1.  Try Your Best

2.  Could It Be Worse

3.  Tears Come Streaming

Another one of those days when I didn’t seem to see Son 1 aged 4y 10m or Son 2 aged 22m.  I had to get out pretty quick this morning; and I was late back.  The Man kept them up, but they were pretty wrecked by the time I arrived.  I did some books with Son 2. I’m pleased with his vocab and understanding, although he’s better at vowels than consonents, and has some words he makes up completely. I can understand Bfish for “I have finished my meal” - bfish is Son 2 for fish, and finished, as we all know, sounds just like fish. But A-wa for thank you?  Can’t do that one.  He does a very good Pin Gin for Penguin though. And this morning, when Son 1 said “Bor-ring,” Horrid Henry-style, Son 2 did a perfect “Bor-ring” in echo.

Today was also a day when within two hours, I spoke to three different people doing Real Life far more intensely than me. First was the Old Friend from years back, separated at Christmas, made redundant early this year, and now scratching around for jobs paying barely half what she earned before. Then was another Old Friend from years back, someone made redundant 10 years ago, who has since then worked hard, steadily and well, and is now, through being a very pleasant, fab person, enjoying spectacular success.  

And then a Father I know, talking about his gravely ill child.    I swallowed, I surreptitiously touched water away from the corner of my eye when he wasn’t looking, I concentrated on my breathing.  When he got to the part about a bleak decision he and his wife have had to take I burst into tears. Just what you need when you’re telling someone how appalling your world is.   I finished off at The Office, I came home.  Son 1 and Son 2 cuddled, kissed, and Son 1 said “I love you Son 2.”  Son 2 cried when Son 1 said night night and blew him his kisses.    I cannot imagine life without them.

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.  The Triumph

2.  The Trip

3.  The Trident

I’d left a stale packet of gingerbread men on the worktop in the kitchen overnight.  Downstairs at 6am with Son 2 aged 13m, I gave him milk and banana.  “Boo,” said Son 1 aged 4y 1m.  I left them both in the kitchen while I went to the loo.  Son 1 appeared, laughing and eating a gingerbread man.  “Son 2’s got one too,” he giggled.  I shouldn’t have left them out, I thought.  “You shouldn’t have left them out,” he said.

We went to visit an Old Friend this morning, someone I’ve known 17 years, whose elder son is a week older than Son 1.   Another two boy family.  She has a lovely, immaculate house, a lovely immaculate playroom with individual boxes for each group of toys, a lovely immaculate garden, and a lovely immaculate kitchen in which she was effortlessly making lunch for seven.  And she’s seven months pregnant.  Hey ho.   The boys had a riot, Son 2 played with fridge magnets, saucepan lids and the home-made Playdoh.  Son 1 and Elder Son have known each other since they were weeks old, and used to be at nursery together.  Son 1 misses him.  “Come again soon,” he said, when we left.

Then a fourth birthday party in the afternoon.  Madly over-scheduled children.  A Halloween theme, held at a cricket club.  Son 1 wore a mask, and carried a trident, monster feet and a free pumpkin from a CBeebies comic.  Son 2 wore a little bat outfit I found marked down in Woolies.  A bright, sunny afternoon so all the children ran around outside.  Son 2 wanted to play with the dog.  And then crunched up the leaves and explored the acorns on a path.  He liked the wheels on the barbecue.  He liked the crispy monster balls.  He liked hanging onto my fingers and walking.  Son 1 played and played.  When we got back at 1830 The Man was home.