1.  I Want My Mummy

2.  The Road Race

3.  Finish

Son 2 aged 14m up in the night again.  I got him settled with a drink of water, calpol and a cuddle.  He went back in his cot and didn’t need an adult.  And the answer was… spend even longer bent over with my head next to his in the cot.  The Man was out at a Stag Do last night, so when Son 2 howled just after 6 neither of us was in a hurry to leave the Big Cosy Bed.  The Man, bless him, went down first, but Son 2, bless him, was Accepting No Substitutes. In A Voice Which Was Very Loud Indeed.  So down I padded, bleary-eyed and bad-tempered.  The Noise stopped as soon as he was perched in my arms. He is so darn cute.

There was a Road Race in The Town. 5 miles.  I can’t remember when I last ran 5 miles.  I must have been about 4 or 5 months pregnant with Son 1, who’s now aged 4y and 2m.  So.  I went to the registration hotel, picked my way through the great gangs of club runners in their varying team colours and got a number.  I pinned it on.  I sat in my car while I waited for the start, and then at 1015 noticed everyone had disappeared from the car park, even the police and ambulance people. In a state of panic that they’d all trooped off to the start without me, I pelted through a bitterly cold squall to the hotel.  Everyone was inside. The reason everyone disappeared from the car park was… er… the bitterly cold squall.  Start time was 11am.

I ran it.  Walked up a couple of the more deathly hills, but I did it.  The rain stayed off for the entire course, and I didn’t come last.  There were probably about 10 people behind me.  And about 300 in front, but who cares. I wasn’t really fit enough to do it.  But who cares.  The Man was supposed to bring the boys to see the finish, and watch their athletic sporty mother’s triumph.  Missed it.  He took them round to a friend’s house.  They were leaving just as I rang him to say Where Are Ya?    After I finished, a leaflet was pressed into my hand advertising a 10k on the Sunday before Christmas.

1.  Getting A Goal Back

2.  The Hall in the Squall

3.  A Lovely Boy

Grim, grisly, gruesome night.  I went to bed late and Son 2 aged 14 months woke howling at around 2am.  Around because I knew he was crying, but thought it was the morning and The Man would get him.  The Man snored by my side.  At 2.30am I snapped awake, looked at the clock and went down.  I think Son 2 is still suffering from the MMR - he’s still got his rash - so I gave him calpol and water, cuddled him, put the fan on and then did head-in-the-cot.  At 0310 I gave up.  Too tired and needed to go to bed.  I called The Man down, he got into bed with Son 2, I went upstairs to sleep.   One to Son 2.

Son 1 aged 4y 2m had a 4th birthday party - a child from Nursery - 20+ miles away on the other side of The Big Town.  We arrived at the Village Hall as a freezing squall blew in.  Two other families there, and no other cars.  In the (empty) hall, we compared notes.  I had the invitation in the car.  Back into the squall.  Son 2’s thin wisps looked Brylcreamed to his head.  We needed the Church Hall. Off we went, us in the front of the convoy.  Into the right Hall.  Say hello to Birthday Girl’s Dad.  There’s the changing bag, there’s the baby food bag.  Where’s the present?  Son 1 went in, Son 2 and I went back to the car.  Back at the Village Hall, there was a Mother, on foot, with small daughter, looking for the party.  I explained.  ”I thought it was strange,” she said.  “There was nobody here, but there was a present on the table with Birthday Girl’s name on it.”  The squall whipped our faces.  They got in my car.  Sand. Feathers. Pine cones. Leaves. Dried out baby wipes. Breadstick crumbs.  Two pairs of posh pointy shoes for The Office.  Hell.

Back at the party I took Son 2 to sit on the side, at the front, thinking he would enjoy the balloons.  There was a magician, with 15 small children sitting on the floor gazing up at him.  In the front row was Son 1, the only child in fancy dress. Captain Hook.  The Magician asked for a helper. Up shot Son 1’s hand.  Up he went.  He laughed, he giggled, he yes-ed, he no-ed, he laughed again, spellbound.  Back he went.  I watch him in profile for the rest of the act.  Face tilted up, eyes dancing, smiling, laughing, calling out.   “A lovely boy…” clad in a red tailcoat with lace at the sleeves, “but the most entrancing thing about him was that he had all his first teeth.”  That first teeth smile in profile, backlit from the windows high above him, was heaven.