1.  False Alarm

2.  False Hope

3.  False Words

The Man needed to get up at 6am to leave on a Business Trip.  Son 1 aged 5y 2m was in the Big Bed with us. I heard The Man get up.  I got up too, thinking 0530 would give me chance to get everything ready in good time.  I padded downstairs to put the kettle on. And looked at the clock. 0245. I went back up. The Man had just headed down for the Double Bed because Son 1 was kicking him in the back and he wanted to sleep.  At 0530 proper we got up again.  The Man went off. I made lunches, cleaned, cleared up, got the boys’ breakfast out, made coffee, ate breakfast.   Not a sound from above. I put the washing machine on and had a shower.  Nothing.  I went into our bathroom, dried my hair and used my electric toothbrush. I put Milkshake telly on. Son 1 remained, still, in the Big Bed. Finally I took him up a tray with a bowl of Frosties, some strawberries and a cup of milk on it. He very slowly stirred. “Why don’t you ever do this on a Saturday or a Sunday?”  I asked. He laughed at me.

The atmosphere at The Office was grim as we heard from the Colleague whose daughter was taken so desperately ill. It’s now even worse than on Saturday.  We can think and speak of little else.  I managed to get out to get some presents for Wonder Nanny.  Photo frames, candles and chocolates.  I picked Son 1 up late, so we were way past Wonder Nanny’s leaving time when we got back. Son 2 aged 2y 3m waved from the window as I parked the car.  I had a hunt for a photo of the boys to put in one of her new picture frames. Couldn’t find the school photo pack. But I did manage to find the birthday cards. 

After Wonder Nanny had left, Son 1 got out his Hama beads.  Son 2 tried to join in, but again got frustrated and hurled beads on the floor. I went upstairs with my paper - a sure way of getting them both to come buzzing near me.  The Man is the same. “You do too much,” he says, in a critical tone. “You can’t go on like this. You have to rest.” Then if he ever catches me sitting down and reading a paper he comes up with a dozen things I ought to be doing instead.  The boys were a delight. I read to them, each had a shower and a bath, each had their teeth done and then I put them to bed. Son 2 took ages to settle. “I want my DayD,” he cried. When I at last got downstairs I found someone had picked up all the Hama beads Son 2 spilled on the floor and put them back in their tub.  Son 1, being an angel. He’s going to be so cross when he realises I’ve been doing this rather than ironing his picture.

1.  Days

2.  Blessings

3.  Calories

Mad. Busy. Busy. Mad.  Son 1 aged 5y 2m is sick with longing for Christmas. I am sick with desperation.  Between now and Christmas, there is Wonder Nanny’s birthday, Elegant Aunt’s Big Birthday, Godfather 2’s birthday, and a Wednesday Friend’s 4th birthday. And I need a card and present for Golfmad Uncle.  Whose end-of-November birthday we missed. We’re seeing them next weekend.  So we also need Christmas presents for Golfmad Uncle, Elegant Aunt, Granny and Granddad by Friday.   And a birthday tea for Wonder Nanny on Tuesday. And then Christmas presents for Nanna, Elder Sister, Elder Brother, Sister In Law, Teenaged Niece and Teenage Nephew, Younger Sister and Godfather 2 by the time Nanna leaves for her Christmas Visiting. But. Being positive. Perhaps The Man has already sorted it all out. I have bought presents for the boys. And I have bought cards for Wonder Nanny. No idea where they are though.

I had Son 1in with me when I was woken by a crying Son 2 aged 2y 3m. The Man liberated him from his cot, and he came trailing upstairs. “Mummy back from party.” We started slowly, the boys watching telly, The Man out in the garden because it wasn’t raining, and me doing everything else.  A phone call. A colleague’s teenager has been taken suddenly and dreadfully ill and is now facing paralysis. Yesterday morning their life was normal. And now it’s shattered.  Two weeks before Christmas. In my thoughts all day, and I’ve only got as far as resolving again to Stop Shouting At My Children. 

We went to the library, where Son 1 quickly piled up about 15 hard back books on The Big Pram. And then he found the Christmas Books. Son 2 pulled out paperbacks, DVDs, cushions, leaflets - anything at tot level. Then he noticed the book shelves were shaped like ladders and up he went. I took them home for lunch, Son 2 howling because he wanted a Paper Bag Pie from the Baker’s.  Then Best Friend came round. Son 1 wanted to whoop and hop and run round in excitement. Best Friend wanted to get his toys out and start playing. Son 2 wanted to trash everything the elder boys did. I tried to get him to sleep; he shrieked loudly enough to bubble the paintwork. He was exhausted, but wouldn’t sleep. At 4pm when I had bread and butter to make up for skipping lunch, he had… er… four slices.   Might have been hungry too. Best Friend was a beautifully-behaved joy. He and Son 1 played together for an hour, then I took Son 2 in, thinking I’d let him sit on my lap to watch telly so he could get some quite time. He chose a Baby Einstein DVD about animals, way too young even for him. He was glued to it. As were Son 1 and Best Friend.  Children Are Strange.