1.  Watching The Clock

2.  Losing The Way

3.  Finding The Time

I always try never to wish my boys’ childhoods away, but when they are grown I will not miss day after day after day of mad, face-heating, lip-biting, traffic-cursing, watch-glancing panic trying to get Son 1 aged 4y 8m out of Daycare/Nursery/Tea Club by closing.    He was sitting on a  little plastic chair, knock-kneed, clutching his schoolbag, his swimming bag and his blazer, watching telly while a couple of teachers stood chatting in their coats.  However. He had a big Well Done sticker on his jumper, and a certificate proclaiming him “Star Of The Week.” For Being A Good Friend, A Good Worker and A Good Boy.

I’d bought him an ELC golf set at lunchtime, because he won both his races in his swimming gala yesterday.  25m butterfly and backstroke.   Oh all right then, they do half the pool, four at a time, on noodles helped by teachers. But he did win, and he of course has his present for Trying Hard rather than Being Clever.   The ELC was giving away balloons, so the backseat toy tally on the way home was two plastic golf clubs, two plastic balls and two green balloons.  Wonder Nanny was helping out her Other Family, looking after their boys while the parents were at a wedding.  I was driving to theirs to pick up Son 2 aged 20m.  I’ve never been, and had arranged to ring Wonder Nanny to get directions on our way over.  I fished in my bag for my phone.  Couldn’t find it. Stopped at a garage. Took the bag, the front seat, and the car to pieces.  No phone. In another panic, I slid the car seat back. There was a loud explosion and a wail from the back seat.  I’d reversed over an Early Learning Centre balloon.   

I drove all the way home. Rang Wonder Nanny from the house phone. Checked the house answer phone. Rang the mobile, no reply.  Went out to the double-parked car, where Son 1 had fallen asleep.   Rang the mobile.  Heard the mobile. Inside an envelope in my bag. Into car. Out to Other Family’s.  When Son 2 saw me he laughed and laughed and clapped his hands. That’s what I needed.  A round of applause just for turning up.  On the trip back, Son 1 spotted a playground, and from then on, all the way back whined and whinged to go there. I have bought a new childcare book. I used all its techniques at teatime, and although it went on forever, and although Son 1 had three lollies for pudding… it was a lot easier than normal and I didn’t need a glass of wine. 

Last night, desperate to get out to Book Club, I told Son 1 “I’m going now, but tomorrow, you can have as many books as you like, and I will read them all.”  Subtext. He’ll fall asleep in the third one. 12 books.  I didn’t get downstairs again till twenty to ten…

1.  The Most Beautifully Behaved

2.  The Most Tired.

3. The Most Deserving

Son 1 aged 4y 1m got Star of The Week at Nursery.  Knock me down with a feather.  He sat in the car all the way there on Monday and talked non-stop about how he wanted to be Star of The Week.  And today, there he is, with his sticker and his certificate.  Named called in assembly, up to the front, children and teachers clapping.  “How did you feel when they called your name?” I asked.  “Happy,” he smiled. His certificate says “for trying very hard and behaving beautifully all week.”  I have told The Man it would be good to see him winning next week.

The Man is back.  Nice to see him.  We have been engaged in a game of competitive tiredness.  He has driven overnight but slept in the daytime from 11am till Son 1 scurried upstairs to get him at 5 pm.  I got five hours sleep last night but have worked all day and all evening.  And the  Certificate goes to….    Mummy.

I had a phone call from an Old Friend, a twenty-something we’ve known since she was eight years old.  She rang my mobile, and then texted.  “I can ring you back at 11am,” I texted.  I finally rang her back at 7.30pm. Second boy born nearly three weeks ago.   And he has reflux.  We had a long chat.  She’s giving him formula just to settle him; he’s bringing up the breast milk.  She’s got Gaviscon but they’re having problems getting in.  And he howls all night.   I suggested she gives the Gaviscon before or during the feed… that she mixes it with milk - formula, or if she wants to try to help her supply - expressed milk.  And to hassle the health service again so she gets some help.  It was very nice to hear her voice, but she sounds worn out.  Might let the Who’s The Most Tired certificate go to the New Mummy.

1.  Hazard Lights

2.  Full Beam

3.  Festival of Lights

Standing in the rain under a Tennent’s Pilsner umbrella, we waved The Man off on his Business Trip.  He was being super-efficient, walking to pick up the car, and then coming back to get his bags.  Car double-parked outside, colleague waiting in the car, whizz in… “Daddy are you doing this dot-to-dot with me?”  “I haven’t got time, I’ve got to get on.”  Son 1 aged 4y 1m had brought his Big Activity Book downstairs specially.    Engine off, hazards on, colleague into the house and waiting while Son 1 and The Man joined the dots on Princess Jasmine and Aladdin.

Son 2 aged 13m was scooped up by Wonder Nanny, and Son 1 and I sherpa-d bags into the car.  Horrible weather, and the roads teeming.  Son 1wants to be Star Of The Week.  “What do you have to do to be Star Of The Week?” “Be smiley. ”  ”You’re my Star Of The Week,” I told him.  “You’ve done seven good things and the day hasn’t started.  You got dressed nicely; you were brave when Daddy went.  You cuddled Son 2 nicely; you were good when we were reading his books. You stopped watching telly when I said, you ate your breakfast and you put your coat on straightaway.”  Son 1 beamed in his car seat.

After Nursery, Son 1 wouldn’t hold my hand in case it ruined the henna tattoo on his palm.  His friend’s Mummy did it when she came in to talk about Diwali.  At the roundabout three miles from home he bellowed: “I need a poo!”  “We’ll be home in a minute, can you wait?”  “No.”  “Well don’t worry, we’ll sort you out.”  “It’s coming Mummy!”  “All right darling, Mummy will find you a loo.” “I’m going to burst!”  “There are some loos just by these traffic lights up here.”  Red.  For ten hours.  Green.  We pulled off into a quayside car park, and I scooped him up to some public loos.  Locked.  It was dark.  It was raining.  “I need a poo!”  I fetched yesterday’s Sunday Times from the car, found him a semi-secluded spot, spread it out on the tarmac, pulled down his trousers and held him while he performed.  And completely forgot that little boys doing poos tend to wee as well, so his trousers and one fancy school sock were soaked.  Back home I could only find one sock.  It is either on the quayside, or, lying, wringing wet with wee, in my car.  And because it is a fancy school sock, if it isn’t stinking my car out all night, I shall be peering around the Quay tomorrow at first light looking for it.