1.  Whiteout

2.  Green slime

3.  Red eyes

A murmer from Son 2 aged 15m this morning, and The Man was gone.  I passed out again.  And was woken when a wall of light exploded in my brain.  It burned my eyes and seared my skull like it was bleaching my roots from the inside.  TheMan, I thought fuggily. Itmustbelateandhewantsmeup.  A flutter beside me.  “Mummy here’s a present for you.  I found it. ” Son 1 aged 4y 3m.  I’d left a tub of eyecream under the tree yesterday, because I knew what it was, and because I was busy.  “I’m sorry I opened it.” “That’sallright.Turnthelightoff.”  “I can’t reach the light.”  “You can reach the light. You turned it on.” “I can only reach it to turn it on.  I can’t reach it to turn it off.”

Son 1 had several pirate things for Christmas, including a game in which you fill a plastic skull with slime and have to fish plastic coins out of it.  I checked the list written in haste on a Christmas card.  I didn’t write down who it was from.  That means we can’t thank them.  I put Son 2 to bed, we filled up  the skull and off we went.  Son 1 fished with relish while I checked his coins were the right ones.  I got good at flicking through the ones in the slime to see which ones they were.  The Man lost, but he was the only one with a clean hand at the end.  There was a lot of slime on the FT, and a lot down Son 1’s top.  He won.  Granny and Granddad arrived as I was washing the coins, and declined the offer of a game with our champion.

Son 2 ate leek and potato soup for lunch, which was a Good Thing because he’s eaten nothing but sausages and sweets for the last two days.  Granny stayed in, and Granddad, The Man and I walked the boys down to The Square.  Son 2 was swaddled up in the Big Pram, Son 1 was in his parkha and my big leather gloves.  Son 1 ran and chattered all the way down.  Unfortunately he misunderstood what The Man said we were doing, which was walk down to The Museum and have a coffee in The Square while the children ran about.  Son 1 thought that meant we were going in the Museum.  And it was shut.  He howled and real tears flooded his face.  He rode on The Man’s shoulders on the way back.  The walk did him good - he was asleep before we’d finished his stories tonight.  Son 2 went down well, but has just been up for ages, and The Man’s gone in to sleep with him.  Instant quiet.  It’s got to be teeth.  Those big ‘uns deep in his jaw bone.  The clue is in the way he stands up and gnaws the rail of the cot while he cries indefatigibly for rescue.

1.   Craving Sleep

2.   Fighting Sleep

3.   Losing Sleep

Lordie we are all tired.  Son 2 aged 14m barely made it past breakfast before he was eye-rubbing, yawning and shrieking.  Son 1 aged 4y 1m was producing weapons-grade sibling rivalry.  I held Son 2’s hands across the highchair table; and Son 2 laughed.  Son 1 stopped what he was doing and came and climbed on my knee, blocking out the route to the highchair table.  I put Son 2 down for his sleep, and Son 1 and I played Scooby Doo and made Pirate finger puppets.

i am doing a Running Gag. Whenever anyone asks if The Man is back, I say yes, but he’s Very Tired.  Our neighbour walked down to The Town with us, asking The Man when he’d got back.  “Yesterday,” he said.  “He’s Very Tired,” I said.  “Don’t you get tired then, Serenedays?” she said, Getting It beautifully.  We wandered along in the rain, Son 2 in the Big Pram, Son 1 in the buggy.  “We’ll just have to push them and they’ll fall asleep and then we can have a coffee,” I said.  Son 1 fell asleep eventually.  Son 2 just went on and on and on.  It was an amazing feat of endurance.  We’d stuffed him into an anorak, in a cosi toe, with his new (hot) hat on.  His hat fell down over his eyes so he could only see out at the bottom.  And still he stayed awake. 

Back home he was so tired he needed his tea at once, but melted down before he’d had very much.  We think there is a teeth thing going on again.  Son 1 says his teeth hurt at the bottom front.  Hells bleeding bells.  I’ve probably dissolved them in fruit juice.  Bathtime was agony, getting them to bed was awful - Son 2 woke and woke and woke… but when I finally got him to sleep I rang a Friend  for a chat and felt better. And The Man is having a go at all my outstanding filing.  Good to think it’s getting done. I’m a bit worried it might be like Son 2’s tidying up though… bits of cheese spread sandwiches left in the vegetable rack, crayons in the washing machine, jigsaw pieces in the bin.

1. After the break…

2.  Fishing

3.  The mermaid

No it hasn’t finished.  0515, howls from the cot.  Unwrap Son 2 aged 10m on changing mat.  Up to his waist in it.  Changed, cleaned, nice feed… laid him down on bed.  He stunk.  Changed him again.  Woke up at 7… he was hungry.  Rabbit toast, and weetabix, banana and live probiotic yoghurt all mixed up.  (I have been surfing for cures again.)  He ate the head off the rabbit and all the Grown Up Breakfast (AK.)  I think he might be on the mend.  The sludge hasn’t changed in composition or volume… but he seems better.  

So, confidence growing after yesterday,  we decided to go out in The Boat to the beach.     Very hard work even getting out of the house, and at one point before we’d anchored, I’d had, within 5 minutes,  The Man popping at me, Son 1 aged 3 y 9m having a strop over first the suncream, and then his sunsuit, and Son 2 screaming because he was exhausted and I’d left him on the bunk to sort Son 1 out.  I was Never Going Again.    But we all piled into the dinghy, Son 1 on beach, nappy bag, beach bag, food bag on beach.  Son 2 to The Man. Me on beach.  Dinghy pulled up.  Tent up.  And Son 1 and I wandering around the rock pools and shoreline with his fishing net. I caught two shrimps.  “Let’s eat them,” he said, repeatedly.  We took them back to show The Man and Son 2. “Daddy we’ve got two shrimps and we’re going to eat them.”   ”We can’t. Mummy doesn’t know what to do with them.” “We’ve got some crayfish tails in the fridge, would you like those instead?”  “Yes.”  Son 2 liked the shrimps.  He liked putting his fingers in the bucket to get tickled.

I wanted to swim in the sea.   But there was always a boy who wanted to fish, a dinghy to pull up away from the incoming tide, someone who needed the loo, snacks and drinks to hand out… Finally I got in.  It was freeeeeeeezing.  ”Mum-meee! Come back!” Son 1, at the water’s edge, yelling like the boy in Shane.  I wobbled back over all the stones and rocks.  “Do you want to come in?” “Yes.”  We got about four yards in, Son 1 up to his chest. “Mummy don’t forget I can’t swim.”  Good point.  We played where the waves broke.  I was a mermaid, he was a pirate.  He sat on my knee, the waves pushed us along, he splashed me and splashed me and we laughed and laughed.  It was Son 1’s first time up to his shoulders in the sea.  He went back to Daddy, I went swimming again.  Fantastic.  A total cure for anything.    

Back on the boat I changed Son 2.  Another “episode” in his nappy.  I changed Son 1.  I pulled down my swimming costume and Son 1 roared with laughter.  My chest and boobs were covered in sand, and there, draped between my 36Gs, was a bright green, feathery piece of seaweed.