1.  Happy Birthday To You

2.  Gifts

3.  Birthday Tea

A mad day yesterday, which involved an evening meeting for The Office in The City and driving back over midnight, when I scarily became the Mother Of A Five Year Old. I got back after 1am, and went into the Double Bed so I didn’t wake The Man. I woke before 6am and went upstairs.  Son 1 was in the Big Bed with The Man. 5.  How?  When?  Why don’t they tell you when you’re scraping marmite-like poo off a tiny bottom that in an eyeblink baby will be lying on the bed singing “I’m five! I’ve five!  I was four, but now I’m FIVE!” 

Son 1 and Son 2 aged 2 opened the presents from Saturday, Son 1 fizzing with excitement, Son 2 confused but happy enough.  Activity books and cars and Lightning McQueen and Ben 10 and pirate toys. White milk chocolate buttons were tucked into one of Son 2’s presents.  He bit his way in at once.  Cards and wrapped presents drifted apart.  I now have to do a pile of thank you notes… and quite a few will get “Thank you for the lovely… present.” We got him a skateboard, a couple of art kits and a couple of books.  Plus half the fish tank of course.  We tipped out of the house and piled into the car for the trip to school. When we got there Smiling Teacher sang Happy Birthday as we walked in. 

The late night meant I could pick him up when school finished.  He slept on the way home, and then perked up for his birthday tea. One set of Wednesday Brothers were already there, together with 6 year old friend, who we haven’t seen for a while.  The other set arrived. Son 1 ripped paper of presents, ran about with the boys, changed out of his school uniform.  The Man had done another fab job in making all the food.  The children fought and charged and trod toys in and out of the house.  We spread the pirate plastic table cloth outside in the yard and fed them. We did cakes.  And candles.   Next Door looked over the fence with presents for both boys. We sent birthday cake back.  They got tired, the sugar kicked in, grizzles and gripes began. We waved goodbye to our guests. And we didn’t get Son 1 to bed till nearly 9pm.

1.  Swimming By Dozens

2.  A Nine Turtle Stack

3.  The King Of The Pond

A very tired Son 1 aged 4y 11m was in bed with me when I woke. No idea when he arrived.  We had a vague plan to start getting the fish tank ready for fish. But a friend texted… partner working and in the market for a trip. We decided crabbing on The Boat. The Man went down to the shops to get picnic stuff. Son 1 watched telly. Son 2 aged 23m came in the shower with me. He’s grrrr-reat.

We chugged for about 45 minutes, then The Man anchored and we got out the crab lines. Our Friend had brought with a vast pile of saved washing tablet net bags. “I knew they’d come in handy one day,” she said. They are just the best thing for crabbing. You fill them with bacon, add a stone, chuck it overboard and wait.   We caught 61 crabs. Son 1 was fab, he’s so confident now, he was hauling them in, catching them in his net and plopping them in the buckets without any adult help.  Son 2 was weeping with frustration because Son 1 wouldn’t let him hold a net with crabs in.  Poor little titch.  Living with us has taught him that he’ll always be left out and treated like a baby, and he’s responded by barging into everything without caring if he’s physically big enough to Have A Go.  In the end he got so tired we had to put the engine on to get him to sleep. Which meant emptying out the crabs.  Hmmm. We had our 60+ crabs in four  beach buckets. The ones at the bottom of the pile did not look happy.  I think we re-created Yertle The Turtle.  In my role as official animal welfare inspector I think next time we need either bigger buckets or fewer crabs.

Both boys fell asleep in the cabin on the way back, and Little Friend eventually passed out in his mother’s arms.   Back on the mooring, The Man switched the engine off.  Son 2 woke instantly and sprang into action.  The other mother couldn’t believe it. Happens every time, we told her. Back home, the boys were tired, we were tired, but Son 1 was determined to Wash Gravel to prepare the Fish Tank.  “I’ll make the tea,” said The Man. “You wash the gravel with them.”  “No, no, it’s ok,” I said. “I’ll make the tea, you wash the gravel.”  Son 2 insisted on being involved. I listened to the sounds of a bucket of gravel getting washed in the back sink.  “Son 2!” “No, Son 2!” “No!” The Man was more patient that I’d've been.  They both ate their stir fry, with Son 1 proclaiming:”This is the best chicken I ever tasted.”  Farm shop chicken, ridiculously expensive.  He can spot the bad stuff at 20 paces too.

1.  Secret Screams

2.  Secret Pictures

3.  Secret Peace

Son 1 aged 4y 9m has escaped Night Terrors. Other Mums have sat there with their screaming, staring children, sleeping spookily bolt upright in bed as they yelled and yelled.  Not Son 1. Until we put Son 2 aged 21m in with him.  And lo.  Last night.  Shouts and screams, loud enough to wake The Terrace.  While sound asleep.  Son 2 - who can be woken by an eyeblink  - slept through it. 

Wonder Nanny has an eye problem, so we were on our own today.  The children were worn out, so we aimed at a Boat Trip, the idea being, as usual, that the chug of the Little Fishing Boat engine would White Noise the lads off to sleep. And The Man and I would get Peace And Quiet.  Son 1 didn’t want to go on The Boat.  Son 1 had seen Mr Maker doing secret pictures.  White wax crayons, biscuit cutters and ink.  He was busting.  We left Son 2 playing with water (”Wa Wa. Wa Wa.”) in the garden while we quickly made the secret pictures. I crayoned. Son 1 inked.  He loved the results.

Son 2 saw some choc rolls going into the picnic bag.  “Choc choc. Choc choc.” He pushed a little green chair across the kitchen, stood up and pulled the picnic bag off. It fell on his head, and knocked him off the chair. He landed on his bag on the floor with the picnic bag on top of him.  Both boys dived for lunch as soon as we got out on The Boat.  I’d forgotten the suntan lotion, which ruled out the beach as an option.  We chugged along the river instead. Son 2 eventually went to sleep. Son 1 didn’t. He painted in the cabin. The Man and I drank coffee. ”Is there any hot chocolate for children?” asked Son 1. Good point. We’ll get some.  The river is wide and peaceful, greenly wooded on each side below great expanses of sky.  Like swimming in the sea, it helps.

1. Living is easy

2. Fish are jumping

3. Mummy and Daddy standing by

Son 2 aged 11m and I were downstairs when we heard little boy chatter and running feet upstairs.  Son 1 aged 3y 11m and his Friend. Up at 7am, and a three-hour game of pirates, involving every pirate we have, the Lost Boys, the Indians, both pirate costumes, three out of our four floors and the garden, the Scooby Do toys and all our Thomas the Tank engines (nos 1 to 8.)   Mother arrived at 10am with Little Bro and the dog.   Son 1 sobbed when Friend went.  Curled up on the doormat like a little woodlouse and howled his name.

Today was the only nice day in the weather forecast ever.  We had to take The Boat out.  I made a mighty picnic, 5 and a half rounds of sandwiches, three pots of fromage frais, two bags of rice cakes, leftover cocktail sausages, 2 apples, 2 boxes of raisins, one box  of sultanas and apricots, milk, water, smoothies.  Both Sons were, as usual, cranky and tricky with fatigue.  And so were The Man and I.  ”They’re so tired they’ll both be asleep before we’re out of the harbour,” I said. We chugged off past the £3m house.  It took me half an hour to get Son 2 off to sleep, and another half hour to get Son 1 off.  We were far up river, in a beauty spot.  The fish were, indeed, jumping. “You can’t drop the anchor.  It’ll wake Son 2 up,” I said. ” I can anchor off the back,” said The Man.  He did so.  I made coffee.  We admired the scenery, and chinked coffee mugs.  The boat swung round. Sunshine streamed into the cabin onto Son 2’s face.  He woke up.

Like Swee’ Pea, Son 2 crawled round the deck.  I didn’t have any suntan lotion.  Four weeks of rain and I still can’t stand to see sunlight on his little fair face.  “The depth is flashing 1m,” I said to The Man.  He peered overboard.  “Yes we’ve bottomed.  I can get it off if you want.”  “How?”  “I don’t know.” “Go on then.”  “I’ll put it in reverse and use the wake from these boats.” A great puff of smelly smoke and a grinding engine noise. The Man peered into the water again. ”No, we’re stuck.  Have to wait for the tide to come in.” So we cleaned the boat.  Son 1 woke up with the excitement, and he and The Man scrubbed and sluiced the dried seagull dung off the deck.    I dustbustered the cabin.  Son 2 brushed the carpet furiously with the broken-off corner of an M and S instant latte packet.   Eventually we floated off.  I’d stuffed that coolbag with food, and yet on the way back still suffered Son 1’s endless chorus of “What else is there?”    I preferred “Are we there yet?”