1.  Rule Number One

2.  Rules Two And Three

3.  Rule Four

Yesterday I ordered from The Man: 1) A Lie In  2)  Breakfast In Bed (scrambled egg on toast.) 3) A Long Bubble Bath With No Children In it. 

Son 2 aged 18m woke up at 0530.   “Mama.”  I trailed downstairs, and Son 2 clung while The Man sorted him a Tub of Grub.   Son 1 aged 4y 6m came down. Cards from all three.  I had already been to the Boots Lancome counter and bought myself two items so I could also have a free gift.  Mother’s Day Rule Number One.  Avoid Disappointment, Buy Your Own Present.  We all went upstairs to the Big Bed and I got in, pulled the covers over me and lay down.  Son 1 stuck Ben 10 stickers,  Son 2 played  Duplo with The Man.   They all went downstairs.  I dozed off.  I was on The Beach with Son 2 playing at the water’s edge. A mist came in, and I said we’d better pack up. The mist turned to snow, everywhere. I couldn’t see  Son 2 but there were snow ploughs in the ditch where I’d last seen him.  An oblongy snowball was skidding down the road but he wasn’t in it.  “Mummy. Son 2 fell off the chair and you’ve got to come.”  A little head at the side of the bed.  I went downstairs.  Made my own breakfast.  I did get a bubble bath, but the children went mad because they weren’t allowed in it.  

I had booked lunch for us all at The Peacock Playground.  Complimentary skincare sample, organic fudge and free entry for mothers. Rule Number Two.  Avoid Disappointment, Make Your Own Lunch Arrangements.  We picked up Nanna, and took the boys to the playground.  They played; the peacocks patrolled.  The Man and Nanna sat in the sun.  I climbed up ladders, slid down slides, swung on swings, climbed through tunnels, lifted up, helped down and held on.  In for lunch.  It all took a while, but Son 1 dived in and out through the sliding doors next to us, checking his stick, chasing peacocks, sitting on a wall.  They stuffed themselves with their pudding, our pudding and the organic fudge.  The Man got very bored with having to look after Son 2 while he was eating his own meal.  Rule Number Three: The Mother’s Day is the only day you can act like Father.  All Day Long. 

We walked down to the lake afterwards.  Son 1 and I played Pooh Sticks every time a stream ran under a bridge.  He loved it.  Son 1 started off with the biggest sticks, and soon realised the smaller ones win.  He leaned over edges, through railings and off bridges.  Absolutely no concept of danger. I hadn’t been down to the bottom of the garden since I dropped Son 2 on his head when he was 4 months old.  (Laid him down in pram asleep after screaming reflux episode, didn’t dare strap him in case he woke up. 30 minutes later, had forgotten I hadn’t strapped him in.  Took pram up flight of steep concrete steps.  Baby slid out like he’d been fired from a peashooter.  Overnight in hospital.  His head was fine. But they got very tired of mopping up the sick, and they gave us a paediatrician and dietician who eventually sorted out his reflux.)  It was very strange passing The Steps, seeing The Tree where a pic of Son 1 had been taken afterwards, seeing the bench we sat on to peer at Son 2’s head… remembering the sick feeling inside as we marched back to take him to the MIU.  Son 1 walked miles, and was soon fast asleep in the car.  Son 2 stayed awake till after we’d dropped Nanna off.  We parked near the house, and The Man brought me a cup of tea and the Sunday papers to read in the car while the boys slept. Rule Four: When Opportunity Knocks, Ask For A Cup Of Tea.

1.  The Most Beautifully Behaved

2.  The Most Tired.

3. The Most Deserving

Son 1 aged 4y 1m got Star of The Week at Nursery.  Knock me down with a feather.  He sat in the car all the way there on Monday and talked non-stop about how he wanted to be Star of The Week.  And today, there he is, with his sticker and his certificate.  Named called in assembly, up to the front, children and teachers clapping.  “How did you feel when they called your name?” I asked.  “Happy,” he smiled. His certificate says “for trying very hard and behaving beautifully all week.”  I have told The Man it would be good to see him winning next week.

The Man is back.  Nice to see him.  We have been engaged in a game of competitive tiredness.  He has driven overnight but slept in the daytime from 11am till Son 1 scurried upstairs to get him at 5 pm.  I got five hours sleep last night but have worked all day and all evening.  And the  Certificate goes to….    Mummy.

I had a phone call from an Old Friend, a twenty-something we’ve known since she was eight years old.  She rang my mobile, and then texted.  “I can ring you back at 11am,” I texted.  I finally rang her back at 7.30pm. Second boy born nearly three weeks ago.   And he has reflux.  We had a long chat.  She’s giving him formula just to settle him; he’s bringing up the breast milk.  She’s got Gaviscon but they’re having problems getting in.  And he howls all night.   I suggested she gives the Gaviscon before or during the feed… that she mixes it with milk - formula, or if she wants to try to help her supply - expressed milk.  And to hassle the health service again so she gets some help.  It was very nice to hear her voice, but she sounds worn out.  Might let the Who’s The Most Tired certificate go to the New Mummy.

1.  Breakfast

2.  The garden

3.  Five boys

4. Visitors

A 0430 start today.  Son 2 aged 1 woke up and then wouldn’t go back to sleep.  Nappy change, calpol, lying next to me on the double bed, fan on, he finally passed out at 0530.  Son 1 aged 3y 11m had woken and gone upstairs to wait for me in the Big Bed.  I snuggled with him for a few minutes, looked at the clock, saw it  was 6am and snuck downstairs for coffee.  Son 2 didn’t wake till 8am and the knock on the door from the organic veg man.  Son 1 didn’t wake till 9am and the phone call from Nanna.    I listened to the radio and did some Office work while I was waiting.

It was a beautiful morning.  We met the Wednesday Friends at the Garden next to the Beach.  Son 1 and one friend played pirates, climbed trees, ran through hedge tunnels, trampled down mighty elephant grass, went ankle-deep in boggy mud and pestered for Twiglets.  Son 2 and the friend’s younger brother played in the gravel surrounding some mega-succulents.  Son 2 chewed on very round stones, carefully laid stones on the grass, examined the plants and crawled and crunched.

The Son 1 and his Friend wanted to go onto the beach.  I pushed Son 2 in The Big Pram till he slept, and then went down to the water with them.  They stripped off and went in, shallow paddling, splashing.  The other two Wednesday Friends arrived, running towards the two in the sea.  The first Friend’s little brother ran in.  They were lovely.  Joyful, innocent, unselfconscious and full of delight in the moment and delight in one another.  Although there was a lot of wet sand throwing going on.  The sand was shining, the sky was blue and the sea was rippling in with very tiny, widely spaced waves.  It was very special.

We had to get back for two because more friends were coming round.  As I hunted for a parking space, there was a familiar sound from the back seat.  Son 2, vomiting like the exorcist girl.  ”Get me out of here! It stinks!” yelled Son 1, helpfully.  I parked in a one-hour bay, scooped the boys up and got them indoors.  I cleaned up and changed Son 2. The friends - pregnant mother, two boys aged 4 and 2 - arrived.  I gave her Son 2 ,and went out to move and clean the car.  And when I got back he was being sick again.  Nanna and Elder Sister came round, Son 2 ate minestrone soup and cheese and then was sick again.  And then had a nappy which overflowed on to the floor.  He’s in bed now.  I do so hope it’s not that bug he had before.  

1.  Rahrr

2.  The Dietician

3. The Green chair

I went in the double bed in Son 2 aged 11m’s room in case he had another bad night.  He slept soundly, and so did I.  This morning I was wakened by him stirring. I froze because I thought he might go back to sleep.  Nope. This is Son 2 we’re talking about.  He lay in his cot going “Rahrr” which is his What-Do-You-Say-To-A-Lion noise.  And then patted his open mouth with his open palm, Apache-fashion, which he’s just learned and likes doing.  And then lay there in the dark going: Da-da-da-da-da-da.  It’s the first time I’ve known him wake and not cry instantly.

I had a vague memory that his dietician’s appointment was at the start of September, and a vague memory that the dietician clinic is on a Tuesday. So I rang the Hospital.  Yep.  Appointment at 1.30pm.  A Good Thing we didn’t miss it.  Anyway, she says not to worry that he’s small, he’s just small.  9th centile for weight, 25th for length and 9th for head.     The red book dots show the story of his reflux.  Born on the 50th, on the 25th for eight weeks while he was refluxing and not being sick, and then dropped to 9 and stayed there when the vomiting started.  With a little dip down to the 2nd when he was ill in July.  “He’s had a rough time,” she said. Put butter and oil on his pasta. Give him lots of cheese. ”He’ll catch up.”  Wonder Nanny brought the boys to the Hospital, and I met them there.  It was fantastic to see them in the middle of the day, but hard saying goodbye.  Especially as I’d hoped I’d get out early but ended up trapped in The Office…

Son 1 aged 3y 11m has, since he was barely 2, pushed his little green early learning centre chair across the kitchen floor to stand on when he wants to stand at the worktops. Cooking, stealing food or just general pestering, the little green chair is steered across.  Son 2 did it today, for the first time.  He knew how, and he knew where he was going with it - same place Son 1 goes.   How weird to think that he is sitting there watching us the whole time and everything is going into that little 9th centile head.

1. Welcome home, Daddy

2. The Last Day

3. The First Lesson

The Man got back at 2.30am.  Son 2 aged 11m woke up at 0345 and SCREAMED.  I tried everything.  I rocked him standing up, put him in the cot, lay him on the double bed with me next to him, and he just wriggled and writhed and cried and crawled up and down the bed till I had to put him back in the cot.  Son 1 aged 3y 11m had been in the Big Bed with me, and came padding down looking for me, went into his room, and to his delight, found The Man there, so they were both in the single bed.  I gave Son 2 calpol, I changed his nappy.  He was beside himself.  In the end we moved the fan from Son 1’s room to Son 2’s room, I lay down with him  and he passed out with the white noise.  I was telling a colleague from The Office about it this morning: “He just wanted to be held upright.”  Ah, I thought as I said it.  The one thing I didn’t try was Gaviscon.  I bet he had reflux.  In mitigation Your Honour, it was 4am and I have just done five 19 hour days in a row, solo. 

It was Son 1 aged 3y 11m’s last day at The Nursery today.  This is quite a big thing for me, but I know nothing about it.  The Man picked the boys up, and I got back from The Office late because I needed to finish something off.  Son 1 never has a clue what he did at Nursery, and The Man, who did a 20 hour day yesterday, plus the 4am family get together, went to bed after his takeaway.  Son 1 went into The Nursery a day before he was 6 months old.   The Man did stop off and bought the Nursery Nurses a couple of boxes of Milk Tray, but… but… but… it feels like An Event to me, and we haven’t had An Event to mark it.  I do hope Son 2 will be ok there without him.

I’ve given in and have bought a couple of learning to read and write books.  Son 1’s vaguely interested.  On Saturday, in the car with Mother on the way to the Bird Park, she said “I wish I had a memory like yours, Son 1.” And he said “I’m good at finding things too.  The only problem is, I can’t read.”  He said it to The Man this morning too.  He has got such a spookily fantastic memory that I’m kind of wondering if it will in fact be easier for him if he learns now.  Oh well, I’ll try it and if he hates it we’ll toss the books aside and have another Teddy Bears’ picnic instead.   We’ve got as far as A a.  

1.   For crying out loud

2.  Bloody help

3.  Oh bother

Son 2 aged 11m slept for an hour at The Nursery today, his longest yet.  Possibly related to me going to bed at midnight last night, waking him up as I went upstairs, and deciding not to go to him. The Shop is Shut, I thought.  The Man is away.  I have done a 19 hour day.  I am not doing any more.  I know how tired you are.  You will go to sleep soon.   At 0115 he finally passed out.  When I got to The Nursery to pick him up, I could hear him hollering from the road outside.  “He’s only just started,” they said.  I think that one’s in the book, just under “He stopped the minute you left.” 

 Son 1 aged 3 y 11m occasionally says “Bloody help” when things go wrong.  “I can’t get through this bloody gate,” as he tears the stairgate down.  “I don’t want any bloody breakfast” when I’m trying to crowbar him away from the telly to come downstairs.  The Man and I are ignoring it, and have mended our language ways.  Friends cry silently, shoulders shaking, when he does it.  The Man thinks he’s to blame, although I know there were a good few “Oh bloody, bloody, bloody, bloody f**ing hell”s witnessed by Son 1  during Son 2 ’s darkest refluxing days, when gallons upon gallons of  curdled acidic slop was vomited over me, the carpet and the soft furnishings five and six times a day.   My only mitigation is that Son 1 does say “Oh bother” more than anything else.

But, now he’s said to me: “You bloody f***ing girl.”  Ah.  I thought. That’s not charming.  That’s not going to go down very well at the Posh, Inaccessible, Outstanding Nursery when he starts on Thursday.  Casually I said “Those words are a bit angry and rude.  Daddy and Mummy have stopped saying those words.”  “I’m not going to stop saying them,” he said.  The only remaining tactic I have left is to wait a couple of weeks and then  complain to the Posh Nursery teacher.  “I’m not being funny, but he never used language like that before he started with you.” 

1.  Dancing, Glasses

2.  By George, She’s Got It

3. I Fought The Law

Son 2 aged 11m was asleep. Son 1 aged 3y 11m and I were in the kitchen dancing.  I high-kicked over his head; he ducked.  Laughing and laughing.  Then we tried it the other way round.  Me limbo-ing and Son 1 sticking his leg out.  Joy bubbling out of him.  Son 2 woke up and we could not keep him out of Son 1’s chokeable toys.  Son 1 was getting so tired he was squash-balling off the walls.  We gave them lunch and pushed them to The Square.  Son 1 fell asleep in the pushchair.  Son 2 didn’t.  The Man and I had coffee and played with Son 2, us putting sunglasses on, him taking them off.  Son 1 slept.  He missed a Fire Engine, a Diving Suit, and a Bouncy Castle.  I longed for him to wake up.  The Man prayed he wouldn’t.

Cauliflower cheese for tea.  The Man added bacon.  Son 2 ate two mouthfuls, and some garlic bread.  But he was wiped out with tiredness, and fussed, and fidgeted and cried and shrieked.  I gave him milk from his Doidy cup.  He drank a bit and then blew bubbles.  “He always gets the bubbly cup!” cried Son 1 in delight.  Son 2’s been off the Gaviscon for about a month now, but watching him fuss and yell, I said: “I think I might get him some Gaviscon.”  He lit up, bounced and bounced, and clapped and clapped his hands.  Ah.   I can add that to the list of words he understands.  As he’s heard it at least four times a day for 90% of his life I don’t know why I’m surprised. 

I went out running with The Man’s new iPod.  The Story of the Clash.  I ran round The Headland, which is four miles - my usual route is three, so I’m pretty pleased about that. There’s a half mile steep incline to get up to the top of the Headland.  Straight to Hell.  Matching the deep breathing.  It was easy.  It must be well over four years since I’ve run to I Fought The Law: “I left my baby and it feels so bad, I guess my race is run.”  It took me back to the days, six months pregnant with Son 1, when I ran up there and felt my heart hammering in my chest, ears and throat like it wanted to get out. IPod product review: very clever. I can see why people like it.  But I might leave it behind next time. I don’t know that I got to watch the light or the sea or the people as much as usual.  ”I don’t believe in sitting down, saying how bad my luck is.” 

1. 8.04am

2. Shopping

3. Discharged

0804.  Woke up, son 1 aged 3y 10m in bed beside me.  I remember The Man wandering off in the night.  I remember Son 1 clambering up, and then clambering over as he realised there was an entire half bed on the other side of me.  I remember a cry at dawn from Son 2 aged 11m.  I got up, and put my contact lenses in, my heart slowing and my throat tightening.  This is it.  This is the last time I’ll still think he’s alive.  ”Mummy!” called Son 1. I ignored him and went downstairs. I pushed at the bedroom door.  “Waaaaah!” A little rabbit, sitting upright in the cot, peering at me in the gloom.   It was in fact a shockingly unexpected lie-in.  The whole family got an extra two hours.  That’s a whole night’s sleep between the four of us.  A wee giftie from the little rabbit.

It all made us late for our shopping trip, but who cares?  The idea was to go to the Big Town, go round toy shops so Son 1 could choose his birthday present, choose a birthday present for Son 2, have lunch, and then go to the Hospital.  We went to the Wooden Toy Shop and Son 1 chose a drum set. Son 2 and another baby chose a little music centre.  I chose another present for Son 1’s little friend.  We headed off for TK Maxx, where Son 1 picked a very unpleasant plastic ambulance for Son 2. Then lunch.  Son 1 played merry hell.  After we’d all eaten, I remember I’d chosen the cafe because they had a stack of children’s books and a ton of toys.  Son 1 was silenced and stilled by Where’s Wally.  The others went to the Early Learning Centre. I went back to the Wooden Toy Shop to order the drums.  I joined them at the ELC.  Son 1 doesn’t want the drumkit any more.  He wants a large plastic castle with knights.  Ask Santa for it, I said.  

At the Hospital they weighed Son 2.  Not back on line 9 on the chart. Sigh. Everyone had started to say he was filling out and his face was looking chubby.  I told the consultant that I was happy with him, that I’ve taken him off all his meds, but I’m worried about his weight - I thought he’d be putting weight on now he’s (mostly) stopped being sick. And I’m worried about him getting a gastro bug again.  She said the weight will take a long while to go back on.  And she doesn’t think he ended up in hospital so quickly because of his reflux; she thinks it was just a bad bug which would have done the same to any child.  She says she wants the dietician to see him again, but she doesn’t need to. This evening I spoke to my friend whose first son was a thin baby. Stop weighing him, was her advice. 

1. I said that my baby had reflux, and they said “no, no, no.”

2. The Treat

3. Down to the river

0530. “I DON’T WANT TO LIE IN THIS POOOOOO COME AND CLEAN ME UP”  Son 2 aged 9m.   Conveying with noise what he can’t yet manage in words.   Son 1 aged three and a half joined us.  I gave Son 2 a really good feed.  Drank loads, both sides, no twisting or yanking, no fidgeting, no sudden wails.  I could cut out the Gaviscon on this feed I thought.  He’s older now, he’s more comfortable, he’s been doing so well since we stopped the thickened milk… we’ve dropped a whole dose at lunchtime, we might be able to get away with it at this first feed if we’re all quiet and careful.  Then he threw up. Gallons and gallons of it, gushing out of his mouth like a little Cathedral gargoyle in the rain.     Cushion, sleepsuit, pyjamas, carpet.   Wringing.  The Man heard it from upstairs.

Son 1 has got to the end of the lines on the sticker chart. For being good while The Man was away, for staying at the table during meals, and for asking nicely if he can get down at the end.  He can have A Treat.  We pushed him into Town in the buggy, - he was too tired to walk after his swimming lesson.  He chose a Playdoh Operation set.  Son 1 loves Playdoh,  He loves rolling and stamping and pressing and squashing.   Making cakes and biscuits. And Christmas trees and tin men.  Luckily, now he’s older, he understands not to mix up the colours even though the marbling looks pretty,  he never leaves little flakes of it everywhere, and it doesn’t end up embedded in the lounge carpet and everyone’s clothes.   And I am Marie of Romania.  

Went out running for the first time since The Man went away last week.  Down to the bridge over the river and back.   It was hard, but I was running down into a Northerly… and it must be nearly two weeks since I last went out.  Returned alive, feeling very fit and healthy, and only the bright red heat of my face to suggest it had been more of a grind than usual. 

1. The beach

2. Pirates

3. 2 boys asleep

Got to the beach at about 1030 - one of those weirdy weather days when I packed up the pram cover, put the boys in their fleeces and added 2 extra blankets for the baby… and then drove through The Town wondering if the sun tan lotion was still in the toy bag.  We had a really good time.  In total: three mothers, three 3 year olds, one 2 year old, one 21 month old, one 8month old… and the partner with a broken collar bone.   The 3 year olds played together, the 2 year old sat in the pram because he’s not feeling well, the 21 month old played on his own, and Son 2 sat playing with the sand and toppling over, because the beach slopes and he’s not used to it.  He did really well, ate a good lunch, played a bit, snuggled with me and had a snooze.  I’m pleased, because it was only a couple of months ago that I used to carry him up and down the beach with him struggling and yelling as if he hated it.    It helps that I now travel with his Gaviscon.  I think my daft brain just said if he wasn’t being sick he wasn’t refluxing.

One set of friends went, and Son 1 aged 3 and a half played with his other friend for well over an hour, digging, stuffing a net back inside a plastic cement mixer, sitting on the rocks that formed today’s pirate ship and running up and down slopes.  At one point the two of them were just sitting on rocks together, smiling and eating ice creams, hair blowing in the wind - a lovely picture, if I hadn’t decided not to bring the camera because I had so much other stuff.  I got Son 2 off to sleep, and our friends lolled on the beach mat reading the local paper.  And we all had a cup of tea.

Back home I got Son 2 back to sleep…  then persuaded Son 1 to have a snooze with me.  I woke up at 10 to 4 with both of them still asleep.  Hot drink (ran out of tea bags) and a read of the paper.   No visitors, no phone calls.  A moment’s stillness in the whirlwind.  And then Son 2 woke up at 4, and we had to get Son 1 up to see if the cake shop was open (it wasn’t) and then it was time to make tea, and then The Man came home…