1.  Starting Gate

2.  School Gates 

3.  Stair Gates

Every bloody morning for the last eight weeks Son 1 aged 4y 11m has been bouncing out of bed.  Today he couldn’t get up. “I’m tired. Who says we have to get up?” We tried to get him to eat a croissant but it was yesterday’s. Wouldn’t eat it. Ate only about 15 dry Cheerios and a few grapes for breakfast.  Into his school uniform, cuteness on legs. “Tell Daddy to buy you a Variety Pack for breakfast tomorrow.”  “And me!” chorused Son 2 aged 23m.  Son 1 trailed downstairs, and I heard him saying: “Mummy says I can have Coco Pops for breakfast.” 

We had a late start because we were seeing the dentist.  I stopped off to get Son 1 a comic. “Mummy why have I got this comic?”  “To keep you occupied while I see the hygienist.”  “But why does it include me?” “Because your dentist’s appointment is after mine.”  A couple of weeks ago a fragment broke off my front incisor leaving a sharp corner.  I asked the hygienist why it had happened. “Acidic drinks?” she said. “Fruit juice?  Wine?”  Ah. The dentist said both Son 1 and I are doing great.   i dropped him off at his school. The children were on break.  His form teacher met us and showed us around. I showed her Son 1’s chest, covered in molluscum contagiosum.  I’ve been worried they won’t let him go swimming. “Oh we had loads of that last year, I think it’s all right as long as it’s not weeping.” The school’s had building work done over the holidays and it’s fantastic. Two new teaching assistants know us from Son 1’s Old Nursery. He scampered off to play with friends from Nursery last year.  And That Was That.

After The Office, I walked in to find The Man was unpacking the fish tank he’s bought for Son 1 and Son 2’s joint birthday present. They were in raptures. “Fish Tank! Fish Tank!” chortled Son 2.  Yes we know it’s ahead of the Big Days… but we have cleaning to do and gravel to wash and plants to settle in before we can even think about fish.  I wanted to know all about Son 1’s First Day At School.  He wanted to wash gravel. He was exhausted and uncontrollable and adorable.  i scooped them upstairs for their baths. Son 2 shut the stair gate behind us.  He is the only one who closes them, and then I can’t get through when my hands are full of cups/washing/etc. The Man took both stair gates out while I read to Son 2.  The house looks very different without them.

1.  Darkest Hour 

2.  A Kind Of Blue

3.  White Teeth

Son 2 aged 17m started crying. I looked at the clock. Just before 6am.  It wasn’t really crying.  It was shouting.  Loud, intermittent pre-vocal blasts.  Getting louder and louder. Standing up in his cot, hands hooked over the rail.  I got him up, changed his nappy and gave him a drink of water.  We got past Son 1 aged 4y 5m’s bedroom without waking him and went downstairs to get the drinks and snacks.  It was 5am.  On the positive side, we didn’t have a rush to get to Nursery.  

Nursery.  All the Nursery and Reception children were in their own clothes, in their favourite colours.  All except one.  How do the other Mothers know this?  Every other little child except Son 1, decked out in civvies.  “Oh Navy’s a lovely colour, it’s a kind of blue,” sang out the class teacher as we arrived.  I simply do not know where the communication loop is.  There is a tiny book of dates they hand out at the start of each term.  But that just gets sucked into our Paperwork Vortex where it is probably still spinning, weightless.  They send letters about Parents’ Evenings, and class photos.  Nope. Genuinely baffled.  I picked Son 1 up early for a dentist’s appointment.  The children were clustering for photos in their various colour groups.  The reds were being taken as I arrived.  The blues were rounded up.  1 sent Son 1 over, and he sat cross-legged in the middle of the front row. As the lady said.  Navy’s a kind of blue.

The Dentist was a Good Thing.  I’d pictured the Dentist staring into Son 1’s gaping mouth and spotting craters bombed out by raisins, chocolate, fruit juice and bedtime milk.  Ting ting ting with his little metal proddy thing.  “They’re fine Son 1, what a good boy, would you like a sticker?”  He did me, I was also fine.  The hygienist had a space, did I want go down now?  Yes I did.  Unfortunately poor Son1, who’d already waited for the Dentist for 25 toyless minutes, had reached his limits. Prone in the Big Chair, goggles on, bib on, mouth full of cutlery and teeth getting sandblasted, dug out and polished, I had Son 1 crawling on top of me and lying with his head on my tummy.  “Does it hurt?” he asked. No, said the hygienist, as I couldn’t speak.  At bedtime I said “Were you frightened Mummy was getting hurt?” He nodded sadly.  So I gave him a flash of my sparkling new smile.