1.  Getting Up

2.  Stepping Out

3.  Lying Down

As always, on a Monday morning, The Man and I were clattering around downstairs while the Son 1 aged 5y 1m and Son 2 aged 2y 1m softly snored in their bedroom.   I drank coffee, and gazed blearily at the clocks.  Every clock in the house has to be fast, or I am Late For Everything.  And only a few have been put back.  So in the lounge it was 0730. In the kitchen it was 0630.  Everywhere else,  it could have been anything from 0615 to 0620.   Wonder Nanny, months ago, told me she never looks at any of our clocks and relies on her mobile phone for the time.  The boys came down.  Son 1 now turns his nose up at Coco Pops, so we’ve gone back to pancakes.  Son 2 stuffed his face. Son 1 nibbled the edge of a tiny piece like a teenaged girl in ballet school.  I nagged and nagged.   As always, on a Monday morning, I was Gloriously Grateful that Son 1 got to School on time.

At lunchtime, a colleague and I went out for a Run.  I haven’t been out since A Pan Fan.  ( Another Good Thing. I have worked out how to edit the hyperlinks…)   We were therefore both Beginners, and did 3min walking and 3 min running x 5, in bright, crisp autumn sunshine.  We went down by The River, past the Garden and the Playground and along to the Sports Field.  My colleague wanted to run on the grass to save our joints. I didn’t want to mess up my nearly new shoes.  And yet inside I still think I’m a runner…  

I collected Son 1 from After School club.  He burrowed his face into my shoulder.  “Are you tired, Son 1?” I asked. “They’re all a bit tired, today,” said the Helper. Son 1 wanted a carry.  I hitched him up, and he slumped against me. “You’re not very well, are you?”  “My throat’s sore. It hurts when I yawn. Tell Daddy I don’t think I’ll have any tea. ”   I carried him across the playground. “I’m parked right up the Muddy Path. Do you want me to leave you on the bench while I go and get the car?”  “Yes please.”  Reader, I couldn’t.  I carried the poor floppy lump quarter of a mile, in my trouser suit and three inch heels.  He only ate a Frube from his tuck box, and was asleep by the time we got home.  I took his temperature. 37.9.  Son 2, chuckling with joy at first sight of us, went nuts at the amount of attention Son 1 was getting. They were both in bed and asleep at 7pm.  Or 8pm, if you were in the lounge.

1.  Dough

2.  Bread

3.  Darkness and Hail

They wanted to play with the Playdoh, and like a fool I let them.  Son 2 aged 2y 1m plays with it during the week, under Wonder Nanny’s gentle supervision.  Son 1 aged 5y 1m plays with it at school, charming teachers and Tea Club Helpers with the delight he takes in it.  Together, on the little yellow table, they were murderous.  If Son 1 rolled, Son 2 wanted the roller.  If Son 2 squodged, it was the blob Son 1 was going to use. There was snatching and scrapping and shrieking.  And finally there was a lump of blue, trod into the bottom of Son 2’s shoes… and then into the stairs, and the hall carpet, and the lino.  While we were away, the carpet cleaner came and did the lounge, which was looking a bit Jackson Pollock.  ”If one bit of Playdoh gets on the carpet upstairs, I’m throwing it all out,” I said.  We went shopping. “Is it pocket money day?” said Son 1, as I counted out coins in the fishmonger’s. I gave him a £2 coin. We had to go to the toyshop. The only thing he wanted for £2 was a Playdoh toy.  And like a fool, I let him.

We met the Vicar in M and S.  We were trying to control a tantrumming Son 2… he was wandering round with a basket, peering at the ready meals. “Is it your turn to cook?” I asked.   No. The Vicar’s Wife is going on a trip, helping one of their sons move to a town many hundreds of miles away.  “But The Church is full of great cooks,” I said. “Can’t you just work it into a conversation so that someone will arrive carrying a casserole?” “I haven’t told anyone she’s going,” he said. “I don’t like to impose.”  That’s why I like the Vicar.  One of the most imposed-upon people I have ever met… whose flock includes scores of ladies of a certain generation who would rain pies upon him if he asked… but he doesn’t like to impose. He headed off to the check out with a bottle of wine on top of his shopping, so I liked him even more.   I simply don’t have enough life to cook for The Vicar.  But I know someone who might.   I think I’ll mention it…

Son 2 finally fell asleep in The Big Pram; Son 1 and I went to change the library books; The Man strode off home with the shopping.  Son 2 woke up just as we were leaving the library, and picked up his tantrum where he left off. ”I wan’  ge’ ou’!”  “No. It takes too long to get you back in.”  I pushed him up the hill, Son 1 trailing behind us looking at his Playdoh toy.  I suddenly noticed the sky, very, very low, and very, very dark. “Son 1! Will you please hurry! There’s an enormous black cloud up there and I want to get us home now!”  He walked slowly on.  “Son 1, MOVE! That big black cloud is just about to dump everything it has on our heads.” He got the message, but he couldn’t move fast enough.  It started to rain, so I swept him under the handle of the Big Pram onto his nappy bag seat, and pushed them both up the hill so fast my heartbeat pounded in my ears.  We were 300 yards from home when the hail started machine-gunning down on us, hammering onto the road so hard it bounced back hip high.  Son 1 and Son 2 screamed.  The Big Pram is a Big Pram because it’s a three-wheeled, heavy-axled, jogging buggy, bought in the days when I thought I would still run 30 miles a week. Son 1 and I went running with it seven whole times, but Son 2’s reflux meant we never tried.  Until today.  I RAN.  It still does its stuff. We crammed ourselves into the porch, soaking.  “I wet,” said Son 2. “Big back cowd.”  It stopped his tantrum.  But I can’t quite work out if it means I’m supposed to cook something for The Vicar.

1.  A Thousand Cuts

2.  Thanks A Thousand

3.  A Thousand Times

Son 2 aged 22m didn’t wake up screaming till 0615.  This is a Good Thing. Lately it’s been unremitting before 0530.  The Man has tried.  I’ve just left him, his screams not quite drowned out by the klaxon of my guilt. I wonder what’s wrong. Wonder Nanny says he’s the same when he wakes up from his daytime naps. I wouldn’t know. He never sleeps in the daytime when he’s with me. Which all leads me to the Pang Pang Pang conclusion that he needs to see me more. Oh Lord.   At least we have Wonder Nanny so he doesn’t have to go to Nursery.  He stood at the door and cried after she left tonight. Pang Pang Pang.    

Cheer Up, Said George.  (Son 2 and I are doing The Smartest Giant In Town at the moment.)  The Man has taken some time off.  This is cause for the firing of cannons and a public holiday.  I have tried pointing out that even Junior Doctors are barred by law from working more than 48 hours a week but for some reason he thinks he’s exempt from the Working Time Directive.   And the boys’ Elegant Aunt has offered us her timeshare week. Hoorah hoorah.

I tried to get home from work a bit early to see a little more of Son 1 aged 4y 10m and Son 2.  Didn’t work.  When I cuddled Son 2, Son 1 went mad with jealousy, and relentlessly tried to bash him off me or force his way between us. When I cuddled Son 1, Son 2 let out intolerable ear-splitting shrieks and I ended up dumping him in his cot.  I left him there for five minutes, and then went back up. He was standing, in his dungarees, cute as a kitten, in the corner of his cot.   A big smile. “Mummeeeee!” “Are you going to stop shrieking?” “Yesssssssssssssss.”  And he made it till bedtime without a single screech.  And then, after I’d laid Son 1 down in his bed and closed their bedroom door, their day ended as it began. “MUMMMMEEEEEEE! MUMMMMEEEEE!!!!”

1. Excuse Me

2.  And Me

3.  Not Just Me

I give the boys a tub of fruit as soon as they get up, the Childcare With Serenedays principle being that I’ve always funnelled in at least one of their 5-A-Day before 7am.  So, while I was washing grapes and blueberries for Son 2 aged 21m, a little figure was pushing a green ELC chair across the kitchen. He likes to stand on a chair at the worksurfaces so he can see what Mummy is doing.  I like him standing on the chair, because at least I don’t have to carry him around. This morning, I wasn’t fast enough shutting up the dishwasher so he could get in. “Coos Me.  Coos Me,” he said, smacking the chair into my ankles.  He just is the cutest child in the world.

Son 1 aged 4y 9m doesn’t go to Nursery on Tuesday, so a sane start to a beautiful morning. The house is east-facing, so we had bright early sunshine streaming in to every room. “I wonder why Son 2 is waking up so early,” said The Man.  Both boys were lounging around in pyjamas, colouring, as I got ready.   Son 1 is great at colouring, does some amazing designs and spends ages choosing which colours and patterns to use. There are, of course, very many “Oh well done, Son 1, what a beautiful picture, I really like the way you’ve drawn that/colours you used/shapes you’ve made.   This morning, when Son 2, eyes shining,  held up his scraggy, holes gouged in it, scribbly biro-d yellow chick mask from the Environment Day, I realised the poor child has been trying to get the same response from me for ages.  Maybe when I’m less tired I’ll be smarter. 

I got back before Wonder Nanny left, which was a Good Thing. The boys were high as kites. They’d been to Nanna’s, who’d plied them with sweets and chocolate, and then to the playground in Nanna’s Village.  They were dirty and behaving badly, as they’d apparently done all day.  Son 1 tormented Son 2, and for the first time I witnessed Wonder Nanny snapping at him.  Thank God for that.  I have agonised over the quiet, reasoned, loving control she has over them.  Usually, when I come home from work, they are quiet, sedate little angels minding their ps and qs.  And then they go off like fireworks.  Because they were being so awful when I came in, there wasn’t the usual annoying disintegration for my benefit.  Son 2 sat still through his books; Son 1 was still pretty hyped but tolerable.  He gulped his bedtime milk. “Shall we ask the servant to bring us some more?” he asked. “Better not call him that,” I said.

1.  Bared Teeth

2.  Hand Holding

3.  The People On The Bus

The Man took Son 2 aged 18m downstairs this morning while I grabbed some more time in bed.  Son 2 howled and hollered.  Stood at the bottom of the ground floor stairs baying upwards.  Son 1 aged 4yrs 6m woke, shrieking for Mummy.   I collected Son 1 on my hip and took him downstairs.  Son 2 cranked up his tantrum because I was carrying Son 1.  I picked up Son 2.  He screamed and shouted and pushed Son 1 away. I put Son 1 down.  He curled up in a miserable ball on the kitchen floor.  I tried to get Son 2 to give him a kiss and a cuddle to make up.  He wouldn’t. And he wouldn’t stop yelling.  We gave him teething powder. He quietened down.  He has three canines coming through.  They seem to pop out and then sink back.  The bottom right one is now an iceberg tip - I’m sure it was bigger a few days ago.  And the bottom left one came through with a shred of pink gum up the side.  The pink bit’s gone, but the tooth still looks like it’s gone back in.   Poor child.

Dressed, breakfasted, shoe-d and coat-ed, the boys were ready to leave the house and waiting for me.  Son 1 opened the door. This terrifies us.  He’s fine, but Son 2 never stops trying to escape. A whiff of fresh air and he’s straight outside.  I rolled up the blind and put a chair next to the door so Son 1 could see out.  Then Son 2 needed a chair next to him.  Two little backs. One little head peering out, another little head, shoulder-high, alongside.   Holding hands.  Mush.

 Son 1 has been nagging me to take him on a bus. We are a rural, two-car family, so buses aren’t big in our lives.  We drove to the Big Town to the Park And Ride.  Both boys in raptures.  Son 2 pointed and pointed.  “Buh!  Buh!”  “And what do The Wheels on the Bus do?”  “Rah rah.”  And, as it was raining, The Wipers On The Bus Went Swish Swish Swish. All Day Long.  Son 1’s cheeks were fat with his smiles.  We went to the Big Town Museum. Free entry, and full of other rained-out families. The boys dressed as spacemen and played with lego.  We walked from one end of the Big Town to the other to get the bus back.  We were last off. Son 1 had removed his waterproof trousers and taken his shorts and pants down as well.  And we needed to sort the buggy.  A Bus Man came on and started pressing all the bell buttons.  “It’s the law,” he said, self-consciously. “Because we’ve got them, we have to check they work.”  “Do you need anyone to help you?” I asked.  “Because Son 1 would love that job.”    Son 1 got to press button after button after button.  He did indeed love that job. And The Bells On The Bus did indeed Go Ding Ding Ding.

1.  I Can See You

2.  Pub Crawl

3.  Sand Dunes

So if Margaret Thatcher got by on three hours sleep a night, why wasn’t she permanently ratty or cold-ridden.  The Big City on Tuesday, 400+ miles round trip, 15 hour day including 8 hours driving.  Round a Wednesday Friend’s house last night; the carriage returned here well after midnight.  I was in with Son 2 aged 18m.  Now the mornings are light, he can see me lying in the double bed.  It doesn’t matter how still I am, how quiet I keep. When he wakes up, I get up.

We drove over to the Sandy Beach. Played Pooh Sticks on the bridge.  Got the tent up.  Sunny, but with a bitter wind, and a cold mist rolling in and out from the sea.  Son 1 aged 4yrs 6m was not on good form.  Not enough Mummy Time apparently.  He played in the sand in his sun suit. I could see from how he was standing that he was frozen, but left it to him to tell me he wanted more clothes.  In my defence, he’d said “no” to every single thing I’d suggested all day long. He pitter-pattered off the sand towards a beachside pub.  “I’m cold. I’m going in that warm cafe.”  I got his parkha on him, and followed him, asking him to come back so he could get dressed.  An out-of-season, barely-open, dim and dark beach bar.  But.  On the plus side.  Loos.  Coffee machines. And a sign saying children mustn’t be left alone on the play equipment.  There wasn’t any play equipment.  But maybe there is in the summer. 

By late afternoon I’d managed to work out that he wanted me, me, me.  So, still carrying Son 2 who was refusing to be put down, I suggested we explored the sand dunes.  “What’s a sand dune?” “You know, like the Crocodile Hunter. ‘Rolling down the sand dunes…’”  Son 1 loved the Sand Hills.  The grass was very scratchy, but he loved climbing through the fenced wire, he loved the little tracks, he loved going up and down.  He rolled, he scrambled, he scrabbled, he climbed. He Could See For Miles.  He wanted to poke in the remnants of illegal campfires. “Please be careful!  There are lots of sharp and dangerous things in sand dunes!” On the way back he told me he’d found treasure and wanted to take it home. ”It’s Not Sharp Or Dangerous.”  It was a brilliant blue hard plastic crescent.  A decorative bead from a bag perhaps.  On the way back Son 1 thumped Son 2 so hard in the back he fell flat on his face in the sand.  And I let him off, because he said he didn’t mean to be so rough, and he didn’t realise Son 2 would fall over.  Then he went and played in the tidal stream in his new flashing trainers.  And after that, there was No Ice Cream.

1.  Climbing

2.  Pining

3.  Shining

Better.  Both Son 1 aged 4y 5m and Son 2 aged 18m slept through, apart from one screaming session from Son 1.  The Man went down, but that was a genuine sitting-bolt-upright-in-bed-still-asleep night terror, as opposed to imperious yelling for Mummy because you’ve been banned from going upstairs into her bed.  The Man left early on a Business Trip.  Son 1 wailed.   I washed up some breakfast things and turned round to see Son 2 climbing up on to the kitchen table from a dining chair.  He stood up, smiled, and reached for the light.

There were some Office things I needed to do at home today. I’d planned it carefully, picking the day that was reasonably clear and picking Tuesday, because Son 1doesn’t go to Nursery so I had no need to drive.  Only the boys didn’t quite see it like that.  Son 2 clung.  Son 1 was deliquent.  At the point where he gripped Son 2’s shoulders from behind and shook him,  I sent him to bed.  Wonder Nanny removed them for the day to a Garden with a playground.  I cannot remember the last time I was in the house on my own. 

At lunchtime I went for a run.  For only the second time in about a month.  Blue, clear skies, bright sunshine, a chilly breeze.  Down to the Bridge Over The River and back.  I was in shorts, and it was lovely being out in great weather in daylight.  I ran the full three miles, and I haven’t seized up, and I don’t think I’ve pulled anything.  The nervous systems check of someone who’s been injured running in the past.   I found one prob…my dodgy arthritic ankle is very puffed up.  I will go back on the Glucosamine so I feel like I’m a proper runner again.

1.  Goat Bait

2.  Candlemass

3.  Brothers In Arms

The Man left at 3am on a Business Trip, so we collected Nanna and headed for The Bird Park.  Son 2 aged 16m couldn’t get into the Baby Area fast enough.  Ball Pool.  Jet Bits.  Sitting over one of the holes so the remaining air streams blew even stronger.  The thin, four-inch wisps of his anyhow pre-haircut fringe blown up vertical.   He waved at Nanna. “Eh-yo.”  He concentrated as he threw balls overboard.  He got down.  We crawled up and around.  Son 1 aged 4y 3m was cross.  Growling.  Clawing his hands.  Pushing me away.  He wanted his Best Friend.  Only his Best Friend understands his game.  I tried to get us all playing together and might have succeeded at times.  He had a great time when Son 2 was sitting on the jets and throwing balls down at him.  He liked it when we followed him over the Big Children’s Stuff.  Son 2 slithered on his stomach and went down the baby slide on his own.  He learned to go down steps the same way today.  We went to see the otters and the owls.  Son 2 was in his reins - he loves walking, we’re hoping that having him in them early will mean he accepts them later.  When we know we’ll need them.  We looked at the Guinea Pigs.  £12 each.  Son 1 and I looked at each other.  If they’d sold hutches we’d've taken two.  We fed the goats, Son 2 managing to hold the food so the goats licked it from his hands, giggling his head every time their tongues shot out over his fingers.  The goats were standing in a quagmire, and everytime they leapt up their hooves spattered us.  Slathered in mud and goat spit, we washed our hands and made for the penguins.

We went early (for us) because it was the Family Tea Service at The Church and I felt we should go.  Son 2 didn’t wake up between car, house and street, and stayed asleep till we were at the bottom of the church steps.   Son 1 was exhausted, but will fortunately do anything if promised a comic, so trudged down like a trooper.  Numbers were few.  The theme was “light.”  The student priest put everyone under a tablecloth to show how Dark Things Were When God Forsook.  “And then Simeon saw a little baby just like this one (Son 2, possibly about 15 months too old for the role), and said ‘here is the light that will save the world.’”   We went back to our pews.  “Is Son 2 Jesus?” asked Son 1.  We sang “Shine Jesus Shine,” the words on a screen at the front.  My eyes are dim, the light was poor.  I so liked the idea of Kindly Brightness that I googled “Shine Jesus Shine, lyrics” when I got back.  Ah.

And then they provided tea.  Vegetable Bake, sausages, pizza, squash and cake.  Brilliant.  We zigzagged home across the main street - closed to traffic while they dig it up, Son 1 liked leading us from one side to the other.  We bought a Shaun The Sheep comic.  It was late and we were all whacked.  The boys went in the bath.  I insisted on washing their hair to remove goat saliva and hoof flecks.  I washed Son 2’s. Then I washed Son 1’s, singing him his lullaby to keep him calm.  Seeing him lying back on Mummy’s arm, being sung to, destroyed Son 2.  He cried, stood up, grabbed the arm holding Son 1 and sat his little bare bottom down on Son 1’s face, sinking him under the water. Then he stamped his foot on his ear and slid off.

1.  Be Good For Goodness Sake

2.  A Winter Wonderland

3.  Santa Baby

Had a lie in till 0715.  Heard the boys and The Man downstairs but couldn’t get up and didn’t. Eventually a cup of coffee arrived, and then Son 1 aged 4y 2m.  I tried reading to Son 2 aged 15m, but Son 1 was maddening.  Loud, boisterous, destructive, annoying.   Eventually I said “What is in your head when you behave like this?” He said: “My heart is broken because Son 2 is getting all the Mummy Time.”  Ah.    They  both do this.  They’ll both take turns and be sensible when it’s just me, but as soon as The Man or Nanna is added to the equation - which I think will make things easier - they both squabble and roar and irritate, ready to fight to the death not to be the one who gets the second best.

We went to a Garden to see Santa.  It rained as we drove there, grim charcoal-black clouds getting thicker and lower.   When we arrived the boys were asleep, and the rain driving harder.  And it was ARCTIC.  I bought the tickets and sent everyone else into a barn to keep out of the rain.  “Follow the Christmas Trees to Santa,” said the chap in the booth.  Son 1 wouldn’t pull his hood up because he was wearing his Santa hat, and wanted the Great Man Himself to see it.  And then it started to snow.  Proper, light, swirling, coming-faster-and-faster snow.  It snowed all the way down to Santa.  It snowed while we were waiting and looking at all his small but gorgeous reindeer.   A rainbow arched across the sky… faded and then re-appeared.  “This is how you know it’s really Santa,” I told Son 1.  “He needs the snow for his reindeer, and he’s using magic to make rainbows.”  “With his computer?”

Santa was very well done - he sat in a chair and said nothing, a female helper read “Twas the Night Before Christmas.”  Son 2 was scared, but calmed down for the story.  The eight other children were transfixed.  Son 1 sat straight the whole time, shooting his hand into the air for every question.  At the end they got a toy reindeer and The Man took photos.  When we got outside the snow had stopped, and a man on a tractor was stirring a vast vat of fake foam which was being blasted around Santa’s log cabin as we left.  In the cafe Son 1 took one of the decorations off their enormous Christmas Tree.  “Son 1!” I snapped. “I can’t believe you’ve done that here!  You know Santa is very near - is he sees you do that nothing I can say will get you presents on Christmas Day!”  Total disintegration of small child.  Red face. Distress. Real tears.  The Man had the same effect on Son 2 later on when he gave him a Salt and Vinegar crisp.

1.   Craving Sleep

2.   Fighting Sleep

3.   Losing Sleep

Lordie we are all tired.  Son 2 aged 14m barely made it past breakfast before he was eye-rubbing, yawning and shrieking.  Son 1 aged 4y 1m was producing weapons-grade sibling rivalry.  I held Son 2’s hands across the highchair table; and Son 2 laughed.  Son 1 stopped what he was doing and came and climbed on my knee, blocking out the route to the highchair table.  I put Son 2 down for his sleep, and Son 1 and I played Scooby Doo and made Pirate finger puppets.

i am doing a Running Gag. Whenever anyone asks if The Man is back, I say yes, but he’s Very Tired.  Our neighbour walked down to The Town with us, asking The Man when he’d got back.  “Yesterday,” he said.  “He’s Very Tired,” I said.  “Don’t you get tired then, Serenedays?” she said, Getting It beautifully.  We wandered along in the rain, Son 2 in the Big Pram, Son 1 in the buggy.  “We’ll just have to push them and they’ll fall asleep and then we can have a coffee,” I said.  Son 1 fell asleep eventually.  Son 2 just went on and on and on.  It was an amazing feat of endurance.  We’d stuffed him into an anorak, in a cosi toe, with his new (hot) hat on.  His hat fell down over his eyes so he could only see out at the bottom.  And still he stayed awake. 

Back home he was so tired he needed his tea at once, but melted down before he’d had very much.  We think there is a teeth thing going on again.  Son 1 says his teeth hurt at the bottom front.  Hells bleeding bells.  I’ve probably dissolved them in fruit juice.  Bathtime was agony, getting them to bed was awful - Son 2 woke and woke and woke… but when I finally got him to sleep I rang a Friend  for a chat and felt better. And The Man is having a go at all my outstanding filing.  Good to think it’s getting done. I’m a bit worried it might be like Son 2’s tidying up though… bits of cheese spread sandwiches left in the vegetable rack, crayons in the washing machine, jigsaw pieces in the bin.