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.  Starting Slowly

2.  Finishing Fast

3.  Dropping Marks

Son 2 aged 21m, rattling around downstairs before 7am, while I drank coffee to wake me up and got together drinks and snacks.  I took his night-time nappy off to change it. “Wee wee,” he said. “Do you want to do a wee?” “Yes,” he said, and toddled off to the potty. He sat on it. “No,” he said, getting up.  knowing Son 2 to be a child who can wee on the bathroom carpet whenever he feels like it, I said “Oh go on Son 2, do a wee on the potty and I’ll give you a biscuit.”  Up he sprang, the potty forgotten. “Bisbik.  Bisbik.”  A heat-seeking missile, following me, his course unswerving “Bisbik. Bisbik.”  We haven’t got any, so I went upstairs to hunt in my briefcase, which is where I put the free ones you get sometimes in coffee shops. He burst into tears thinking he wasn’t going to get one. ”Bisbik.”  

Son 1 aged 4y 9m has been in Nursery since a few days before he was six months old.  When I first left him he was a babe in arms, with no hair and huge blue eyes.  Today was his last day in Nursery, a scruffy schoolboy in shorts, falling down socks, floppy hair, and dancing eyes.  He has the summer off and then he’s in school. I feel like I’m on some mad express train racing past these milestones so fast I can hardly see them go.  Surely it’s only a minute since he left the Day Nursery for this one. http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2008/09/01/last-day/ We have Three Things to celebrate now: Son 1 leaving Nursery, Son 1 getting a Good School Report, and Son 1 saving my big leather chair from Son 2 aged 21m (the biro still hasn’t come off.)

Nobody told me you have to give the teachers and teaching assistants presents on the last day of term. It was like a wedding in there. A table set aside for the floral arrangements, carefully wrapped presents and pretty carrier bags. All the little children conveying in their gifts. Except one. We had a card which Son 1 made for Miss Lovely before we set out.  How do people find out this stuff? I’ve spent all week checking and checking again that the other children weren’t going to turn up in their own clothes today… and then they all sneak the present thing in.  I rang Wonder Nanny to beg her to sort it. ”Oh yes, when I was a Nursery Nurse we were always getting presents.”

1.  Up

2.  Tummy Ache

3.  Mamma Mia

5am and the screams of a child in mortal peril split the night.  “I SPILLED MY DRINK!!!!! MUMMEEE SOB SOB SOB MUMMMMEEEE SOB SOB SOB.”  I sprint downstairs.  There is an outside chance the situation can be saved, but once Son 2 aged 15m is awake, we are all Awake.  And Up.   The bed isn’t wet.  Son 1 aged 4y 3m isn’t wet.  “What happened?” I whisper in the pitch black.  “My drink slid-ed out of my hand.”  “Where’s your cup?”  “On the floor.”  “Well I’ll leave it till we get up.”  I didn’t want the light on.  That would reveal the Christmas stocking.  And we would be Up.  I snugged down on the bed with Son 1.  Every time I thought his breathing was deepening, he asked “Can I get up yet?”  “No, it’s too early.” “Has Santa been?”  “I don’t know, it’s too early.”  “I made myself wake up early to open my presents.”    Snooze.  I could smell the spilt milk.  “Can I get up yet?”  “No.”  “I want to open my presents so much my tummy hurts.”  It was decades ago, but I can still remember what it feels like to want to open your presents so much your tummy hurts.  It was 0545.  I switched on the light.  Son 1 dived into his stocking.  I went to clear up the milk.  There wasn’t any.  His cup was still on top of his bed where it always is.  It was only a dream.

A present fest.  The boys opened their stockings and then  when Granny and Granddad came at about 0730 we started on the big stuff.  Son 1 ripped through his so quickly he was soon in mourning because everyone except him had some left.  Son 2 tore a few bits of paper off and then continued his remorseless and relentless pursuit of remote controls, mobile phones and electronic gadgetry.  He only came alive once every bit of wrapping paper had been stuffed into a great big carrier, whereupon he dealt with it in the traditional baby manner.  I rang Younger Sister at 11am.  She has Godfather, Nanna, Elder Sister, Godfather’s Mother, and Godfather’s Brother for Christmas lunch.  I told her about Son 1 and the early start.  “I want to open my presents so much my tummy hurts,” she said.  “But we’re still waiting for people to get up.”  We had  a turkey crisis.  The Man had put a fridge up in his Shed to house the overspill food.  He cranked up the temperature and put the turkey in it.  Then last night when he took it out he’d frozen it.  We had the heating on all night to thaw it, and this morning it was just very chilly indeed.  So it took forever to cook.  But we got there, and, at the time of writing, our meat-eating company of two pensioners, two under-fives and a Bloke is all still alive.  Son 1 and Son 2 were in pieces late afternoon, and we just plopped them in the bath.  In bed, Son 1 said “I love Christmas.”  “So do I.”  “I love you Mummy.”  “Oh that’s a kind thing to say. I love you too.”  “You’re so lovely,” and he snugged into my arms.    

Quarter to seven and they were both in bed, asleep.  Granny and Granddad had gone back to their hotel.  Nothing on telly.  “What about Mamma Mia?” I suggested, having bought it at the end of November, and not having managed to get near it since.  “You watch it, I’ll do this computer,” said The Man, who needed to wrestle with a laptop.  So, a couple of glasses of Cava, The Man till half way through “It is a bit of a chick flick, isn’t it?” “Honestly, it’s a war film. They’ll start shooting at each other any minute.”  He went to bed. Not As Good As The Show. Which I think I saw twice.  Can’t remember.  I liked:  Meryl, because she must be nearly 60, and that means I can still be Youthful and Fun and Fashionable when the boys are 20.  The songs, because I was there, queueing round the block to see Abba The Movie in 1978 when the first showing was full.  Pierce Brosnan singing.  It just made me laugh.  I think The Man looks like Pierce Brosnan.

This has got to be one of the longest posts I’ve done, but it’s Christmas.  I spared a couple of thoughts for the people who aren’t with their children on Christmas Day - a hell I only recently understood. During the film I thought about the day Son 1 and Son 2 tell me they’re not coming home for Christmas for the first time. And then Son 1, barefoot in his Ben 10 pyjamas, bounding down the stairs to let Granny and Granddad in “Quick quick come in, it’s time to open the presents.”

1.  Coffee

2.  Church

3.  Presents

Son 1 aged 4y 3m longs for Christmas.  His tummy hurts.  He is excited.  Santa is coming tonight.  We have a deal that he can open his stocking and the big present under the tree he has his eye on - which he thinks is the Abyss underwater set but isn’t - and then he has to wait till Granny and Granddad get here.  He is also worn out.  Why are my children always so tired?  It can’t be anything to do with their five-hours-sleep-a-night full-time-working Christmas-Eve-but-I’ll-just-bash-a-blog out mother.  The Man went off to Marks for supplies with Son 2 aged 15m at about 9.  I prised Son 1 away from the telly and we met them, and Granny and Granddad for coffee.  Son 1 misbehaved, tired and excited.  Son 2, uncharacteristically, fell asleep in the Big Pram.

I took them to church.  The vicar wrote us a letter for a C of E school saying we attend from time to time, and I don’t want him to go to hell for lying.  We met some Wednesday friends there.  Son 1 and Older Brother tore up and down the aisles, played with the toys at the back and chattered, oblivious to proceedings.  Son 2 picked, uninterested, at the greenery arrangements.  In the middle of the reading Son 1 proclaimed “I need a poo,” and off we set, round pews, through doors, over concrete flooring, through an office, via a robing room (oops, that’s not it then) to the Tiny Loo.  We took Monday’s Birthday Boy with us.   Four of us couldn’t fit in, so we held the door open.  Birthday Boy is known for roaming, and wanted his Mummy.  Son 2 is unstoppable.  Son 1 took forever.  A flight of stairs plunged downwards yards from our nook.  After 10 years the Other Mother arrived, having only just realised I was three-up and out of control.  “This service isn’t very long,” I thought, as we warbled “Away in a Manger” to finish.  Then I realised we’d been waiting for Son 1 for about 20  minutes.

Son 1 put out a mince pie, a sherry and two gold chocolate coins for Santa, and a carrot and milk for the reindeer.  He was allowed to eat a chocolate coin to make sure they were good enough for Santa.  Then he decided to leave only one chocolate coin for Santa, and to put the other one back in his Trick or Treat bucket.  We decided he could leave two small ones out for Santa, but he could eat the big one.   Both boys were asleep at 7pm.  Who’s SuperMummy?  Granny and Granddad babysat, and we went round to our friends’.  We were supposed to be staying for one and then going to the pub, but they had crisps, and champagne, and an open fire, and we were talking and drinking and drinking and talking and then we had to go because G and G don’t really do Late.  Back home I put chocolate decorations on the tree, gold coins in the treasure chest and filled the stockings (not enough stocking fillers, where’s open at midnight on Christmas Eve?) while The Man heaved bags of presents down the stairs and piled them under the tree.  I need to get up at 6am to see to the turkey.  I can’t wait for the morning to come.

1.  Garden Party

2.  Sliding Down

3.  Wrapping Up

A Little Friend is 3 today.  His party was at a Nearby Garden.  I’ll take all the Christmas presents, I thought, taking a pile of five downstairs to wrap.  In front of Son 1 aged 4y 3m, while Son 2 aged 15m was napping.  Son 1 went nuts.  He wanted the little plastic paint-me figures, he couldn’t keep his fingers out of the Meccano boxes, he lifted the flaps in the  books.  Of course I gave up, and we just took Birthday Boy’s.  Son 1 wore his Santa outfit.  We went straight to see Santa in his grotto; 8 little boys aged 4 and under, 1 two-year old girl.  Santa was great, the grotto was great.  Is it me or are they getting better?  Santa asked all the little boys what they wanted for Christmas.  Son 1 couldn’t speak when it was his turn.  “A Knight’s Tower,” I said, “with some Monsters.”  “And what about this little one? ” said Santa.  “An iPod,” I said. “Or a mobile phone.” Santa stared and waited for a sensible answer, while small boys giggled and said “No-o,” Teletubbies fashion.  I made up a Farm and some bath toys.  Outside, Son 2 stared, rapt, at the mighty camera wielded by Birthday Boy’s parents, reaching out his little starfish hands for the buttons.  Sorry  darling, Santa didn’t believe me when I told him what you’d like for Christmas.      

The children had their faces painted.  They were all blue Power Rangers, which made Son 1 a Santa with a blue face. Lunch was served in the playground.  It was a dry, clear day so the children ate chocolate sandwiches and chased and slid and climbed and squabbled.  Son 2 reached for me every time Wonder Nanny picked him up.  That matters more than it should.  She lay him down on his back and dropped him down the slide… I caught him at the bottom.  He laughed and laughed and then started panicking in case we weren’t going to do it again.  Son 1 complained that Older Brother had hit him.  “You don’t need to tell me,” I said.  “Santa is very close and he’ll be watching Older Brother and won’t bring him any presents.”  They made up.  Cake was served.  Two more boys we know, aged 4 and 2 turned up, with their dad.  The children played, the grown ups chatted.

Some went home, we went back towards the grotto so Son 1 could make a Christmas Table decoration.  Red candle, a bit of clay, a base and all the foliage you can get in for a pound.  Son 1 did a very good job.  We put the boys in the car, they were both asleep by the time we got back to The Town, so I did a quick shopping run around Asda.  Trolley logjam.  Granny and Granddad came round to see the boys, who were fizzing with tiredness.  After bedtime, The Man and I wrapped present after present after present.  Son 2 has about 6 things, Son 1 about 15.  Must get something for Granny and Granddad tomorrow.  And for The Man, I suppose.

1.  Spelling Out

2.  Pigging Out

3.  Running Out

Son 1 tells us he Cannot Wait For Christmas several times a day.  There are presents under the tree from some friends.  They are driving Son 1 aged 4y 2m mad.  He can’t stop feeling, poking, peeling and shaking.  “Who are they for?”  He asked.  “We don’t know.  We’ll have to see what Santa says.”  Son 1 investigated further.  “This one’s for me.  Look.  It says ‘Son 1′ on the card.”  Another lurch further forward down the bye-bye-baby path.  The one where you realise he’ll now always recognise his name when he sees it written.  The veg man cameth, bringing vegetables, mince pies, cheese, yoghurt and bananas.  The turkey is coming tomorrow.  And the eggs.  I showered with both boys playing in the bath at my feet, plug in, bubble bath squirted.

After breakfast Son 2 aged 15m played with the zoo, making animal noises, pulling the fence to pieces, stuffing animals in the pens. I put him down for a sleep, lying on the double bed next to him.  Then I went upstairs with Son 1, who wanted to lie down and watch a video.  Babe.  He managed to watch the whole thing without clocking what upset Babe enough to run away.  And as the closing credits ran, I asked what he wanted for lunch.  “Anything,” he said. And then thought: “Sausage. And mash. And beans.”  Splendid.  One vegetarian in the house is quite enough.

Granny and Granddad have come for Christmas, staying in the hotel down the road.  Son 2 and I went shopping, while Son 1 and The Man went down to say hello.   We all met up in Boots.  In Marks, Son 1 chose the cake for after Christmas Dinner.  At home they all played upstairs while I made what seemed like industrial quantities of Shepherd’s Pie.  The boys gobbled it up.  Son 1 ate some kale - how I love my small triumphs.  At bedtime Son 1 was playing his Ben 10 Top Trumps again.  And showing no sign of speeding up so I could read to him.  “I want to go running.  Do you want to play Top Trumps or have your stories?”  “Top Trumps,” he said.  I kissed him and off I went.  I won’t do that again.  When I came back, he was asleep, so I had a shower to wake him up.  He stayed asleep.  And I woke Son 2.

1.   Dawn Presence

2.   Perfect Presents

3.   Present Tense

The Man was away overnight.  I woke at 0615, aware of a presence, a pitter-patter of footsteps, the light touch of hands feeling for me in the dark and a whispered: “Mummy I want a wee.”  “Ok-don’t-worry-I’ll-put-a-light-on.” “It’s coming. Now.”  “Okay-okay-okay.”  We sorted him out, and then Son 1 aged 4y 2m climbed into bed. The idea was that we would cuddle in the cold and have a little snooze.  He didn’t stop talking.  We went downstairs for snacks and drinks, and then heard Son 2 aged 15 m wailing.  “Go upstairs and look after him while I bring the tray up.” Up he went.  Son 2 stopped crying.  When I got up Son 1 had put the lights on, put a balloon in his brother’s cot and was bouncing on the bed to entertain him.  A natural.  I might get him to babysit.

I Christmas-ed shopped at lunchtime.  Nanna is going to see The Family on Saturday, so my meagre pile of presents needed boosting.  And Nanna is going on the train, so the presents must be no weight.  She wanted make-up, which I think is quite cool as she is a lady of a certain age.  I only really managed to get hers, but I was pleased with it.  I looked everywhere for light presents suitable for The Brother and The Godfather.  Socks. Belts. Hankies.  Stuff it we’ll have to pay for lunch next time they visit. Teenaged Niece and Nephew are going to have money, which is all they want anyway.  And then I bought two more books for Son 1.  I had a long, long look for stocking fillers for Son 2.  I really am finding him very hard.  He’s got an ambulance Son 1 picked for his birthday that he likes, but other than it’s remote controls, computers, wires, phones and stairs.  And books. He likes books.  His latest trick is climbing up on the piles in Son 1’s room and surfing down on the top book, but he does like looking at them as well.

The Man came back from his Business Trip, which was a third Good Thing.   He had the shower on for Son 1 when I came up the stairs, which meant he didn’t hear Son 2 screaming because he’d caught his little baby fingers in a cupboard door.  I keep thinking I should just let Son 2 learn the hard way not to play with doors … but then I flash forward to the interview in the Guardian: “I lost the use of my right hand when I was a year old and my fingers got flower-pressed in the door hinge.”  We did the whole of Son 1’s babyhood with just two stair gates, so we still don’t quite believe the way Son 2 climbs on the the things we put down to stop him climbing.  We’re sure that his accepting, biddable side will emerge in a few more weeks.

1.  Birthday Presents 

2.  The Fun Park

3.  The First Straw

Son 2 aged 1 slept through.  He has three tiny white prongs poking through, with a red, swollen bit in the middle of his gum.  Poor little Lambo.   He was up before Son 1.  Son 1 aged 4 today came upstairs first thing and ripped through the family presents: an airport from Nanna, a Scooby Van from Son 2, a sword and some books from us.  Then went to his room and opened his party presents, which were piled under the bed.  I have made a list, but dear God when do I get two sets of thank yous out.  Then downstairs to the drum kit.  He pulled off the pirate paper we’d draped over it and just stormed on for the next presents - a couple which had been left downstairs.  Son 2 loved the drum kit.

We went to the Fun Park.  I’d promised Son 1 a Trip for his birthday, without realising that by the time we’d done Son 2’s birthday, The Town Festival, The Man being away for a week, the Birthday Party and the Big Town Park… we would all be dropping with exhaustion.   Still, a deal is a deal as Shaggy - and now Son 1 - says, so off we trooped.  About an hour away, The Fun Park is cheap (except to get in,) amateur and not very clean.   Farm and small animals, various play rooms, various outdoor attractions and rides.  But it was a lovely day, and we had it almost to ourselves.  Son 1 loved it.  We went on a water slide, we played Scooby Doo in the Haunted House.  We played in the ball pool, we climbed 25m up some rigging (go go go older mums,) we went down a log flume.  I love it when I am his playmate and get bossed about “Come on, Mummy.”  Son 2 was miserable and needed Calpol, but he managed to pat some ponies, play in the ball pool and play in the sand pit. He didn’t eat very much today, but is drinking a lot of milk.  He’s on cow’s milk in the daytime now, he had his last formula yesterday.  Memories to cherish: Son 1’s baby-toothed laughter as we scrambled out of our boat on the water slide; Son 1 driving little electric cars around a tiny circuit - needing to use the accelerator and the steering wheel correctly. Son 1’s blue tongue from a long chewy snake someone bought him for his birthday which he took all day to eat.  Son 2 stretching his hand out for the ponies and goats, and for the ball pool, and crying when we took him off for his lunch instead.  Son 2 carefully dipping his breadstick in his hummous and licking it off.

We got home in time to see Nanna and Elder Sister arriving.  Son 1 had to eat his tea and then we were breaking out a Scooby Doo cake I bought yesterday.  The Nice Neighbours called round with birthday presents for both boys.  We drank bucks fizz and ate cake.  Son 2 hi-jacked Son 1’s Innocent smoothy, and used it to teach himself how to drink through a straw.  It was like watching a monkey learn how to get a  peach down from the top of a cage.  Son 2 recognises the cartons because all the boys on the beach drink them, and he’s mineswept them before, just chewing the straws to get the sweet juice on them. So he knew he wanted the carton.  Then he chewed the straw.  Then he sucked and a bit of liquid shot into his mouth.  Then his little mouth was going nineteen-to-the-dozen as he tried to make it happen again.  Then he made it… again and again…then he cracked it.   We didn’t get the boys to bed till 20 to 9.   

1. Siesta 

2. Fiesta

3. Blessed

Son 2 aged 11m slept through the night.  Tum ti tum.  He’s been in a 1 Tog sleeping bag the whole summer.  Because he cannot overheat or He Will Die A Cot Death.   He’s pooed in one and the other is in the wash so last night he was in a 2.5 Tog.  And didn’t murmer.  Tum ti tum.  Maybe the cry I thought meant “Where are you all?  Come Baaaaaaaack” meant “Bring warm plump parents I am freeeeeeeeeeeeeeezing.”    

There is another Festival in The Town, the roads are closed, the flags are out, there are stalls and music everywhere, so we off we went  to meet the Wednesday Friends.  Son 1 aged 3 y 11m walked all the way through town in his Captain Hook outfit.  “And why did he get that?” said one mother, witheringly.  Because Mummy needed to see if it fitted (= couldn’t wait to see what he looked like in it.)  And was then unable to get it off him. The children played in the Museum; we went into the Marquee so I could feed Son 2.  A swing band started up, Son 2 really enjoyed it and kept pointing.  We lost a child, we found him.  Son 1 went in The Big Pram and fell asleep.  Son 2 was in the sling - another advantage to his being small. I walked them back and Son 2 stayed awake all the way.  At home he walked up and down the kitchen on Son 1’s ELC wooden trolley.  With his grapefruit smile and his hearty chuckle. 

I ran round the Headland tonight.  I went through The Town so I could see what was going on for the Festival.  And I guessed the Bookshop would stay open late and I wanted to get a couple of last-minute presents for Son 2.  It was gloomy, grey, windy and wet.  I wore tracksters and a long sleeved top - bought by the pre-children me in Fort William, on my 40th, “to wear when the baby is here to get my figure back.”  But I was over-hot, so I think I’ll go back to shorts.  The Headland was misty and drizzly with a wind at the Far Point that slammed into you like a train.  I remembered the evening I walked round it crying in the darkness after the miscarriage.  And I remembered the evenings BC when I ran round it in the pitch black, with the occasional sweep of the lighthouse on the Headland Opposite the only light.  And then I got home, and we wrapped Son 2’s presents, and toasted him with a glass of Cava, because the champagne wasn’t cold enough.  We’ve done the first year, and we have another heavenly child.