1.  Rhythm

2.  Blues

3.  Jeopardy

Wednesday is Friends’ Day.  So why oh why did I have to do painting, colouring and a long, loud session on the drum kit and ELC keyboard before anyone came round?  She is saintly, and will not  mind me crying Foul! Is That Not Why I Have Wonder Nanny?  Ahem. Excuse me.  One Wednesday  Mother had a hospital appointment for 3 year old’s adenoids and was Too Stressed To Come Out.  The other Wednesday Mother wanted to come here, which was fine. I am being unfair on Son 1 aged 4y 10m and Son 2 aged 23m.  Son 1 was up for painting. Son 2 really just likes stirring the dirty water from an upturned ramekin and splatting it on the walls with a paintbrush.  And the jamming session was great. Son 1 on keyboards “You’re too noisy! I can’t hear when I sing!” and Son 2, “Bang-It-Hard-Enough-And-The-Crayons-I’ve-Posted-In-All-The-Drums-Will-Rattle.”  Mrs Gallagher would have had this.

Best Friend and Little Brother at last came round.   Best Friend and Son 1 locked into a horrible axis and wouldn’t play with Little Brother. Little Brother, tired, rejected/dejected, was uninterested in Son 2, no matter how we tried.   Son 2 trailed after all three: “I’m 4! I’m 4! Honest!”  Son 1 and BF were in an elaborate game of pirates which involved caves, maps and treasure. LB, who must never be under-rated, was very often in possession of the treasure chest. And I was on his side.  Son 2 wore Son 1’s Captain Hook outfit, and was incredibly pleased with himself. Pa-ang.   Son 1 hasn’t worn his Captain Hook outfit since BF’s mother found him one at a car boot sale.        

The MAn came home with a Business Colleague and we all went crabbing. The tide was coming in, there was seaweed everywhere so we couldn’t see anything, all four boys stripped off.  I made Son 2 put his reins back on. “In years to come, it will cost him a great deal to walk around naked with a beautiful  blonde on the end of his reins,” I told Wednesday Mum.   Son 1 found something which i thought was a weathered old battery case with stuff growing round it. ”It’s a sea urchin,” said Wednesday Mum. “That’s its mouth.”  She did a degree in Marine Biology ahead of the PhD in Chemical  Engineering so I kinda believe her.  We still caught crabs. Big ‘Uns and Littl’Uns. Son 1 caught a whopper. Son 1 caught a titch - just by trawling his shrimp net he found the teeniest sideways-mover. We put them all in the same big bucket, worried they’d eat each other. But they all huddled under the Whopper. ”We’re running out of concrete,” observed BF.  Four-year-old speak for The Tide Is Racing In. We were also running out of bacon.  But we defeated our own record.  Twelve crabs and a sea urchin. We tipped the bucket out on the river wall so we could watch the crabs scuttle back to the water. Three huge seagulls appeared instantly.  We then had to prise the bloody crabs out of the gaps in the steps to get them safely back in the river.    It was supposed to be a race, but it turned into an airlift.

1. Such A Perfect Day

2.  I’m Glad I Spent It With You

3. We Go Home

in July 2007, seven months pregnant, I gave up a walk I used to do twice a week… through The Town, past All The Different Coloured Houses Sitting By The Sea, and either up the Headland to the swimming pool, or over the hump to the Rockpool Beach.  The walk was a big part of life for me, the Big Pram, and Son 1, now aged 4y 6m.  Fat and knackered, I started driving. Son 2, now aged 19m arrived, and moved into the Big Pram.  And Son 1was always exhausted from his hyper-Mummy activities and could never walk further than about a mile without wanting to sleep.  Today, the sky blue, the sunshine bright, the water turquoise, we took a picnic, the beach suits, the swimming things, and the Big Pram, and went shopping for a Wet Suit for Son 1.   Before he’d gone 50 yards he was clinging to our neighbours’ railings refusing to move.  Too tired.  Needed a carry.  Wanted to go in The Pram.  Wanted to go home.  Couldn’t possibly make it all the way to the Discount Store.  He made it to the Discount Store, and we got him his wetsuit.  Then a Fab lolly, to be eaten behind The Pram, so Son 2 (nothing suitable for him on the Van) wouldn’t know.   Son 2 has excellent receptive language, tossed off his shoulder straps and levered himself round the big hood to lean back and check out what Son 1 was eating.   Two Mini milks, bought at the Spar shop near the Different Coloured Houses.   And then to the Rockpool Beach, which was covered in a thick layer of stinky seaweed. Who cares.  Son 1 did it. Walked all the way. We are Back. 

They were both exhausted after day upon day of trips out, so my plan was to spread out the mat, have our picnic, and then have a slow walk back again.  Nope.  Son 1 was straight in the sunsuit and off up the rocks.   Son 2, crying to get out of the Pram, was soon in his wetsuit swimming costume, sunsuit top and Legionnaire’s hat.   He scooped up sand and gravel and threw it in the sea. 10,000 times. Son played with a sandcastle someone left at the tideline, and then bounced back to play with Son 2.  Find a piece of seaweed and use it as a lasso, sending sand and flicky green muck over everything. I drank coffee from my flask while I stood over them.  Son 2 sat in the water, threw stones, patted it and splashed, laughing.   It was heavenly.  The water was greeny-blue, cormorants were diving a little way out from the shoreline, the sun was scorching hot.  Eventually, even in the blazing sunshine, Son 2 got cold.  We had lunch, the three of us sitting on our mat, Son 2 pestering mildly for Son 1’s Ben 10 drinks bottle, Son 1 drinking Son 2’s Frubes.  We sang “Someone to Care For.”  Son 2 threw sand in the bagels.

I got them dressed and loaded up the Pram.  It had been hard work hauling the Pram over sand made up of tiny stones… so on the way out I decided to pull it over the seaweed.  It was much easier over the seaweed lying on the beach… which was dry, yet on a flat surface.  But then I hit a great river of seaweed on rock.  No drainage.  Stinking, sludgey, slimey, each foot sinking 8  inches into bogwater with every step.  The Pram nearly capsized on a rock.  i heaved it up the concrete slope to the top of the cliff and tried to get the pondscum out from between my toes with a baby wipe.   Then I put on my Salvatore Ferragmo pumps (a relic from the Olden Days) for the walk back.  Son 1 did it, again. Not a complaint, not a suggestion that he should be carried.  Just strolled along playing Lightning McQueen, walk along the top of walls, goblins-in-jail with railings and chat to  Son 2 whenever he looked like having a doze.     But again, he did it.  Two and a half miles, with 2 hours’ play inbetween.  He was a amazing.  Both boys were a joy to be with today.  No stresses, no hurrying, just a very relaxing afternoon on the Beach. We left the house just before 11.. we didn’t get back till after 1630.  We only went out for a little shop and a picnic lunch…

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.