1.  You Arrive And The Night Is Alive

2.   These Are The Days

3.   Dark, Divine Intervention 

I wanted to stay in bed. “Up,” said Son 2 aged 2. “Up,” said Son 1 aged 5. I consider anything after 7.30am a bonus. But the boys were crabby and cantankerous. Son 2, as usual, wanted breakfast, and then wanted to lie in front of the telly with his face on the floor. Son 1 wanted to fall out with everything.  The Boat, we felt, not liking the idea of a day at home with over-tired, horrible children just wanting to watch telly and sleep.  We packed up and had a text from friends saying they were taking their boat out with a barbie. So I defrosted some yellow-sticker burgers in their honour. The Man picked us up from the quayside in a dinghy. A beautiful day, with flat water, light winds, scores and scores of yachts, kayaks, cruisers, powerboats, racers, fishing boats… all out pootling.   We pootled off to Lighthouse Beach and anchored off it.  The mother arrived with two small girls in a powerboat, and moored against ours. Maybe I should learn about boats. She looked quite cool zooming up. The girls came aboard, and Mother zoomed off to get Father.

We went ashore in their boat. Lighthouse Beach is only accessible by water or a couple of sheer Amalfi-style zigzag paths.  The bay was busy, the beach less so.  Golden sand, turquoise water, great walls of cliffs with water dripping down them to form pirate caves.  Son 1 was in raptures, Son 2 wanted to stay close to me. Son 2 and I dug, Son 1 rolled around in the beach tent. Other families arrived. I went for a swim in the sea. It was heaven. The best one this year. I think. Can’t really remember and I haven’t got time to look back at this blog.  The water was, as usual, blood-thickeningly cold… but it was still, no current, no rocks, no wind.  I swam up and down, keeping an eye out to make sure all the boats heading for the beach had seen me. Son 1 came down to the shore so I went in. We played in some caves liberated by the outgoing tide… and then we went rockpooling on the ohter side of the beach.  The reason children can skit about on razor-sharp rocks is because they weigh nothing. For the more traditionally-built, like me, walking on upended layers of granite hurts.   Back with the others Son 2 changed into his tiger robe, lay face down on a yoga pillow I’d bought with us Just In Case, and went to sleep.

Son 1 was engrossed with the other children, so I got to wander along the shoreline in the low, September-solstice sunshine, picking at the shells and looking for a stone big enough to Bash A Fish with.  The sea hush-hushed in the background. And then suddenly the golden sunshine vanished and the sky was filled with low, dark clouds. We idly packed up and headed back to our boats. Son 1 was a nightmare all the way back. Crying because he’s tired.  It was gone nine by the time we got them to bed.  They will so not be able to get up tomorrow morning.

1.  Assumptions

2.  Avalanche

3.  Aquabatics

I didn’t see the children yesterday. I went out before they were up, and didn’t get back till way after they were in bed asleep.

“Apparently,” said Son 1 aged 4y 11m over breakfast this morning, “everyone in Reception can read except me.” Cannon ball blast through stomach moment. Many moons ago, linguistics was part of my degree, and I have Strong Views about teaching young children to read.  Forget it. Unless they are hanging on your leg and bashing a book against your knee eveytime you see them, concentrate on helping them speak well instead. Son 1 can read and write his name. Weren’t me, guv. Wonder Nanny?  Nursery?  No idea.  And so. If he had picked up the book called “How To Skewer Mummy Right In The Know-It-all-Assumptions” he couldn’t have chosen a better line. I questioned him.  He named two children. One a boy who has an older sister. Second children. Always learn faster. The other a child from Nursery whose parents sent him elsewhere.  A little prodigy who could swim, climb, run, write, draw and talk better than anyone else, and who is probably on his sixth or seventh symphony by now. Way out of our league.  So I worried for a few minutes, but then Looked On The Bright Side, and decided that any four year old who can use “apparently” correctly is going to be All Right.

After The Man has taken Son 1 to school, I left Son 2 aged 2 upstairs watching Chitty Chitty Bang Bang while I put washing on, hoovered, tidied up, ate breakfast, had a little read of the paper and rang a few friends.   I discussed reading, parties, starting school, birthday teas, and had a very nice time.”I do have to go,” I told the last one. “I’ve left Son 2 on his own upstairs for ages and I really must check on him.” I ended that call and then thought I’d quickly ring  a Wednesday mum while I was going upstairs. I dialled the number and there was a massive thump, a wail, then another thump, then a silence and then a loud, terrified howl.  Son 2 was lying about three foot from the bottom of the stairs, face down and crying so hard he could barely breathe. Cuddles. Ibuprofen. Chocolate buttons.  He was ok. I rang a friend to tell her what happened.

We walked over to the Beach By The Garden to meet the Wednesday Friends. All the big boys are now in school.  Son 2 slept on the way over.  We dug, we went to the sea to get him water, we had ice lollies. Another lovely day - less wind than on Friday, but still with a mighty sea swell.  I dug two big sandcastles.  Son 2 trashed them, depending on which one I was building.  A Wednesday Mum dug a big levee and a massive hole for when the tide came in, so the boys could sit in it when the water rushed round.  I swam in the sea. I’m getting faster at going in. Or maybe the water’s warmer. There were a few set, grey hairdos and one bald head bobbing up and down.  Mmmm.  Clearly I am Yoof discovering something that old ladies do. It was fantastic. I prefer it flatter, but I swam out past the big breakers and let the current take me along parallel to the shore, then swam back against it and headed diagonally back in. It was wonderful. Reacting to the power of the water, enjoying breathtaking scenery, touching nature.  The Man had stopped off during his lunch break.  I came out of the water smiling. “Look at the state of your swimming costume,” he said. “It’s disgusting.  Chuck it. I’m throwing it out tonight.”  Just been washed a few too many times, that’s all. Oh dear, if he’s noticed I shall have to find a new one.   Who knows where I can get a forgiving, flattering one-piece that doesn’t automatically admit me to the grey-hair-bobbing-in-the-sea club?  And that also has plenty of space in the bodice.

1.  A Dark And Stormy Night 

2.  Sea Breeze 

3.  What A Beautiful Day

Oh What A Night.   Son 2 aged 17m woke up at about 2300m and The  Man went to him. I went upstairs… The Man was already in bed with Son 2.   I went to bed and Son 2 still fretted and called, and called and fretted.   Son 1 aged 4y 4m cried out.  I heard The Man snoring.  My left ear,  which has been cracking since last summer was agony if I lay on it.  After well over an hour of Son 2 bawling and miaowing. I went down.  The Man had Son 2 and Son 1 in bed with him.  I sent him and Son 1 upstairs, gave Son 2 Calpol and snugged down with him.  At 0130 I said if he didn’t go to sleep he was going back in his cot.  At 0200 he was asleep on the bed, and I went downstairs to sort my ear out and get a cup of tea. He started howling again.  I came back upstairs and put him in the cot.  I bent down next to him for a good 20 minutes, killing my ear, jaw and throat.  He finally passed out.  At last A Good Thing. I went downstairs and drank tea till 3am.  And then went to sleep in Son 1’s bed. 

  Son 1 slept till gone 9am. The first time he’s still been asleep in bed when Wonder Nanny arrived.   We rang his Best Friend.  Going to the Gardens by the Beach with their scooters.  We were under pressure, because Son 2 was so tired after his disturbed night.  We loaded up the car with The Big Pram (portable bed,) Son 1’s scooter, Son 1’s skates, knee and elbow pads and helmet, and Son 2’s pushalong car.  When we got there Best Friend had had such a huge tantrum that he wasn’t allowed in the Gardens, and had no telly all day.  We went on The Beach.  Son 2 loved it.  He was still screaming to stay awake when I wheeled him up and down to get him to sleep at 1330.  Amazing stamina.  Must get it from his father.   The split lip is still looking pretty grim.

A Northerly, so we were protected a little on The Beach, the sun shone, the air was clear, children ran around everywhere.  Next to us we had a half-term club, who had a parachute,  piles of buckets and spades, and a huge sand racing car they’d dug.  They wanted Son 2 to sit in it.  Until he started taking great handfuls out of the steering wheel and bonnet.   Our four welcomed a stream of small children who wandered in and out of their play zone…   Son 1 in the end folded.  He’s still got his temperature thing, where he suddenly starts to burn up, and he wanted to go home. I have a nasty feeling he’s just not drinking enough.  Being positive, we now have a new sticker chart.  He can have a star each time he has a cup of juice/water/milk.  And so we’ll soon find out if it’s a dehydration thing.