1.   Hoarse

2.   Croaking

3.   Rasping

I’ve got a throat infection from somewhere. Voice has gone, feeling hot and bothered and sleepy. Hey ho. I spent today travelling back after a night away because of an Office Thing yesterday.  I was with three colleagues, so I didn’t have to drive. We spent hundreds of miles talking, eating sherbert lemons and ringing our mates. I was aiming at a 3.15pm appointment at Son 1 aged 5’s School - the replacement appointment for the Parents’ evening I can’t make.  I got to the School in time, and then got stuck in the queue of cars waiting to go in. Another advantage to being  a Working Mother. You have genuinuely no idea what happens at the end of the school day.

Mrs Smiley the Teacher was lovely. Happy with Son 1’s reading, maths, communication, It, arts and crafts and PE.  He is Popular And Has Lots Of Friends. A bit of a discussion about how sometimes he seems dreamy, unresponsive and slow to respond. Not as smiley on some days.  How’s his sleeping? Does he share a room with Son 2?  Ah, I croaked. We have had rather a mad Birthday Fest September.  He could be… er.. knackered. “Well I wouldn’t of course say that…” she said. Subtext: That’s Exactly What I Mean.   Poor old Son 1. And then of course I forgot to mention the midnight bed-hopping. “What is the first thing in your head when you wake up at night?” I asked once, wondering if he was having bad dreams. “I think: ‘I’ll go and find Mummy,’” he said. 

Son 1 was excited because he’s completed his third sticker chart. As we drove back I asked him how he’d  got on that morning with Granny and Daddy when I was away. “Don’t know.”  “Was it brilliant, all right, or Truly Terrible.” “Truly Terrible.” “What about last night?”  “That was Truly Terrible too.” Son 2 aged 2 was delighted to see me, and then wouldn’t let go.  Neither he nor Son 1 like my creature-from-the-black-lagoon voice.  Granny had made them individual cottage pies for tea, and they did all right.    Nanna rang. Teenaged Niece is staying for a College Open Day. Can we see them tomorrow. We are taking Granny back to the Airport, but we will try, I said.

1. I said that my baby had reflux, and they said “no, no, no.”

2. The Treat

3. Down to the river

0530. “I DON’T WANT TO LIE IN THIS POOOOOO COME AND CLEAN ME UP”  Son 2 aged 9m.   Conveying with noise what he can’t yet manage in words.   Son 1 aged three and a half joined us.  I gave Son 2 a really good feed.  Drank loads, both sides, no twisting or yanking, no fidgeting, no sudden wails.  I could cut out the Gaviscon on this feed I thought.  He’s older now, he’s more comfortable, he’s been doing so well since we stopped the thickened milk… we’ve dropped a whole dose at lunchtime, we might be able to get away with it at this first feed if we’re all quiet and careful.  Then he threw up. Gallons and gallons of it, gushing out of his mouth like a little Cathedral gargoyle in the rain.     Cushion, sleepsuit, pyjamas, carpet.   Wringing.  The Man heard it from upstairs.

Son 1 has got to the end of the lines on the sticker chart. For being good while The Man was away, for staying at the table during meals, and for asking nicely if he can get down at the end.  He can have A Treat.  We pushed him into Town in the buggy, - he was too tired to walk after his swimming lesson.  He chose a Playdoh Operation set.  Son 1 loves Playdoh,  He loves rolling and stamping and pressing and squashing.   Making cakes and biscuits. And Christmas trees and tin men.  Luckily, now he’s older, he understands not to mix up the colours even though the marbling looks pretty,  he never leaves little flakes of it everywhere, and it doesn’t end up embedded in the lounge carpet and everyone’s clothes.   And I am Marie of Romania.  

Went out running for the first time since The Man went away last week.  Down to the bridge over the river and back.   It was hard, but I was running down into a Northerly… and it must be nearly two weeks since I last went out.  Returned alive, feeling very fit and healthy, and only the bright red heat of my face to suggest it had been more of a grind than usual.