1.  Blotches

2.  Does Your Child?

3.  A Shade Different

Not a Good Night. Poor old Son 1 aged 5y 1m came in at 0230, and I had very little sleep after that. I went downstairs at 4, and then got up at 6, with Son 1 pad-pad-padding down behind me.  One Wednesday Friend - the Booming Businesswoman - is away in South Africa, doing Very Well without the children. The other texted. Swimming?  Nah. Can’t really. I have Son 1 as well as Son 2 aged 2y 2m.  He’s off school with a sore throat.  She would go swimming, we decided, and we three would see her in the cafe afterwards.  I made lunch. I loaded the Big Pram into the car. I loaded all the bags into the car. At about 1015, for some reason I still can’t remember, I checked Son 1’s tummy. There was a rash.  Red.  Not even a rash, particularly. Just big blotches and patches of red.  Nah, not red. Pink. Too faint for red. Nope. Not faint. There. Inescapable.  And, come to think of it, if we’re honest, and not trying to make the least of something, it’s red. Red. At his neck. Under his ears. On his chest. On his tummy.  I kept peering at him. He kept protesting.

I got my Book out.  Rashes With Fever.  Does Your Child Have A Fever? Yes.  Is the rash red, widespread, and vanishes when pressed? Yes. Does Your Child Have A Sore Throat? Yes.  = Scarlet Fever. See Your Doctor.  I looked at Son 1.  I looked at The Rash. I looked at The Book.  I looked at The Rash. I rang the Doctor. The receptionist was vaguely interested. “There’s only emergency appointments left. Is it an emergency?” “Well… he’s got a sore throat, a fever and a rash, and I’d like him someone to look at him today.”  ”Four Fifteen. You’ll have to come and wait.” “That’s fine.”  “So it’s sore throat and fever? His symptoms?” “And The Rash. On his neck. And his body.”  “Could you please just excuse me.  I’m putting you on hold. ”  I tum ti tummed. “Sorry, I can’t get the Duty Doctor. Can he ring you back?”  Of course he can. He rang. ”Bring him in now, I’ll have a look at him between appointments.” 

“Open wide. Say Aaaah. He’s got white spots on his throat and palate. Rashes are hard… that could be viral.. or… what’s his highest temperature been?” “37.9.  And 38 last night, but that was when he was in bed with all his covers on so I didn’t think it counted. But I don’t really do temperatures. I’ve just been giving him Calpol and Ibuprofen to help him when he’s clearly too hot.”  “Over 38 is probably an infection.  What do you think it is? Scarlet Fever?”  ”Well,” I said. “I’ve got this Book. And it says fever, sore throat and rash = Scarlet Fever.  And we’ve been on holiday so he’s been on a plane. And we spent a lot of time in a Spa Bath, and I’ve read somewhere they’re high risk for Scarlet Fever… and… if you tell me it’s not, I’ll be happy.” “It’s not one of those where you take chances,” he said, swabbing Son 1’s cheek. “Usually, if there’s any doubt, you don’t give children antibiotics. Except for suspected Strep, when you do. ” The printer buzzed. ”No school till at least a day after the rash goes and his temperature is normal.  No mixing with other children till you’ve had a clear day.” “What about Son 2?” I asked. “Oh if he’s getting it, he’s got it. Ring on Friday for the Swab result.” Outside, I rang The Man. I told the people we’d been with over the last few days.  Only suspected, I said. Could still be viral. Yes, he did…er.. go red before my very eyes.   At home, the boys watched telly. I made tea.  Son 1 couldn’t eat any. At bedtime, I took off his top to put him in the shower.   His back was shiny, coated in the rash.  No white bits. And I’ve kind of hunted here and there for the right word to describe the shade.  Deep red?  Crimson?  Nah, a just  a few shades pinker.  Vermilion? A bit too orangey.  Scarlet.  Definitely scarlet.

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.  Avoir Fatigue

2.  M’Aider

3.  The Couleurs King

I have been awake since 3am. Ellen MacArthur did five months on five minutes’ sleep every four hours.  Or something. I could so see her off.   I woke up, couldn’t get back to sleep, went downstairs, made a cup of tea, went back upstairs, got my Book Club book and went back down to the Double Bed for a peaceful middle-of-the-night readfest.  A little figure came padding down from the Big Bed. Wordlessly and glassy-eyed, Son 1 aged 5 plonked himself in the Double Bed.  Mrs Smiley’s voice echoed in my head: “How’s his sleeping?”  I switched off the light. “My head is still hurting.” I gave him a slug of Kalpol. He didn’t sleep; I didn’t sleep. He eyebrowed vigorously and clamped himself to me.  After a very very long time, Son 2 aged 2y 1m wailed.

After an hour at The Office, my voice had gone again.  “I’ll go home and work there,” I told a colleague. I didn’t make it. I found if I kept my head down, said nothing and drank lots of hot drinks, I could manage. I did a mad run round the shops at lunchtime.  I have… erm.. burnt Son 1’s tummy by putting neat tea tree oil on his molluscum. It’s made his eczema flare up.  I asked Teenaged Niece what she put on her eczema. “HE 45″ she said. I wasn’t going to take her word for it. I was going to ask the pharmacist. Only all pharmacists in the Big Town take their lunch between 1pm and 2pm.  “When can you guys make it?  OK.  That’s when we’ll shut up shop.”  So. HE 45 it was. And some allergy-for-children medicine.

Back late, and Son 2, the Cooler King, was shut up in his cot in a darkened room, having a raging tantrum.  ”He’s been horrible,” said The Man. ”He wouldn’t eat his tea, he wouldn’t have a bath, and I only just got his teeth done.” I got Son 2 out, and he sat on my knee, quietly panting, his head against me.  I took him into the other bedroom. Son 1 had a French lesson today, and was singing something about quelle couleurs.  The Man and I were baffled by the verse: Hoar, jaune, bleu, vert. We eventually worked out that the problem was our dodgy accents. Our rouge features the same sound as kangaroo.  Son 1’s has a throaty soft French “r” and a “g” that rolls into the “j” of “jaune.” I gave him the anti-allergy medicine. And then read the ingredients. Sugar and alcohol.  Nice.  I really want to give that to my five-year-old.

1.  Tessellation

2.  Acute Angle

3.  Fearful Symmetry

Son 1 aged 5 came in the Big Bed in the night.  Fast asleep, his little body seeks mine. Arms, legs, hands, touch,  touch, touch, snug,  snug, snug, following me around the bed.  I don’t think there’s a childcare book I haven’t read, so yes, I know I should be giving him the great gift of learning to sleep independently… but surely anyone seeing the unconscious behaviour of a small child in bed would conclude they are biologically programmed to sleep with their parents.   We of course are not biologically programmed to work ourselves into oblivion, which is why it all gets tricky. 

And which is why I get every bug going.  I still can’t speak, so I couldn’t go into The Office.  The weather was heavenly, so I decided to help my recovery by taking Son 2 aged 2y 1m to The Zoo.  He loved it. Monkeys, lemurs, ducks, deers, warthogs… “Next one! Next one!”  Lions, lynx, zebra, penguins, snakes, reptiles, frogs.  He walked and walked.  “I wan’ see lion.  I wan’ see lil farm. I wan’ see clip clop (= horses = zebras.)” After two hours I had to give up and we drove back. Son 2 fell asleep almost instantly.  I thought  a sherbert lemon from a bag my colleagues left would help my throat. The bag and the sweet wrapper crackled. ”I wan’ tweetie!” came a cry from the backseat.  At home I needed a rest. Son 2 wouldn’t lie down with me, so I went into the boys’ room, got into Son 1’s bed, and let Son 2 play with his cot and soft toys on the floor beside me.   I closed my eyes.  Something heavy smashed into my forehead so hard it nearly popped my eyeball out from the inside.  It was the lamp from on top of the headboard. Son 2, playing with the on/off switch, had pulled the flex and brought the heavy metal base down on my temple from two foot up.  The imprint is a trench in the bruise on my forehead. Being positive, at least we now know it’s dangerous. It would have cracked a little boy skull like an eggshell. “Mummy. Bump. Light. Head. Ouch.” said Son 2.

The Man collected Son 1 from School and the boys had the Sunday roast leftovers for tea. Just when I thought they’d finished and could be shooed up to bed, Son 1 reminded me that I’d said they could have jelly tot lollies for pudding. ”Ok, you can eat them outside as a special treat and we’ll read some books while we’re out there.” The evening was glorious. We sat beneath the fading sunflowers, and read Son 1’s school book. The boys gobbled the last pea pods off the plants we’d grown.  Son 1 was happy to have his bath and go to bed with Son 2. He dashed upstairs, sprinted into the bedroom and caught the side of his head full pelt against the doorpost, so fast and so hard he ricocheted off like a billiard ball.  He screamed, and cried loudly and horribly. I scooped him up, gave him a large slug of ibuprofen and made him an ice compress in a tea towel.  His left temple is grazed and bruised.  My right temple is dented and bruised.  On the same day, within three hours of each other, absolutely unrelated accidents.  How does that happen?

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.  Night Manoeuvres

2.  The Doctor

3.  A Clever Little Boy

Son 1 aged 4 arrived at about 0100. Still hot. Still crying if he couldn’t have my face close to his so he can comfort-stroke my eyebrow.  “I want a drink.” “I need the loo,” “My ear is sore.”  I went to the loo while he was finally asleep. And came back to him T-boned across the King Size bed, head on the pillow my side, legs sticking out The Man’s side.  I slept on a slither of bed the width of a bookmark.  90 seconds later.  I heard Son 2 aged 13 m wake up with The Man downstairs.  I drowsed.  The Man brought me a coffee.  He switched the light on. “Don’t do that, you’ll wake Son 1,” I snapped.  “Son 1’s downstairs with Son 2,” he said. ”They’re waiting for  you.”

 I made an appointment for Son 1 to see the doctor, to get his ear and throat checked out.  The Positive Point was that I rang at 10 past 8 and got an appointment at 10 past 9. So I will not dwell on having to tell the Woman Who Answers The Phone what was wrong with Son 1.  He didn’t want to go.  Because of the “noodles.”  Which was his MMR top up a year ago.  He’d gone in happy, looking forward to the Play House.  He came out crying, not consoled at all by the bag of chocolate money I gave him.  “I hate doctors.” The Man had to take him.  I wrote everything down for him.    He forgot to ring me after, and wasn’t answering his mobile.  At lunchtime he rang back.  The doctor said Son 1’s throat was a bit sore, there was nothing wrong with his ear.  Give him Calpol.  Son 1 had extracted the Smarties from The Man’s pocket  before they were out of the consulting room.

I went like the clappers at the Office to get out in time for Son 1’s Parents’ Evening at The New Nursery.  The Man got stuck behind a slow lorry and didn’t get there on time.  Son 1’s Teacher said he’s settling in well, takes part in class, chats to his friends, has good focus, an excellent vocabulary, he’s a clever little boy, he’s polite, eats his lunch well with a knife and fork, cares about his friends - if someone’s hurt he’ll go and tell an adult, and plays well in the playground.  And has great memory retention… two days after listening to her tell him something about elephants he repeated it back to her.  Any questions?  “What does he do all day?” I asked.  He always tells me he can’t remember.  The Man got there for the last few minutes.  We drove home different ways as an experiment to see which route is fastest, and arrived back at the same time.  Wonder Nanny smiled when I walked in. “I think Son 2 has chickenpox.”  

1.  A Sound in the Night

2.  Earache

3.  Music to My Ears

Son 1 aged 4 up in the night with his sore throat and raging temperature.  Called for me at 1230.  I went in and told him off for waking me up “Mummy’s going to be poorly if she doesn’t get some sleep soon.”  He needed Ibuprofen but it was downstairs and I was too tired to get out of his bed.  He woke again at 0130 and down I padded to get it. I gave it to him and we both fell asleep in his single bed, with me getting up at 6.  Son 1 woke when I was in the shower, and was over-tired, fractious, whiney and tearful.  We decided against the New Nursery.  He’s only 4, and Wonder Nanny is now here on Mondays.  Son 1 didn’t care about that.  He just wanted me to stay home.

But I had to leave early  because I had an important Out-of-Office meeting first thing.  I was picking up a colleague and then driving across The Big Town to get there.  New black suit (I took the trousers up last night = a Good Thing)  and three inch heels.  I felt almost pre-baby.  Had a call at The Office from Wonder Nanny. When did Son 1 last have Calpol because he was complaining that his ear hurt.  Son 1 came on the phone. “Are you all right?” “No. I’m not. I want you.”  I raced through my work and sorted out a pile to do at home.  I got back mid-afternoon.  Both boys were asleep.  Son 2 aged 13m woke, came downstairs with Wonder Nanny, sat in my arms and clapped, smiling.  Son 1 woke while I was trying to do some work and make some phone calls, pushed away my pile of papers and sat on my lap crying.  

The Man is planning Business Trips this week and next - during my week off.  I am trying to be positive and reasonable.   Son 1 says his ear hurts when he yawns.  The Man’s going to have to take him to the doctor tomorrow.    I went for a run. Full moon, but I ran down to the bridge over the river;  street-lit all the way so very little chance to enjoy the moonlight.  I resurrected the radio I used to run with BC.  New batteries, and I popped it into the money belt I always wore to carry it.  Ah.  The waist strap needed letting out two inches.  Hmph.  However. It was great to have music and company.  And I’ve been out twice in three days.     

1.  Humpty Dumpty

2.  Kevin

3.  Can’t Catch Me 

Son 1 aged 4 was the one who had an awful night this time.  Feverish. Crying. Sore throat.  In with me.  On the bright side… Son 1 didn’t have a problem with my going taking Son 2 aged 13m swimming without him, especially as I said yes, he could stay in bed and watch telly.  Swimming was lovely.  Son 2 played Humpty Dumpty… half-jumping in himself. Then he wanted to stand up and fall in.  He spent a lot of time trying to work out how to climb in and out of the pool.  The frog armbands were on, off, on, off, on. Depending on whether whichever child Son 2 was watching was wearing them.  He splashed.  He watched everybody.  He got tired and just snugged into me while he looked and looked.  When I got him home he was asleep in his car seat. We got his shoes and coat off, got him in his sleeping bag, got  him in his cot and got the side of the cot up without waking him.  And then, when I had a panic about whether he’d fallen asleep with sandwich in his mouth, I stuck my finger in each side of his mouth to check. And still, the lightest sleeper on the planet didn’t wake up.  Poor lamb.  Talk about a sign of stress.  Physical exhaustion can wipe him out, but he’s got so much crowding his head that it’s just not happening otherwise at the moment.  

The Man cooked Sunday lunch while we were out. Son 1 had fallen asleep on a makeshift bed in front of the lounge telly.  Nanna came round. We decided we’d all eat if the children didn’t wake up, but Son 2 of course joined us.  Son 1 woke, wouldn’t have any lunch, wouldn’t see Nanna and went back upstairs to watch telly.  He’s so advanced.  I’m sure I didn’t do that to any of my relatives till I was 12 or 13.  Without Son 1, we had a relatively straightforward, enjoyable lunch.

Son 1 had skipped lunch, breakfast, tea last night, had a sweet potato yesterday lunchtime, and skipped breakfast and tea on Friday night.  He is gulping when he swallows, and he’s very hot, so we know he feels awful.  Nanna, Son 2 and I went out after lunch in search of cartoon pasta, jelly, and anything that a sick four year old might eat.    Our haul was one half can of fishy pasta shapes and some spaghetti hoops.  We stopped off for a Costa coffee and then came back.  Son 1 was interested in the Scooby Doo Ice Pops, and ate the can of fish-shaped pasta.  Son 2 ate and ate and ate.  And was then  chased upstairs by me doing “Coming to get you and when I do… I am going to TICKLE YOU” with him in peels of giggles. Tickling a child with Son 2’s capacity to throw up is always risky… but on a very very full stomach… I was careful.