was very well done - he sat in a chair and said nothing, a female helper read “Twas the Night Before Christmas.”  Son 2 was scared, but calmed down for the story.  The eight other children were transfixed.  Son 1 sat straight the whole time, shooting his hand into the air for every question.  At the end they got a toy reindeer and The Man took photos.  When we got outside the snow had stopped, and a man on a tractor was stirring a vast vat of fake foam which was being blasted around Santa’s log cabin as we left.  In the cafe Son 1 took one of the decorations off their enormous Christmas Tree.  “Son 1!” I snapped. “I can’t believe you’ve done that here!  You know Santa is very near - is he sees you do that nothing I can say will get you presents on Christmas Day!”  Total disintegration of small child.  Red face. Distress. Real tears.  The Man had the same effect on Son 2 later on when he gave him a Salt and Vinegar crisp.