1.  Second Sons

2.  Settling Sons

3.  Getting Sons

The Man took Son 1 aged 5 to school, which left Son 2 aged 2 and I having a serene start.  He wanted to watch telly, so I parked him in front of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. He sat on my lap. “Mummy wot wi me.” I watched Truly Scrumptious billow chiffon around the annoying children on the beach.  A Wednesday Mum texted. Swimming.  We have been barred from the swimming pool for four years - since the birth of the first Second Son. You cannot go swimming with two under fives in The Town Pool. All our First Sons are now in school… so we can now take our little collection of Son 2s.  Great news. The bad news is I still haven’t replaced my sagging swimsuit.  (I tried Bravissimo, as recommended by Katherine, found a costume I liked but was then asked to register. And I couldn’t be bovved.)  I went to get ready. When I came down Granny had done all the washing up and tidying.   It were brill.

It rained and rained.  We collected one Wednesday Mum and went off to the Town Pool. The other arrived later.  In a knockout swimming costume.   I clutched Son 2 lovingly to my bosom whenever I left the water. He can swim in his armbands now.  I watched him find his balance in the water and, for the first time,  experiment with his arms and legs to see the effect. He swam a good width.  He jumped onto Mummy. He played with the Nearly Four Year Old’s toys.  He splashed in the shallow end. He ordered me into the bubble bath.  He is a joy, and I’m thinking of going each week. We were there 90 minutes, until he lost his trademark ramrod carriage and flopped against me.  We had another soaking getting into the car. We dropped off the Wednesday Mum and NFYO near a cafe entrance. “Ow,” said Son 2, in his most disappointed voice. ”We are going to the cafe, darling, we just have to park.” All three boys were heavenly, sitting still and quietly eating their snacks, proving my theory that over-exercising creates Perfect Children.   These are boys who can sear paint off with their slipstream.

After another drenching, we dropped off Wednesday Mum and NFYO, and picked up Granny.  Son 2 was unconscious.  Down to the Town Square to meet The Man. We lifted Son 2 into The Big Pram and he barely moved. We ordered lunch. Someone I know slightly was in the Telegraph so I went out to get it.  Son 2 woke, unhappy.  He didn’t eat, but he did settle in the end. After lunch we thought about shopping, but the rain still hammered down. The Parking Fairy had two spots outside the house, so in we went.  Son 2, who’d spent all day saying “Get Son 1 from school”  decided he wanted to stay at home and watch Chitty Chitty with Granny. I got wringing wet walking from the car to the school to get Son 1. And back again.

1.  ”A” Roads

2.  Ring Roads

3.  Country Roads

 I didn’t see the boys today. Left for the Great Big City at 6am, just got back.  Lordy lordy.  So. Being positive. I got out of the house without waking either Son 1 aged 4y 10m or Son 2 aged 22m.  The Great Big City is a place I spent a lot of time BC. But The Office’s er… office…  has moved since those days, and I had no idea where I was going.  Enter The Man’s Sat Nav.  I put up with the cloying female voice telling me directing me along roads I know upside down and back to front. I stopped for coffee after three hours on the road. I switched it back on for directions into The Great Big City.  She had stopped talking. 

I’d put the postcode of the new Office in… and round and round I went.  Baffled, bored and a bit intimidated - don’t box junctions mean the same in Big Cities as they do in The Country? - I stopped and asked a post lady.  ”Just double back on yourself and you can’t miss it,” she said.  Oh yes I could. The Sat Nav kept re-calculating every time I took a turn it didn’t like.  And then, half an hour later, I found it, and trailed in, triumphant.

Six hours later, I set off for the drive back.  Jaysus we really do live miles from the rest of you.  It was a long haul, but at least it didn’t rain - big skies though, with big grey Turner-like clouds billowing up and up into the heavens.  I listened to the radio, and admired the glowing green of the countryside.  A sure sign it’s been p***ing it down for days.  the Parking Fairy gave me a space outside the house. The Man poured me a large glass of Sauvignon Blanc. Wonder Nanny’s notebook says Son 2 wasn’t feeling well today.  Missing his Mummy, I bet.

1.  Clearing Off

2.  Cleaning Out

3.  Cheering Up

The First Day Of The Holidays,  Man took the boys to the Yacht Club last night. Give them a run around on the lawn, exhaust them and then we would get a lie in this morning, hooray.  Lie in my a***.  Son 1 aged 4y 9m was up and in the middle of the double bed before 6am. Eyebrowing madly http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2009/06/10/a-quiet-time-with-my-eyebrow/. I was grumpy. I’d worked late, was whacked out and wanted to sleep. He wanted to get up. An exhausting day loomed ahead, with fatigue bringing out the worst in us both… me fractious, him fizzing.  The Man took him downstairs to put the telly on.

The Parking Fairy gave me a space outside the house last night. So The Man decided to clean out my car.  My car is a source of deep shame.  It is so cruddy… sand, feathers, sticks, mud, smoothies on the upholstery, sundry berries, sweet wrappings, pieces of fruit peel, broken toys from party bags, more sand, more mud, dust, grime, smear, stains and crumbs. And most of the outside is covered in seagull poo, kiln-fired solid by the scorching heatwave.  Son 1 was keen to help, and so soon The Man had Henry the vacuum cleaner, and Son 1 had the upholstery wipes. And very industrious they both were. Then Son 2 aged 21m spotted them. “And me!  And me!”  I put him in the driver’s seat, knowing he couldn’t escape from there with me in the front and Son 1 in the back. The Man cleaned the boot.  I used glass wipes on the windows. Son 2 effortlessly commando-crawled into the back. He got the upholstery wipes and, concentrating very hard, cleaned the windows with them.  He liked the soapy smears.  Son 1 rubbed at smoothie stains.  I  did the windscreen. The wipes came up black as if I smoked.  Son 2 rubbed and rubbed. And then pulled all the wipes out of the packet. Son 1 said he wanted a drink and went back into the house. “Food!” said Son 2. Inside, I realised it was 1230. They have lunch at 12. Son 1 had pulled a chair up to the fridge and had removed a haul of two Petit Filous and two Frubes.

Neither of them would eat their lunch. I was fractious. “You eat at Nursery, and you eat for Wonder Nanny, so why don’t you eat for me?” I stomped. “You give us too much,” said Son 1.  He was right. But I didn’t let on, and went off in a sulk. The Man and I decided to go for a drive to get them to sleep and have some peace. It sort of worked.  We drove to the Beach Cafe and bought takeaway coffees, and then drove up to the Headland to drink them. Son 2’s eyes snapped open, and he stared at the boy in the next car who was eating an ice cream.  The man in the driving seat was leaning back, eyes closed, mouth open.  The woman next to him was reading. Comrades-in-parenting. And also knackered.

1.  The Flight

2.  The Pirate Ship

3.  Do You Believe In Fairies? 

The Man is not coming back today.  “The aeroplanes are full,” as I told Son 1 aged 4yr 3m this morning.  Howl.  “I want his body!” Wail. ”I want his T-shirt!” Curl up on the floor.  At that moment, The Man rang.  Son 1 gave him both barrels, fired straight at the guilto-plexus. Until Son 2 aged 16m snatched the phone from him, and waddled back and forth, chattering gibberish while Son 1 ululated in the corner.  Son 1’s day bumped along the bottom.  His Best Friend couldn’t come round because his Mother is ill.  Howl. Wail.  Curl.  His longed-for Scooby Do and the Pirates DVD didn’t come, despite a Royal Mail van parking outside and my calling “Son 1! Your parcel’s here!”  The driver smoked a fag, picked up a postman in the rain and pulled away.  Howl. Wail. Curl.

On The Bright Side.  A little 3 year old Friend and his Mother came round, and the boys played.   The Captain Hook Ship and The Lost Boys’ Raft stayed out - they can’t survive the wildebeest stampede that is 5 small boys at play… but three is manageable, so I didn’t hide them.    After they left Son 2 had a nap and a colleague from The Office came round, bringing biscuits and a chocolate cake for Son 1.  The colleague wanted to see the new dress and shoes I bought in The Sales.  I left her with Son 1, dashed to the bedroom, dressed up and tottered down in my finery.  The colleague coo-ed.  Son 1 sprang from his chair and gave me a huge hug.  “Do I look like a Princess?” I asked.  He just laughed.  But he made me feel like one.

Nanna came.  Son 2 played with the electric James and Percy engines.  Son 1 lay on the window seat  spearing a Tinkerbell finger puppet with 2 Woolies Ghost Pirates.  Nanna parked close to the house. I’ve been thanking the Parking Fairy when I get a space near.   “Is the Parking Fairy real?” asked Son 1.  “No,” I said. “It’s just Mummy’s bit of fun.”  Although, oddly, since I’ve been thanking the Parking Fairy, I’ve been able to park a lot closer to the house.  I was telling Nanna this when Son 1said “I don’t believe in fairies.”  “Oh no!” I said.  “Quick, clap.  Otherwise a fairy will…”  Son 1 made a spiral motion with his finger and pointed to the floor.  We clapped.  Son 2 joined in. Son 1 lay on his back giggling.  “I don’t believe in fairies”  Mad clapping, mad laughing.  “I don’t believe in fairies.” Mad clapping. Mad laughing.  Repeated many times.  Until: “Son 1 will you pack it in. What am I going to do if the fairy who - ” spiral motion, point to the floor ” - is the Parking Fairy?”