1.  The Quick

2.  The Quack

3.  The Quest

Son 2 aged 18m can come down the stairs upright, holding onto the bannister with one hand.  Or, if he is in a hurry, he turns round and lies down on his tummy and slides down at top speed. The Man and I watch in terror, but he gets there, and seems unbothered by friction burns.  Son 1 aged 4 yr 6m has got this far without sliding down the stairs on his tummy.  Today, watching Son 2, off he went. Two boys sliding down, The Man and I yelling at Son 1, who started from behind and looked like he was going to bounce the baby off the mountainside like an avalanche.  He elegantly zoomed past him, Son 2 stopping to watch with a huge, delighted grin on his face.  We are a four-storey house, so three flights of stairs.  Maybe we don’t need the stairgates.  Maybe we need a bungalow.

“Wac, Wac.” Son 2 was going mad, pointing at the table.  “Yes yes,” I said absently. “We’ll just get the drinks and then we’ll go upstairs and read some books.”  “Wac, Wac.” I glanced at the table again. Keys, a comic, an FT. Something had made Son 2 think of ducks.  He was wriggling. He was getting upset.  He was shouting.  “WAC WAC.”  “Come on, up we go. Have a think about which books you want to read.”  He burst into tears and lunged for the table. “WAC! WAC!  WAC!”  Ah.  That would be his library book about tractors then.  On the table.   Silly Mummy. Quacks and Twactors have whole syllables in common and I never noticed.  

The Trade Show season.  The Man and the boys were coming with me, like they did last year. A grim trip, with Son 2 wailing for miles.   But when we pulled into car park next to a field full of sheep he smiled, pointed and said “Baa. Baa.”   It was packed.  An organiser told me they had a waiting list for traders, and loads of businesses sold both days’ stock today and were driving back for more.  We fed the boys first.  I had a mega picnic. They wanted only Hula Hoops and Frubes. Son 2 kept running off to a pond. Son 1 was picking up fallen camellia flowers for me. A free face paint for Son 1.  Spiderman. The best one yet.  I nearly asked if she did tattoos.  The family went off while I worked.  Later, Son 1 told me he’d take me to the North Pole and the South Pole.  Through the crowds he dashed.  A stall of sculptures, including three polar bears on a little plinth. “The North Pole!”  Back to a gatepost with a joke penguin on the top.  The voyage included a short cut  through an ancient rhododendron bush the size of a bus.  Fine for Son 1, less so for me with my pink nubuck pumps.  I went back on the stall, Son 1 sat playing with his comic. Then he ran round and fell over on the gravel. Hit his hands, forehead and knees.  He screamed.  We cured him with ibuprofen and a chocolate pancake.  Ingested, not applied externally.

1.  Writing

2.  Talking

3.  Reading

I have been back at The Office, full-time, for One Whole Year.  I just read my blogs from March last year.  Pang.  Little six-month-old Son 2.  I know I’ve done brilliantly keeping at work, keeping well, keeping everything together and keeping time with the boys sacred.  Keeping at The Blog, which I think has helped ward off depression.   But Pang Oh Pang.  You really don’t get it back, do you?  Thankfully I have a week off now, which is why I’m writing this so late. It always takes me forever to finish on Fridays before I have leave.  Stinking cold.  Exhausted. And I’ve been reading a year ago, when I was hoping to get back into my pre-pregnancy clothes.  Wouldn’t it be great if you lost weight wnen you cut down on your sleep?  Much fairer to mothers.

Little 18 month old Son 2 is sliding down the stairs on his tummy now.  Fast. With a daredevil grin.  A year ago he was just on solids, and just had his first teeth.  Now he wants the Wiggles on the telly, he wants a smoothie from the shopping, he can say bear, and ba (for bath, sheep and ball) and dum dum for dump truck and di di for digger.  And bye bye and mama and hallo, and mi for milk. And snap snap for crocodile. Accompanied by a dance. And a point at the DVD pile. 

Son 1 aged 4 y 6m finished at Nursery for Easter today.  He lay on his bed this evening and looked up at his animal alphabet wall chart, sounding out the start of all the letters.  Foxed a bit by N. And baffled by Q.  He also for the first time stopped me in a story to sound out the letters of a word m-on- k-ey.  I was thrilled, but none of it is anything to do with me.  I’ve deliberately not taught him to read because I Do Not Believe In Forcing Boys To Read Too Early. It Will Put Them Off.  Nothing to do with never having a minute to sit down with him.  26 letters and 40ish sounds?   I haven’t got the time.  Just that year.  Sitting in cyberspace. Maybe one day he’ll read about himself.

1.  Plop

2.  Shoes

3.  Stairs

Son 2 aged 11m was hungry when he woke up at 0630, but I needed the loo.  In the bathroom, I gave him a toothbrush and toothpaste, which usually does the distraction trick.  Nope.  He would not be put down. So on my lap he sat.  I had to sit him on the floor after for just a couple of minutes while I… er… tidied up because I just don’t have enough hands.  He howled, and then in a smooth move lasting a couple of seconds only, pulled himself up on the loo seat while I was … er… busy and tossed the toothbrush into the unflushed loo.  Nice. 

A Good Thing is I’ve decided I’m not cooking when The Man is away.  I will move us all onto ready meals and packets.  I’ve decided this only after a pretty hard time today, trying to feed and clear up after all three of us.   The only time I was out of the kitchen was when we went to the shops to get shoes for the Posh Nursery.  We went to Clarks. “Don’t be disappointed if they haven’t got shoes to fit you,” I said.  “All the other mummies who are a bit better organised than me might have been in first.”  Clarks measured him on a weirdie machine, and made him a size and a half bigger than five months ago.  The only shoes the Other Mummies had left in Son 1’s size were £32 with a toy in the heel.  I did like the Other Mummies and left them in the shop.  Emboldened by a Mumsnet talk threads, I went and bought him a pair in M and S for £12. 

 Son 2 rejected the Hipp spaghetti carbonara I gave him for lunch and necked yesterday’s cold salmon.  Curious child.  I’ve no idea what the Hipp jars taste like.  I never buy the veggie ones because there’s nothing they do that I don’t… and I won’t taste the meat ones because I won’t.  Why don’t baby food jars have fish in them?  Is it hard to preserve without salt or something?  Son 2 has found something he likes that isn’t fromage frais or Cheerios.  And they don’t do it as ready baby food.   He climbed the stairs for the first time today.  He practised in the garden on the three low, flat steps, and then did the whole ground-floor to first floor flight.  In a one piece play suit, so also contending with his leg getting stuck.   He’s big, he’s strong, he’s very nearly one.