1.   Froggies

2.   Buggies

3.   Huggies

Really good, thank you, great weather, good journeys, no complaints, no complaints. Want some pictures? You’ll like this one: I dressed the boys for a 3am start in the UK, and we arrived at 12 noon our time and 25C, picked up the gleaming hire car and headed for the villa… Son 2 aged 2y 1m cried in the back, red spots burning in his cheeks, clearly overheated and distressed. “It’s ok, Son 2,” I kept saying. “We’re nearly there.” We stopped outside our destination. Vomit jetted out of him in pitiful spurts, swilling down his front and pooling in the car seat.  “I’s sick,” he said, hair plastered to his forehead.   Oh, but the swimming pool was lovely, the waiters loved children, the sun shone and the Bloody Marys racked up.  The Elegant Aunt and Golfmad Uncle had given us their timeshare, where we’ve stayed before, but had booked themselves another villa a few miles away to see the boys. “You’ll think it’s a bit Footballers’ Wives,” laughed the Elegant Aunt as she showed me around their new find.  Oh dear. I didn’t. I thought it was lovely.  Really lovely.  I didn’t dare tell her.  So we swam and went to the playground and the beach, and then this morning we trailed along the paths towards the hire car, and the boys spotted frogs in the water through the gardens. And I had a massive Pang, because we Just Don’t Get Enough Time Together As A Family.  And then I was Positive, because I know how lucky we are. And I am full of Holiday Resolutions which will Improve Our Lives.

Son 2, sitting in the back,  sang a song about his Ollday. Each verse finished on “Orl day long,” and Son 1 aged 5y 1m and I clapped each time.  Then he started to cry. “I’s sick,” he said.  “We’re nearly there, Son 2,” I said, mentally risk assessing. Garbage In = Garbage Out. He hadn’t had enough breakfast for anything untoward to happen.  The Man piled the trolley high with two suitcases, a sailbag, a hand-luggage-on-wheels-case, two car seats and assorted bits of carry-on stuff, including a Thomas The Tank Engine wheeled suitcase and an Early Learning Centre farm.  He zoomed off to return the hire car.   We paused in Departures. Son 2 threw up. Magnificently.  Great quantities of milk and bits which even I could smell.  I blotted him madly with muslins from the nappy bag, failing to notice that he was sitting in puddles of it in the buggy.  Son 1 had Euros from Golfmad Uncle in his pocket, and whined for the Sweetie Stall.     The Man returned, I broke open a case and found clean clothes. We checked in, sent the stinky buggy into the hold and sprayed ourselves in Wall-E scent from the toy bit of Duty Free.

The flight was a Total Nightmare.  Son 2 is a psychotic flyer and I Refuse To Go On A Plane With Him Again Ever.  It was worse than this: http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2009/05/17/the-land-of-the-sand/  But it was only two and half hours in a 12 hour trip, there was a sachet of Calpol they didn’t spot in the nappy bag and we dosed him with that. But next time it’s Medised.  On the way we gave Son 1 his first trip to McDonald’s. A Happy Meal. Doesn’t like burgers, doesn’t really do stringy chips, but liked the tomato sauce and the toy.  Son 2 kept up the jeopardy with “I’s sick! I’s sick!” but we put Chitty Chitty Bang Bang on the portable DVD and he seemed to forget. Back home we unpacked. And I have a Triumph. We bought too much wine out there and couldn’t drink it all. So I brought it back.  I am a Member Of Mumsnet.  We can Solve Problems.  In the suitcase, in the hold, and it didn’t break.  Wrapped in clingfilm, a carrier bag each, two of The Man’s tee-shirts which I hate so wouldn’t care if we had to throw them out… and the particular stroke of genius of which I am very proud: Son 2’s swimnappies.  One at each end of the bottles. And one turned inside out on either side in case the worse happened.  6 Euros Over There will be Very Nice Over Here.  And Kim, who is keen on the brand, and has been kind enough to comment, at last I can give you your heading…

1.   Another bug

2.  And another one

3.  Lost and found

Son 1 aged 3y 11m was so ill last night.  I was doing some Office work downstairs when there was a gruesome, bubbly, hacking, choking coughing session from upstairs.  I went up and I could smell the sick as soon as I got in the doorway.  (I have next to no sense of smell.)  He was lying in a pool of it.  On the bed.  On the pillow.  On his hair, on his pyjamas.  Son 2 aged 1 woke up. I put Son 1 in the bath, stripped him off, put on the shower and used J cloths to gather up the vast pile of undigested solids from the bed.  Then rolled it all up into a ball and put the washing machine on.  All the time, Son 2 was HOWLING.  It took me 45 minutes to clear up, wash Son 1, cuddle him and put him upstairs in the Big Bed.  Son 2 barely drew breath, and just got louder and louder and more and more extreme.  “I’ll just go downstairs and settle Son 2,” I said to poor, hot, ill Son 1.  “He’ll be so tired after all that crying that I’ll be back in a few minutes.”  It was nearly 1am by the time I got him to sleep.  He was just so wound up and worried and needy.  I rang The Man - on his way back from the Airport - and told him he was in with Son 2. 

He got back at 3am.      I woke up at 6.  Went to the loo and threw up.  I’ve been really ill all day.  But I’m off on Monday and Tuesday, and there was an Office meeting in The City, so I soldiered on.  The Man stayed at home with Son 2, whose nappies are still unfit for group childcare situations. Raging nappy rash as well, poor lamb. All this and our mega-both-boys-party tomorrow.  I took Son 1 to the New Nursery.  He ate toast for breakfast,  slept in the car on the way there… was very clingy when I was dropping him off… But looking on the bright side as always, it was School Photo day, so hopefully I’ll get a nice pic of him.  And he went swimming, and the teachers said he’d brightened up afterwards.  The Man brought him home at lunchtime.

I had a rough time on the way to The City, while I was there, and on the way back again. It’s a three-hour round trip, it was really hard and I probably shouldn’t have done it.  But… there’s a Waitrose near The City, so I bought a pile of food for the party.  It’s pretty low maintenance stuff but I think my bug gets me out of any food preparation.  I’ve never been to Waitrose before.  I lost my credit card wallet, and just as I was pushing the trolley up and down the aisle looking for it, my name was called over the Tannoy.  A lucky star overhead, obviously.

1.  Breakfast

2.  The garden

3.  Five boys

4. Visitors

A 0430 start today.  Son 2 aged 1 woke up and then wouldn’t go back to sleep.  Nappy change, calpol, lying next to me on the double bed, fan on, he finally passed out at 0530.  Son 1 aged 3y 11m had woken and gone upstairs to wait for me in the Big Bed.  I snuggled with him for a few minutes, looked at the clock, saw it  was 6am and snuck downstairs for coffee.  Son 2 didn’t wake till 8am and the knock on the door from the organic veg man.  Son 1 didn’t wake till 9am and the phone call from Nanna.    I listened to the radio and did some Office work while I was waiting.

It was a beautiful morning.  We met the Wednesday Friends at the Garden next to the Beach.  Son 1 and one friend played pirates, climbed trees, ran through hedge tunnels, trampled down mighty elephant grass, went ankle-deep in boggy mud and pestered for Twiglets.  Son 2 and the friend’s younger brother played in the gravel surrounding some mega-succulents.  Son 2 chewed on very round stones, carefully laid stones on the grass, examined the plants and crawled and crunched.

The Son 1 and his Friend wanted to go onto the beach.  I pushed Son 2 in The Big Pram till he slept, and then went down to the water with them.  They stripped off and went in, shallow paddling, splashing.  The other two Wednesday Friends arrived, running towards the two in the sea.  The first Friend’s little brother ran in.  They were lovely.  Joyful, innocent, unselfconscious and full of delight in the moment and delight in one another.  Although there was a lot of wet sand throwing going on.  The sand was shining, the sky was blue and the sea was rippling in with very tiny, widely spaced waves.  It was very special.

We had to get back for two because more friends were coming round.  As I hunted for a parking space, there was a familiar sound from the back seat.  Son 2, vomiting like the exorcist girl.  ”Get me out of here! It stinks!” yelled Son 1, helpfully.  I parked in a one-hour bay, scooped the boys up and got them indoors.  I cleaned up and changed Son 2. The friends - pregnant mother, two boys aged 4 and 2 - arrived.  I gave her Son 2 ,and went out to move and clean the car.  And when I got back he was being sick again.  Nanna and Elder Sister came round, Son 2 ate minestrone soup and cheese and then was sick again.  And then had a nappy which overflowed on to the floor.  He’s in bed now.  I do so hope it’s not that bug he had before.  

1.  Off

2.  In

3.  Out

Hooray hooray as of 2248 I am Out of the Office till August 26.  I really like The Office normally but I am  getting pretty tired.  In my glad, Pollyanna way, I know I have life a lot easier than many people - I find having a lurk round the Talk pages on Mumsnet is a good way of making myself count my blessings.  But I’m still tired.  This feels a bit like doing the MBA - the 6am to 11pm slog day after day, with every single moment committed three times over.  Only there were fewer Cheerios in those days.   So .  I will list my Three Good Things quickly and get some sleep. 

Son 1 aged 3 y 10m was ok this morning.  Last night he was burning up, dragged himself up to bed as soon as I got home and had fallen asleep by the time I’d finished feeding Son 2 aged 11m.  Record time last night.  I was putting Son 2 down to sleep at 1850… and then he threw up down my clothes.  I lay him in his cot while I peeled them off and he was violently sick.  Gallons of orange bolognese sauce. Sigh.  So the fact that they both got into nursery is a Good Thing.  They were both shattered tonight.  I am not the only one getting burned out by the pace.  There is a apparently an article kicking around about the damage full-time working mothers are doing to their families.  Fortunately for us, I don’t have time to read it. 

It’s  the end of Festival Week so at 10pm there were fireworks for me to watch from the windowseat across the water.  Like I said, l don’t have it so bad.  I’ve been watching these fireworks for years.  When we lived in The Village, we would drive into The Town for the evening just to watch them.  We’d meet local friends… or, after we moved, people would pick this week to come and stay, with the fireworks always a feature.  No-one comes to stay now.  We’ve got no room, and our lifestyle is  incompatible with anyone without children under 5.  And there never used to be smudgy, smeary, smeggy little handprints on the bay window either.  Not that we ever used to watch the fireworks through the window.  We were always Out.

1.   The Doctor

2.   Support

3.   Scoop

I like this doctor.  All the partners at our practice are great - I just can’t really work out what you have to do to get to see them.  If I try and get an appointment, there’s an interrogation by the telephonist, who gives you the following options: A phone call from a locum doctor in the next half hour or a phone call from one of the partners (someone we may have seen before) at some point today.  When they will decide if they need to see you.  Argue past that, and you’re offered an appointment with a locum.  I did all this yesterday at 8am, and was offered a 3pm locum appointment.  I said, for the third time, that my baby had been ill for five days, had been very sick twice that morning, had rampant diarrhoea and was hospitalised for it last week, and that I’d prefer to see someone sooner if possible.  The telephonist then said “Yes, i suppose they might want to see him a bit sooner” and gave me a 0905 appointment with the Duty Doctor. 

Who, as I said, I like.  Son 2 was lethargic, fretful and clingy.  I reported yesterday’s saga. Duty Doctor said it’s infectious diarrhoea, he’s not dehydrated, there’s nothing that can be done except watch him and “support” him if he gets any worse.  Which is what they did last week in the hospital.  Did I want to take him to the Hospital Here to have him assessed? - Not if I don’t need to.   - Bring him back tomorrow then, I’ll weigh him again and we’ll see how he is.  1120 appointment. Or come earlier and get reception to call him when we arrive.  He’ll see us when he’s finished with his next patient.   Simple.

Wonder Nanny took Son 1 aged 3y and 9m for a hair cut while we were seeing the GP. It’s short, and he loves it.  He looks rock hard.  Son 2 and I perfected a new game while they were out.  Son 2 clings on to a chair, because standing is still his favourite thing.  Only he can’t quite do it at the moment, because he’s ill.  So his knees buckle and he topples.  And I rescue him with a big melodramatic scoop and cuddle and scores of kisses, and Son 2 giggles and giggles.  After a couple of times he was deliberately falling towards me to make me do it.  When Son 1 watched this game, he was over like a shot.  Scooping up Son 2 and kissing him.  Which Son 2 didn’t like, because he only wants me at the moment.   Son 1 gave up. “Come upstairs and watch telly with me mummy.  Leave him.” It must be agony having Mummy home for a bonus week and watching her giving the baby every drip of attention.  I sat him on my knee and we watched Scooby Doo.  

1.  The lie-in

2.  Bouncing

3.  A clear sample

Son 2 aged 10m woke at 5-ish and was put back to sleep by The Man.  Son 1 aged 3 y 9m was exhausted after an 8.30 bedtime.  So I was wakened at 0730 by The Man, bringing coffee and lifting up the blackout blinds.  Loudly.  Son 2 had been sick in the cot.  Son 2 threw up his breast feed.  I had my shower and sat Son 2 on the bathroom floor playing with the duplo.  Finished, went to get my clothes, came back, and Son 2 had been sick, and was sitting in a pile of porridge, patting it with his hands.  I went to pick him up and then realised it wasn’t sick.  He’d done a poo slick, and he’s lost so much weight now that it ran out of the side of his nappy.  Took him to the doctor.    Who said he looked well, considering what he’s been through, he’s still infectious, so don’t take him near other children or mother.  We are apparently all immune after 48 symptom-free hours.  He said he’d chase up the sample from the Holiday Hospital, and gave me a kit to take another today.  Ring him back at 5pm.

Son 2 could not sleep, so we put him in the Big Pram and walked through the town. I promised Son 1 an ice cream to make up for his disappointment in not seeing his friends today.   The Man came out for his lunch hour.  I let Son 1 bounce on the bouncy castle.  I bounced Son 2, who liked it, but couldn’t keep going very long.  I sat down with him on my knee to give him his banana lunch.  He had a little banana, but was more interested in drinking milk from the bottle.    A little bit more banana.  A little bit more milk.  And then a huge wet patch on  my skirt which quickly dripped all the way down to the pavement.  A great big pile of porridgey liquid poo.  Son 2’s, that is.  Took him to a baby change, cleaned him up.  Couldn’t clean me up, no spare clothes.  Took Son 2 out in his nappy.  No spare shorts/trousers, because we cleared out all our supplies on the Long Trip back.  This was 1330, and the doc had said get the sample back for 2pm if we wanted it to go today.   Being positive, my skirt was brown, so it didn’t show.      This was a low point indeed.

Rang the doctor at 5pm, who said the sample from the Holiday Hospital was clear.  It isn’t e coli, listeria, rotovirus or something else I’d never heard of.  He’d like to have another look at Son 2 tomorrow morning to see how he is.   Something else for Pollyanna to be Glad about.  Son 2’s stomach will apparently be inflamed for a while after the infection, which could be why he’s being so sick and having such bad diarrhoea.  He is just skin and bone now - he was slender before, but now his ribs stick out and his sternum’s really pronounced.  Poor little mite.  A friend came round this evening.  “I was going to tell you what had happened in a jokey way and say everything’s fine,”  I wailed.  “But it isn’t.  It’s awful.”  “He’ll get better,” she said.  ”He will turn into a big strapping lad, like they all do, and none of us will remember this.” 

1. Staying down

2. An invitation

3.  A Big One

We’re back.  Highlights of the last 7 days in a paragraph.  3rd Birthday Party. Long trip. Zoo with Granny and Auntie. Barbecue at Auntie’s house. Hotel. Swim: Me, The Man, Son 1 aged 3y 9m, Son 2 aged 10m. Son 2 sick. Son 2 temporary patient at GP.  Son 2 in hospital. 2 doctors and a nurse hold Son 2 down to get a canula in fat baby foot.  Son 2 on drip. Son 2 discharged. Golden Wedding lunch. Son 1 sick. The Man sick.  Me sick.  Granny sick. Grandad sick. Return delayed by a day. Long trip. Son 2 sick. Son 2 sick. Son 2 sick.  Clearing up in laybys. Febreze. Changing clothes in car parks.  More Febreze. 10 hours to get home.  Back home, put the boys to bed at 10pm. Give Son 2 his breastfeed. Son 2 sick. 

I took today off work to be with Son 2.  He kept his morning breast feed down and then slept.  Then bits of bananas.  Then because he looked interested in Son 1’s lunch, some apple and baby rice.  More banana.  Water. Pear and baby rice.  Breast feed. Cheerios. Everything stayed down.  Which is the positive bit.

Son 1 had a snooze after lunch, so did Son 2.  I was heading to the shops, so rang The Man to see what he wanted for tea.  Come down this end of town, he said, and we’ll have a coffee.   ”I’ll be back at 3″ I told Wonder Nanny.  “Just go,” she said.  “Text me if they wake up.” “Just go,” she said.  “Don’t touch the washing, you might catch the bug,” I said.  She made a shoo-ing gesture with both hands, so I went.   Sat outside in the square.  Topics of conversation:  Annabel Karmel’s house on the market for £8.5million, down from £10m.  AK saying it’s hard to keep recipes below fat and salt limits.  Why we keep Son 2 off salt and sugar only to have sodium and glucose dripped into him, 35ml an hour (I didn’t have anything to read.)  The Man’s conversations this morning about good fishing spots. The Man got invited to go sailing tonight but said no.  He needs to get a diver.  He had a salad baguette for lunch.  The Town is full of foreigners, there’s a cruise ship in. Wouldn’t it be great if Son 1 was here to play on that bouncy castle with those children?

Granny put a bubble gun in the luggage, which was seized by Son 1 last night.  The Man,  Son 1 and Son 2 went outside to play with it while I stir fried.     Son 1 was a vision of happiness.  Giggling, shrieking, calling, laughing.  Pearly white baby teeth in an open-mouthed smile, blue eyes dancing.  Son 2 - who’s better, but still feeling rough and only vaguely tolerating being more than 6 inches from Mummy - watched from The Man’s arms, interested, but worn out, an occasional little starfish hand reaching out.  Son 1 sent the bubbles in through the open kitchen window.  More gales of laughter.  “Don’t bring that in here, it’ll make the floor too slippery” “No it wo-o-  ” Splat.  Bambi on ice.  Peels of laughter.