1.   Froggies

2.   Buggies

3.   Huggies

Really good, thank you, great weather, good journeys, no complaints, no complaints. Want some pictures? You’ll like this one: I dressed the boys for a 3am start in the UK, and we arrived at 12 noon our time and 25C, picked up the gleaming hire car and headed for the villa… Son 2 aged 2y 1m cried in the back, red spots burning in his cheeks, clearly overheated and distressed. “It’s ok, Son 2,” I kept saying. “We’re nearly there.” We stopped outside our destination. Vomit jetted out of him in pitiful spurts, swilling down his front and pooling in the car seat.  “I’s sick,” he said, hair plastered to his forehead.   Oh, but the swimming pool was lovely, the waiters loved children, the sun shone and the Bloody Marys racked up.  The Elegant Aunt and Golfmad Uncle had given us their timeshare, where we’ve stayed before, but had booked themselves another villa a few miles away to see the boys. “You’ll think it’s a bit Footballers’ Wives,” laughed the Elegant Aunt as she showed me around their new find.  Oh dear. I didn’t. I thought it was lovely.  Really lovely.  I didn’t dare tell her.  So we swam and went to the playground and the beach, and then this morning we trailed along the paths towards the hire car, and the boys spotted frogs in the water through the gardens. And I had a massive Pang, because we Just Don’t Get Enough Time Together As A Family.  And then I was Positive, because I know how lucky we are. And I am full of Holiday Resolutions which will Improve Our Lives.

Son 2, sitting in the back,  sang a song about his Ollday. Each verse finished on “Orl day long,” and Son 1 aged 5y 1m and I clapped each time.  Then he started to cry. “I’s sick,” he said.  “We’re nearly there, Son 2,” I said, mentally risk assessing. Garbage In = Garbage Out. He hadn’t had enough breakfast for anything untoward to happen.  The Man piled the trolley high with two suitcases, a sailbag, a hand-luggage-on-wheels-case, two car seats and assorted bits of carry-on stuff, including a Thomas The Tank Engine wheeled suitcase and an Early Learning Centre farm.  He zoomed off to return the hire car.   We paused in Departures. Son 2 threw up. Magnificently.  Great quantities of milk and bits which even I could smell.  I blotted him madly with muslins from the nappy bag, failing to notice that he was sitting in puddles of it in the buggy.  Son 1 had Euros from Golfmad Uncle in his pocket, and whined for the Sweetie Stall.     The Man returned, I broke open a case and found clean clothes. We checked in, sent the stinky buggy into the hold and sprayed ourselves in Wall-E scent from the toy bit of Duty Free.

The flight was a Total Nightmare.  Son 2 is a psychotic flyer and I Refuse To Go On A Plane With Him Again Ever.  It was worse than this: http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2009/05/17/the-land-of-the-sand/  But it was only two and half hours in a 12 hour trip, there was a sachet of Calpol they didn’t spot in the nappy bag and we dosed him with that. But next time it’s Medised.  On the way we gave Son 1 his first trip to McDonald’s. A Happy Meal. Doesn’t like burgers, doesn’t really do stringy chips, but liked the tomato sauce and the toy.  Son 2 kept up the jeopardy with “I’s sick! I’s sick!” but we put Chitty Chitty Bang Bang on the portable DVD and he seemed to forget. Back home we unpacked. And I have a Triumph. We bought too much wine out there and couldn’t drink it all. So I brought it back.  I am a Member Of Mumsnet.  We can Solve Problems.  In the suitcase, in the hold, and it didn’t break.  Wrapped in clingfilm, a carrier bag each, two of The Man’s tee-shirts which I hate so wouldn’t care if we had to throw them out… and the particular stroke of genius of which I am very proud: Son 2’s swimnappies.  One at each end of the bottles. And one turned inside out on either side in case the worse happened.  6 Euros Over There will be Very Nice Over Here.  And Kim, who is keen on the brand, and has been kind enough to comment, at last I can give you your heading…

1.  Gasping

2.  Blowing

3.  Snorting

4.  Bubbles

“Darling,” I said, putting my arms around The Man’s neck before he had his teeth in. “Men are Protectors.  Women are Nurturers.  Your job is to be Be Strong.  Mine is to Cherish.”  “What are you after?” he asked. “There’s a dead rat by the back door and I ain’t touching it,”  I said.  The large, clear-eyed, glossy-coated rat we saw sitting on its haunches in the back yard, gazing straight at us, coincided with the head lice outbreak. http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2009/10/05/the-ugly-bug-ball/ I didn’t put it in The Blog; I forgot.  So often happens with life’s little nasties when you have a Positive Attitude.  And then I looked up rats on Mumsnet. The post that haunted me said that the problem isn’t the one you see, it’s the huge family out of sight. So we called the Rat Man and he came, last Saturday, in an unmarked van.  He put one box down in the yard, behind a paving slab “where the boys can’t get it,” said The Man.  Yes darling I’m really going to let them play in the yard when there’s a rat the size of Son 2 aged 2y 1m living there. Another box went in the alleyway next to the house.  I went downstairs this morning. I put the kettle on. I put the first load of washing on.  I went to take the rubbish out, glanced through the window and there it was.  Smaller than before, the sheen on its fur gone.  Looking like it had died crawling out of the drainpipe across the doorway.   Which of course it probably had.  27 years of being asked why I’m vegetarian. Because I cannot cannot cannot stand critturs dying.

The Man is off on another Business Trip tomorrow, so we took Son 1 aged 5y and Son 2 out for breakfast.  By the time we got to the Cafe, Son 1 was so hungry he couldn’t behave.  The Man thought it was a disaster, but I think they’re improving.  Son 1’s eyes lit up when he saw the straw in his drink. He “always gets the bubbly glass,” and a few splashes of pineapple juice were spattered around. The Man growled.   Son 2 watched intently, took his straw in his little mouth and blew out his entire glassfull. The Man barked.

There’s another Festival in The Town so off we went. We met Friends with a 3 year old, and took the boys into the Marquee to paint shells.  Son 1 was Perfect Child, mixing a base colour, dabbing, adding glitter, doing twiddly bits at the edges. Son 2. It didn’t start well. He dabbed a great blob of red paint on the end of a paintbrush. And then I decided to take his reins off. The paint got on his reins. And on his hair, up his nose, on me and all over the nappy bag. I tried babywiping the paint out of his fringe and it just got rubbed in and looked like I’d dyed it. Then the red paintbrush went in the green paint tub. Then the glitter, which they were supposed to take little pinches of and sprinkle, was upturned onto his shell. Then he globbed blue paint all over Son 1’s shell and the tanks came over. I had to buy £6 worth of raffle tickets to make it up to the woman.

We did ice cream, we did coffee. We bought sausage rolls for lunch and Son 2 fell asleep. The Festival was packed. We bought a bottle of sparking white wine with six plastic glasses - four for us and two for whoever  turns up as soon as you’ve bought a bottle -  and sat down in the sunshine on the pavement by the side of The Museum.   A wedding party trooped past on the way to a boat trip from The Quay.   The boys crayoned, posted gravel in breeze block holes, and played with Go Gos and Son 2’s farm.  A friend walked by with his dog, and helped himself to a glass from the back of the Pram. The local policeman passed. “Vagrants!” he called. “Just drinking outside before it’s banned!” I called back.  The sun and the shadows moved round… the wedding party returned. We pushed the boys back home and gave them ready meals for tea.

1.  The Impersonator

2.  The Copycat

3.  The Mimic

The Man is Off On A Business Trip, so was trying to be helpful this morning.  He got up with Son 2 aged 19m, whose unappreciative, grief-stricken ”Ma Maaaaaaaaaaaaa” rent my heart as he was carried downstairs.    Son 1 aged 4y 6m, in the Big Bed with me, remained comatose while I put in my lenses, fussed about and tucked him in theatrically.  The Man made them pancakes and then Got On.  We went upstairs for books.  Son 1 watched “Babe” with Son 2.  Huge comedy potential, as Son 2 communicates mainly in animal noises, his favourites being dogs, sheep and pigs.  Snorting noises for pigs, baa-ing for sheep and his strange, owl-like woo woo for dogs.  Next time we watch it I’ll make it into a drinking game.  One swig for a snort, two for a baa, and three for a woof.  And a short for every Son 1question: “What’s pork?”  “Why did they take the Mummy dog’s puppies?” “Why does the farmer want to shoot Babe?”

Glorious weather yesterday, grim today.  Grey, wet and dark.  We went shopping.  We needed: 1) a present for  Son 1, who didn’t get an Easter egg from us.  (NB. Four barrowloads from friends-and-relations) 2) some Omega 3 tonic. 3) a wetsuit for Son 1, who strips off and runs into the sea, even in February.  Blue lips. Not a good look on a 4 year old. 4) fruit.  Son 2 fell asleep, so we went straight to the Toy Shop.  Well Son 1 hunted high and low.  And clearly, there was nothing he wanted.  A £70 Playmobil Knights Castle, which I already know, compulsive Mumsnet Lurker that I am, that I can get half price from the right website.  And which I don’t want to buy him,  as Son 2 is scarred for life from the split lip he got falling over on the battlement of the castle Son 1 already has.    We went to the Discount Shop.  Son 1 wanted a Biotronics toy.  Lego. 7 - 11 on the packet.  “You’re not old enough,” I said.  At that instant, a Little Blond Moppet Boy, clearly much younger than Son 1, arrived and stared at the stand, excitedly.  “Haven’t we got all these?” said Hearty Father, loudly.  LBMB drilled through and produced one he liked. “What shall we call him?” said Hearty Father.   Son 1 stood, staring.  “Excuse me,” I said. “Are these ok for four year olds?  He really wants one, but I’m so conventional I have to abide by the age range on the packet.”  “Oh we love them,” said Hearty Father. ”We’ve got four already.  They’ve all got names.”  “Brian?” I suggested. “Well, we have one called Stephen, don’t we X?”  X is an extremely distinctive name, and as I have said before in this blog, we are Really Rural.  Son 1 used to get bitten to death by an X at the Old Nursery he left seven months ago.  A Blond Moppet Boy, Littler than this one.  We got him his toy. “Is that X from the Old Nursery?” I whispered. “No,” said Son 1, cuddling his box. “X had different hair.”  We went in the queue behind Hearty Father, who had a shopping basket overflowing and a pillow under each arm. “Is that all you’ve got? Would you like to go first?”   How do such lovely fathers have such murderous children?

Didn’t get the wetsuit.  In the shop. “I need a poo!”  At home, at bedtime, Son 1 wanted “Daddy’s Lullaby.”  A library book I took out for Son 2, because it’s about a baby who can’t sleep.  Son 2 loves it, and will have it 3+ times a session.  I read it to Son 1 in the style of Son 2.  “And when he sees the empty cot, he goes ‘Bah!’ because he means ‘I’ve got one of those.’  Then Daddy takes the Baby into see the Big Brother.  ‘And I say, who’s your big brother?’  “‘Bah!’ and he points at the door.”  Son 1 thought this was hilarious. ”Read it again! Say: ‘Bah!’ “Sometimes,” I said, “Son 2 says something Very Like ‘Son 1′ when I say ‘Who’s your big brother?’ And I get very excited and say ‘Tell me again, tell me again,’ and he just sucks his cheeks in and looks around and pretends he can’t talk.”  Son 1 cried real tears.  “Read it again and I’ll pretend I’m Son 2 and I can’t talk!”  He couldn’t do it.  At the point where Son 2 is usually cat-like staring into the middle distance pretending he can’t hear me, Son 1 was laughing till he hurt.

1.  Life Of Mammals

2.  A New Best Friend

3.  Coming Out Of The Shell

Up a little later.  Linked to going to bed a little later.  At about 2am, after Turkey Casserole for 9.  All right then, for eight, because we had a no-show.  All right then, for six, because there were two vegetarians.    We’ve served up Turkey Casserole about now for years, and the fact we can still do it is a Good Thing.  BC we weren’t bad at having People Round.  And now we’re… still doing Turkey Casserole, hooray, what a positive blog this is.  So the pace was a little slower first thing.  Even Son 2 aged 15m slept in till 8am.  A telly morning.  Of course, we only watch Nature Documentaries,  so Son 1aged 4y 3m watched whales on Life of Mammals, spellbound.  Son 2 pointed at the screen and opened and closed his mouth like a fish.  He climbed into Son 1’s Tower of Doom, sat in it and then couldn’t get out.

Son 2 has an Elegant Aunt, who gave him a tasteful pullalong wooden snail for Christmas.  He mastered it today.   The telly watching allowed him to make many many laps of the lounge.  Son 1 unleashed hell, often,  by taking it off him.  The snail has been in the kitchen, in the lounge, and was finally taken upstairs at bathtime.  It was still being towed it back and forth while Son 1 was in the shower.  I had to thwart a conspiracy to put the snail in the bath.  Son 2 likes Monkey Puzzle and The Gruffalo.  Snail and The Whale day, I thought.  Touch and go.  Not that interested.  Liked the penguins, the bear, the stranded whale and the fire engine.  Then realised you’re allowed to drive your snail back and forth over the pages every time the word “snail” is mentioned.  Now you’re talking.

I went out for a run.  I’ve made lots of excuses to myself over the past week, too tired, too busy, Granny and Granddad here, too late.  The main reason has been the wind.  Too Cold.  So I wrapped up in big thick hat, gloves and gilet and overboiled.  To the Bridge Over The River and back.  The pace at the end of the day was also slow.  I thought about The Blog, and I thought about Mumsnet.  I parked my Blog here without asking, I lurk on the threads, I learn loads and offline I am often talking about the things I see here.  It makes a huge difference to me.  It is A Good Thing.

1.  Off

2.  In

3.  Out

Hooray hooray as of 2248 I am Out of the Office till August 26.  I really like The Office normally but I am  getting pretty tired.  In my glad, Pollyanna way, I know I have life a lot easier than many people - I find having a lurk round the Talk pages on Mumsnet is a good way of making myself count my blessings.  But I’m still tired.  This feels a bit like doing the MBA - the 6am to 11pm slog day after day, with every single moment committed three times over.  Only there were fewer Cheerios in those days.   So .  I will list my Three Good Things quickly and get some sleep. 

Son 1 aged 3 y 10m was ok this morning.  Last night he was burning up, dragged himself up to bed as soon as I got home and had fallen asleep by the time I’d finished feeding Son 2 aged 11m.  Record time last night.  I was putting Son 2 down to sleep at 1850… and then he threw up down my clothes.  I lay him in his cot while I peeled them off and he was violently sick.  Gallons of orange bolognese sauce. Sigh.  So the fact that they both got into nursery is a Good Thing.  They were both shattered tonight.  I am not the only one getting burned out by the pace.  There is a apparently an article kicking around about the damage full-time working mothers are doing to their families.  Fortunately for us, I don’t have time to read it. 

It’s  the end of Festival Week so at 10pm there were fireworks for me to watch from the windowseat across the water.  Like I said, l don’t have it so bad.  I’ve been watching these fireworks for years.  When we lived in The Village, we would drive into The Town for the evening just to watch them.  We’d meet local friends… or, after we moved, people would pick this week to come and stay, with the fireworks always a feature.  No-one comes to stay now.  We’ve got no room, and our lifestyle is  incompatible with anyone without children under 5.  And there never used to be smudgy, smeary, smeggy little handprints on the bay window either.  Not that we ever used to watch the fireworks through the window.  We were always Out.