1.  Palava

2.  Pyjamas

3.  Perfidy

I am back online, hooray hooray. Got knocked out in a rainstorm. Palava. Now sorted.  In summary: The Man went on Business Trip; Granny and Granddad here; Wednesday Friend is now 5, which means a rack of 5th birthdays coming up;  The Man back from Business Trip; Nanna babysat while Granny, Granddad, The Man and I went out for a meal at Nice Restaurant.

And here I am.  Not even a particularly Good Day to come back on. I left early, and did a Big Shop so got back late. Hardly saw the boys.  I doubled parked to unload the shopping.  A little figure aged 22m, in pyjamas was standing in the 2nd floor window, the blackout blind pulled down behind him, looking down at me.   I waved.  He looked and looked. I heaved the shopping out on to the pavement, I heaved the first bags into the house. Son 1 aged 4y 10m pelted downstairs, also in pyjamas. “Mummee, Mummee.”  The Man came down with Son 2. “I need to park the car,” I said. “You have him and I’ll park the car,” he said, dumping Son 2 into my arms. ”They’ve both had their baths and Son 1’s cleaned his teeth but Son 2 hasn’t.” At least that’s what I thought he said. 

“Son 1, come here and I’ll clean your teeth.” “They’re clean. You need to do Son 2’s.”  I sat Son 2 on my knee and carefully cleaned his teeth.  He has a cut lip.  The Man came back. “Why are you cleaning his teeth?” He said. “I’ve done them. It’s Son 1 who needs doing.” Son 1 cackled in delight. “I got you!”  It was Book Club night for me and Son 1.  He has as many books as he likes. He chose his entire Disney set. I got away with 11, because we’ve lost The Incredibles.

1.  Comprehending

2.  Coconuts

3.  Clarifying

Son 2 aged 19m wept, tantrumed and screamed as Son 1 aged 4y 7m and I left the house this morning.  In Wonder Nanny’s arms, he gazed through the window at us as we got in the car.  It’s borne in on me that the poor little mite has no way of understanding why Mummy and Son 1 are going off together and leaving him.   Memo.  Lots of books about school/nursery from now on.   Stick with him the whole weekend.    He started his tantrum about 20 minutes before we left, when I did my usual slow, clear and repetitive “Mummy and Son 1 are going to say goodbye.”  So Being Positive, another Sign Of Excellent Receptive Language.

Son 1 and I went to Tesco for a Big Shop after I picked him up from Nursery.  He was amazingly well-behaved.   We spotted marked-down coconuts in the yellow-sticker trays.  “My whole life I have always wanted a coconut,” he said, sitting in the 15 kg max weight seat and stripping some of the fibre off the shell.  “Mummy how do we open it?”  ” I don’t know, I can’t remember.  I thought you wanted to make a hole in it and drink the milk. ” “Yes I do, but what shall we use?”  “I don’t know, we’ll have to wait till we get home and see what we’ve got.  We used to have hours of fun trying to get into coconuts when I was small.”  “What did you do to get in?”  “Don’t know, my dad used to do it. Smashed them to smithereens.”  “How did he smash them?”  “Can’t remember. I think he used to just throw them on the floor, very hard.”  Son 1 peered down over the side of the shopping trolley.    ”Don’t even think about it,” I growled.

He behaved impeccably, didn’t pester, didn’t whine, got down from the trolley and trotted around happily holding his coconut. “They have these in Aloha Scooby Doo.”  So back home I showed him the paddling pool I’d bought from TK Maxx.  He can’t wait.  But the weather has turned, and a loud lightning/driving rain thunderstorm moved slowly over us this evening.  “I don’t mind playing in it in the rain.”  I got into a coconut hole with a metal skewer.  Wonder Nanny stuck a straw in so Son 1 could, like Shaggy and Scooby drink the milk.  “I don’t like it.”   Son 1 brought Son 2 a book about fish back from Nursery.  Son 2 is obsessed with it.   He has a word for Shark, and Boat, and Bus, and Please, and Banana, and Car, and Down, and Upstairs and Outside, and Bubble.  Still not quite recognisable to anyone except those who adore him… but we think he is a Miraculous, Magical Marvel.

1.  The Impersonator

2.  The Copycat

3.  The Mimic

The Man is Off On A Business Trip, so was trying to be helpful this morning.  He got up with Son 2 aged 19m, whose unappreciative, grief-stricken ”Ma Maaaaaaaaaaaaa” rent my heart as he was carried downstairs.    Son 1 aged 4y 6m, in the Big Bed with me, remained comatose while I put in my lenses, fussed about and tucked him in theatrically.  The Man made them pancakes and then Got On.  We went upstairs for books.  Son 1 watched “Babe” with Son 2.  Huge comedy potential, as Son 2 communicates mainly in animal noises, his favourites being dogs, sheep and pigs.  Snorting noises for pigs, baa-ing for sheep and his strange, owl-like woo woo for dogs.  Next time we watch it I’ll make it into a drinking game.  One swig for a snort, two for a baa, and three for a woof.  And a short for every Son 1question: “What’s pork?”  “Why did they take the Mummy dog’s puppies?” “Why does the farmer want to shoot Babe?”

Glorious weather yesterday, grim today.  Grey, wet and dark.  We went shopping.  We needed: 1) a present for  Son 1, who didn’t get an Easter egg from us.  (NB. Four barrowloads from friends-and-relations) 2) some Omega 3 tonic. 3) a wetsuit for Son 1, who strips off and runs into the sea, even in February.  Blue lips. Not a good look on a 4 year old. 4) fruit.  Son 2 fell asleep, so we went straight to the Toy Shop.  Well Son 1 hunted high and low.  And clearly, there was nothing he wanted.  A £70 Playmobil Knights Castle, which I already know, compulsive Mumsnet Lurker that I am, that I can get half price from the right website.  And which I don’t want to buy him,  as Son 2 is scarred for life from the split lip he got falling over on the battlement of the castle Son 1 already has.    We went to the Discount Shop.  Son 1 wanted a Biotronics toy.  Lego. 7 - 11 on the packet.  “You’re not old enough,” I said.  At that instant, a Little Blond Moppet Boy, clearly much younger than Son 1, arrived and stared at the stand, excitedly.  “Haven’t we got all these?” said Hearty Father, loudly.  LBMB drilled through and produced one he liked. “What shall we call him?” said Hearty Father.   Son 1 stood, staring.  “Excuse me,” I said. “Are these ok for four year olds?  He really wants one, but I’m so conventional I have to abide by the age range on the packet.”  “Oh we love them,” said Hearty Father. ”We’ve got four already.  They’ve all got names.”  “Brian?” I suggested. “Well, we have one called Stephen, don’t we X?”  X is an extremely distinctive name, and as I have said before in this blog, we are Really Rural.  Son 1 used to get bitten to death by an X at the Old Nursery he left seven months ago.  A Blond Moppet Boy, Littler than this one.  We got him his toy. “Is that X from the Old Nursery?” I whispered. “No,” said Son 1, cuddling his box. “X had different hair.”  We went in the queue behind Hearty Father, who had a shopping basket overflowing and a pillow under each arm. “Is that all you’ve got? Would you like to go first?”   How do such lovely fathers have such murderous children?

Didn’t get the wetsuit.  In the shop. “I need a poo!”  At home, at bedtime, Son 1 wanted “Daddy’s Lullaby.”  A library book I took out for Son 2, because it’s about a baby who can’t sleep.  Son 2 loves it, and will have it 3+ times a session.  I read it to Son 1 in the style of Son 2.  “And when he sees the empty cot, he goes ‘Bah!’ because he means ‘I’ve got one of those.’  Then Daddy takes the Baby into see the Big Brother.  ‘And I say, who’s your big brother?’  “‘Bah!’ and he points at the door.”  Son 1 thought this was hilarious. ”Read it again! Say: ‘Bah!’ “Sometimes,” I said, “Son 2 says something Very Like ‘Son 1′ when I say ‘Who’s your big brother?’ And I get very excited and say ‘Tell me again, tell me again,’ and he just sucks his cheeks in and looks around and pretends he can’t talk.”  Son 1 cried real tears.  “Read it again and I’ll pretend I’m Son 2 and I can’t talk!”  He couldn’t do it.  At the point where Son 2 is usually cat-like staring into the middle distance pretending he can’t hear me, Son 1 was laughing till he hurt.

1.   Shorter Nights

2.   Lovely Morning

3.   Precious Days

Son 2 aged 17m woke at 1130 last night, just after I’d gone to bed.  He screamed and I let him.  I hated it. It went on forever.  But I’ve been so tired, and I couldn’t help thinking that he had gone to sleep without a whimper for Wonder Nanny.    It was all for my benefit.  He roared.  He hollered himself hoarse.  He sobbed.  He shouted.  He woke Son 1 aged 4y 4m in the next room, who cried a bit for “Mummy” and then went back to sleep.  And then, finally, he stopped, and slept till morning.  So it was a Good Thing, especially in view of the amount of times recently either of us has slept with him.  But when I finally get some rest, I still may crack again.  Because I know he won’t Want His Mummy forever.

Blue skies, crisp winter sunshine, little or no wind. We went to a new beach.  The Town’s are sandy shingle/stoney sand.  We wanted wide expanses of golden sand.  We took: the beach bag (beach toys, sun suits, beach shoes, beach mat,) the beach tent, Son 1’s inflatable surf board, two changes of clothing, two towels, two pairs of wellies, jumpers, a massive packed lunch and the Big Pram.   Son 1 checked my packing.  Son 2 fell over and split his lip open again, for the third time. (Minor Injuries again.  They said they can’t do anything now; put Vaseline on it.)  We drove for 25 miles and the boys slept.   On arrival the car park was empty.  We loaded up the Big Pram like a sherpa’s mule and trundled over a bridge across a rushing stream.  Pooh Sticks.  We all got our sticks, we got ready for “Ready Steady Go” and Son 2 chucked his stick in.  Every time.  Basic Human Instinct.  Lean over fence, look down, get given a stick, throw it in the water.   Laugh.  

Son 2 had his lunch with Wonder Nanny, Son 1 and I climbed rocks.  He pushed my hand away, he said: “I can do it!” as I reached for him.  He slipped and said “Don’t worry Mummy” before I could hoik him up again.  He wanted to walk all round the edge of a tidal pool as the tide came in.  Next time, I said.  I wanted to help him down; he jumped without me.  Pang. Slipping Through My Fingers.   We put the Beach Tent up and had our lunch.  Son 1 decided he wanted his sun suit on so he could play in the sea.  I blew up his surf board and rolled up my trousers.  In he went.  Splashing, wading, kicking, lying down, falling off, getting soaked from chin to toe in water which was so cold it hurt my feet.   Son 2, also in his sun suit,  came for a splash with Wonder Nanny.  The boys played and played.  Son 2 started crying with cold, so back in the tent I dressed him.  Son 1 came out, also crying, also blue with teeth chattering.   We made a massive sandcastle.  Son 2 kept sitting in the moat, Son 1 did all the work patting the sides down.  We took pictures.  Son 1 kicked it flat.  17 days ago he was making snowmen.   We used everything we took, which is an extra bonus point for me.

1.  Night And Day

2.  Every Time We Say Goodbye

3.  Too Darn Hot

Oh Man.  Son 1 aged 4y 4m had another rubbish night, burning up, sweating, red in the face, crying.  His ears are fine but he says his throat is sore.  Son 2 aged 16m has the same, raging temperature - measured only with hand-on-forehead… absolute “no” from him to thermometer-in-the-ear - and not knowing what to do with himself.  Overnight, both dosed with Ibuprofen, calpol and liquids.  Son 1 was off Nursery, which isn’t a logistical problem because we have Wonder Nanny.  But I had a jam-packed day at the Office and there was nothing I could do about it.  Two poorly little boys who just wanted their Mummy and off I went, knowing I would think of nothing else all day.

At 1230 a colleague came by.  “Your Mum rang. She wanted to know how the boys are.”  Hell fire. I hadn’t had a minute.  I rang Wonder Nanny.  Son 1 answered.  “How are you?” “Not all right.”  “How is Son 2?” “He’s asleep.”  Wonder Nanny had dosed them, kept them quiet and they seemed ok.  “I was just about to text you,” she said.  “I know you’d be worried.”  I didn’t have time to ring Nanna…

By the time I got back, Son 1 was in his pyjamas with his temperature raging again, and Son 2 was in his cot asleep.  I was bereft.  All I wanted to do was wake Son 2 so I could be with him.  I went upstairs to get changed, and he woke up.  I got him to sleep and went in to Son 1.  “My poorliness is back again.” Son 2 woke again.  He howled.  Son 1 came in with us.  i went down, The Man took over.  Nanna rang.  I still hadn’t called her back. The Man came down after an hour, and Son 2 started again.  He woke Son 1.  They both bayed, louder and louder, in a comical, horrible duet.  The Man went to be with Son 2 while I finished work (and quickly wrote this) and then I’ll sort out Son 1.  We’ll swap boys at bedtime.

1.  Bathing Beauty

2.  Separation Anxiety

3.  Feeling Hot, Hot, Hot  

0530.  Son 2 aged 16m.  WAAAAAH.  I pelted down, desperate to get there before he woke Son 1 aged 4y 4m.  Put him in the bed, snugged next to him. Nope.  He wanted up.  After a Very Long Time, annoyed that he wouldn’t go back to sleep,  I plonked him back in the cot and went to the loo.  Hell was unleashed.  So there we all were.  Up.  I was reading to Son 2.  The Man had a shower.  Son 2 wriggled down from the bed, toddled off to stare up at him and started pulling at his baby pyjamas.  In he went.   The Man came out. In I went.  Son 2 played and chattered.  I dressed, picked up the toys, put them away, went to get Son 2’s clothes.  “A-Ma,” he said, pointing at the browny matter half-sinking beside him.    But on the bright side, at least I’ had already taken all the toys out…

I got out of The Office spot on 5pm.  Driving home there were two calls from The Man on my mobile.  One I can ignore… I’m driving, I’m not pulling over.  Two… what does he want?  PIcking up from somewhere?  Can-you-get-some-vital-item?  I pulled over.  He is all right now.  He has seen Wonder Nanny’s car driving past.  He’d arrived home at 5pm and the children weren’t there.  He thought something must have happened.  “Now I know how worried you get when you’re in the house without us I’ll make sure it never happens again,” I told him.  “Goodbye,” he said.  Only not that politely.    

The boys had spent the day with two brothers aged 4 and nearly-three and their Nanny.  They’d been for tea at the other house.  Son 1 isn’t well.  Temperature, headache, obviously feeling lousy.  i gave him Calpol… Son 2 begged some.  I got out our fancy new ear thermometer.  He was very upset  “I don’t want it in my ear.”  I took The Man’s temperature.  Son 1 took mine.  (I was definitely iller than The Man.)  Son 1 was 38.9.  Ah. I’ve just put that in an online converter.  Part of the skill in taking children’s temperatures is obviously… er… understanding Celsius.    Oops.   Son 2 refused his bath.  The Man put him in, and he instantly hurdled out, crying.  He pulled his panda towel off the radiator, took it to the place I dry him each night, put it on the floor and sat on it.  I got the message and put him to bed.   Both of them down before 7.  Unheard of.  Son 2 has woken since; I’ve given him Calpol and he’s gulped water. I think we are in for a stormy night.

1.  The Mystery Of Faith

2.  Let There Be Light

3.  The Patience Of Job

Son 1 aged 4y 2m and I went to Church.  First Sunday of Advent.  We sat at the back.  He burnt his fingers on a boiling hot pipe running along the wall just above the floor.  We were taken through a side door to a little kitchenette.  The water was so cold that Son 1 soon decided his fingers didn’t hurt anymore.  He did a puzzle at the back.  Then he reached into his Parkha pocket.  “I’ve got something for you,” he whispered.  And produced a handful of bigger-than-pea gravel.  “Where did you get that?” I asked.  “From the beach,” he whispered.  He coloured in his stones with the Church’s felt tip pens to make jewels for his Treasure Chest.  

Late Afternoon we walked down to The Square for the Parade to switch on the Town’s Christmas Lights.  Son 2 aged 14m was trussed up in his cosi toe, happy in his woolly hat.  Son 1 had four layers on including a fleece and his Parkha.  He was too tired to walk down and rode on The Man’s shoulders.  He wanted candy floss, which his Favourite Thing in All The World, even though he’s never tasted it.  In The Square it was perishing.  Son 1 sulked over candy floss, Santa helium balloons, although a friend supplied some raisins in yoghurt which quietened him.  The Parade started.  We were behind the Samba band and the Mayors’ parties, but in front of Santa.  There were sweets. Lots of them.  Lollies and haribous and chocolates, handed out from great carriers full.  Carols were sung, the Lights went on.  I listed Son 1’s sugar intake as I cleaned his teeth: ice cream, yoghurt raisins, haribous, lollipop, more jelly sweets, candy floss, more haribous and raisins.  He bounced off the walls like a squash ball.

Son 2 aged 14m woke 4 times in 90 minutes after we put him to bed.  He’s been sick twice, crying himself into gagging because I haven’t rushed up.  I’ve just cracked and lay down on the double bed with him to get him back to sleep… and that’s taken well over half an hour.  He has started drooling again, so it could be teeth.  It could be separation anxiety - I don’t feel as if I saw a lot of him today… he could be coming down with something…  it could just be too much stimulus from the Lights switch on.  I really thought we were getting somewhere with his sleeping, but that was awful.  And I’ve still got to get him in his cot when we go to bed.  However.  Today I gathered up my 5 remaining feeding bras and threw them out.  Progress Has Been Made.

1. After The Shot

2. Spot A Lot

3. Got Shot

Son 2 aged 14m up at 0515.  Maybe-he’ll-roll-over-and-go-back-to-sleep-for-the-first-time-ever, I drowsed.  Louder.  More insistent.  I sent The Man downstairs.  Son 2 cannot be rewarded with Mummy for Night-time Waking.  The Man went into  Son 2’s room, and the roof blasted off into orbit. Agitated, furious, inconsolable and atom-crackingly loud.  I went downstairs. The Man gave me Son 2.  He was instantly silent.   I put him in the bed with me and he went back to sleep.   I’m sure it’s the MMR.  He’s so little and I bet the dose is enough to immunise all those whopping 100-centile babies.  All I really want to do is snuggle up in bed with him.  But I know I’ll regret it because I won’t get enough sleep.  When we get on top of our money again I want a massive bed big enough for 4.

Son 1 aged 4y 2m was up late and whingeing and whining about going to Nursery. “I don’t want you to go to work,” he sobbed at the top of his voice.  They swap tips like that at playtime at Nursery.  “And then, if you really want to make them feel crap, make a couple of tears roll out of the corners of your eyes while you yell it in your shakiest voice.”  In the car he cheerfully spotted lorries, police cars, post vans and dogs, while singing his song about how happy he is. 

Late picking him up, quelle surprise.  He chattered all the way home.  We spotted stars, and sang Twinkle Twinkle.  The street light outside our house has been out of action for a couple of days now.  This is a Good Thing.  We can see stars in the sky above the river outside.  Son 2’s bedroom is darker, which I think may be helping him stay settled in the evenings again.  The dawns are better, blue-grey light fading up against deep dark clouds.  And the full moon was more spectacular too.  We’ve been here eight years and the street light has obliterated all that… so I’m rather hoping council cost-cutting will keep it switched off.

1.  Manoeuvres In The Dark

2.  Jumping

3.  Jamming

i slept badly, got up in the end and did about 2 hours’ Office work in the middle of the night.  Not a good sign.  I got back to sleep and then Son 1 aged 4y 1m appeared and clambered into my side of the bed.  “You’llhavetoclimbover,” I mumbled, unable to move.  He climbed over, The Man got out the other side.  Head on the pillow, next to our heads.  Legs pointing downwards.  That is how you get 3 in a bed, Son 1.  If you continually insist on sleeping with your head against Mummy and your feet against Daddy then one of your parents can’t stay.    

Son 2 aged 14m was up at 0630.  I am craving time with him at the moment, so it’s great it’s the weekend.  A Nursery Day for Son 1, so another brisk take-no-prisoners-zoom-out-the-house morning.  The journey was fine, we got there in plenty of time and parked near the mushrooms, with Son 1 skipping and jumping along the path, making fun noises, skidding on the mud, stopping to peer into tree trunks and trace out the letters on the road signs.  Smiling and laughing “Look at me, I can jump as high as that branch”  Jump.  About two inches.  Full of joy, he’s an absolute delight.

Late to get him again. In the car on the way home he sang: “I’m happy all day, happy all night.  Happy, happy happy happy.  Sometimes I’m sad, sometimes I’m cross, but I’m happy happy happy all day.”  “That’s a lovely song, did you learn it at Nursery?”  “No, I maked it up.  I’m happy all day, happy all night, sometimes there’s a frown on my face but it’s all right. I’m happy at my friends’ house, I’m happy in my house, I’m happy in my Nursery, I’m happy in boats, I’m happy in shops, I’m happy shopping.”  All the way home.  Jamming to himself.  We got back, I parked, he got out of the car and ran down The Terrace singing “I’m happy all day, I’m happy all night.” Went into the house, lay on the floor with his cheek on the lino and carried on singing.

1.  Daemon

2.  Pumpkin Soup

3.  Fireworks

A tough morning after a tough night before.  The Man conceded that after devoting weekends, evenings and agreed time off to work, he could spend a bit of time helping me today.  Maybe the fact that I drove 15 miles home from the Office last night in the pitch black with just my sidelights on, and I reversed the car into a barrier helped him realise I was suffering.  He took the boys to the Museum to see the Wednesday Friends while I lay in bed and watched telly.  Of course I couldn’t cope.  The Western World was wheeling cartwheels but I ‘m a full-time working mother and on my day off I wanted my baby.     

I rattled an empty pushchair down to the Museum, and joined everyone just as the Business Mother was scooping up the children to say goodbye.  Son 2 aged 13m clapped and laughed as soon as he saw me.  Son 1 aged 4y 1m soared off somewhere with The Man.  Back home Nanna came round.  I made pumpkin soup, with caramelised onion and a roasted pumpkin straight out the veg box.  “Yuk,” said Son 1.  I piled it into a cabbage-shaped tureen Younger Sister bought me in the days I had time to select witty serving dishes.  It worked.  Son 1 agreed it was The Best He’d Ever Tasted, and ate a grown up bowl.  Son 2 just ate and ate and ate.  The Man wasn’t doing the pumpkin soup, and made himself leftover chicken with pasta and pesto.  Son 2 ate that too.

I wanted to go the fireworks.  Son 2 was clearly exhausted, and there was some discussion about Nanna babysitting while the three of us went out.  Son 1 cuddled Son 2 and cuddled me: ” I want us all to go.”  We took a taxi up to the display.  We started talking to the firemen outside. “You’re going to miss it if you don’t hurry,” said one. “They wouldn’t have said that if you were 18 and blonde,” said The Man.  Fab fireworks.  We’d taken the Big Pram so Son 2 could sleep in it while we all walked back.  Son 1 decided he was going to sit in it.  “Put it down, I want to go to sleep.”  So I did.  So he did.  Son 2 fell asleep in the sling.  Our pram is 0 - 3.  Our sling is 0 - 1.  We had a four year old in the pram, and a 13m old in the sling.  So we stopped off in a pub for a drink.  And had a great time.  Till Son 2 woke up, as he always does, and we walked home through The Town, with the skies flashing and explosions echoing across the evening.