1.  I Can See You

2.  Pub Crawl

3.  Sand Dunes

So if Margaret Thatcher got by on three hours sleep a night, why wasn’t she permanently ratty or cold-ridden.  The Big City on Tuesday, 400+ miles round trip, 15 hour day including 8 hours driving.  Round a Wednesday Friend’s house last night; the carriage returned here well after midnight.  I was in with Son 2 aged 18m.  Now the mornings are light, he can see me lying in the double bed.  It doesn’t matter how still I am, how quiet I keep. When he wakes up, I get up.

We drove over to the Sandy Beach. Played Pooh Sticks on the bridge.  Got the tent up.  Sunny, but with a bitter wind, and a cold mist rolling in and out from the sea.  Son 1 aged 4yrs 6m was not on good form.  Not enough Mummy Time apparently.  He played in the sand in his sun suit. I could see from how he was standing that he was frozen, but left it to him to tell me he wanted more clothes.  In my defence, he’d said “no” to every single thing I’d suggested all day long. He pitter-pattered off the sand towards a beachside pub.  “I’m cold. I’m going in that warm cafe.”  I got his parkha on him, and followed him, asking him to come back so he could get dressed.  An out-of-season, barely-open, dim and dark beach bar.  But.  On the plus side.  Loos.  Coffee machines. And a sign saying children mustn’t be left alone on the play equipment.  There wasn’t any play equipment.  But maybe there is in the summer. 

By late afternoon I’d managed to work out that he wanted me, me, me.  So, still carrying Son 2 who was refusing to be put down, I suggested we explored the sand dunes.  “What’s a sand dune?” “You know, like the Crocodile Hunter. ‘Rolling down the sand dunes…’”  Son 1 loved the Sand Hills.  The grass was very scratchy, but he loved climbing through the fenced wire, he loved the little tracks, he loved going up and down.  He rolled, he scrambled, he scrabbled, he climbed. He Could See For Miles.  He wanted to poke in the remnants of illegal campfires. “Please be careful!  There are lots of sharp and dangerous things in sand dunes!” On the way back he told me he’d found treasure and wanted to take it home. ”It’s Not Sharp Or Dangerous.”  It was a brilliant blue hard plastic crescent.  A decorative bead from a bag perhaps.  On the way back Son 1 thumped Son 2 so hard in the back he fell flat on his face in the sand.  And I let him off, because he said he didn’t mean to be so rough, and he didn’t realise Son 2 would fall over.  Then he went and played in the tidal stream in his new flashing trainers.  And after that, there was No Ice Cream.

1.   Shorter Nights

2.   Lovely Morning

3.   Precious Days

Son 2 aged 17m woke at 1130 last night, just after I’d gone to bed.  He screamed and I let him.  I hated it. It went on forever.  But I’ve been so tired, and I couldn’t help thinking that he had gone to sleep without a whimper for Wonder Nanny.    It was all for my benefit.  He roared.  He hollered himself hoarse.  He sobbed.  He shouted.  He woke Son 1 aged 4y 4m in the next room, who cried a bit for “Mummy” and then went back to sleep.  And then, finally, he stopped, and slept till morning.  So it was a Good Thing, especially in view of the amount of times recently either of us has slept with him.  But when I finally get some rest, I still may crack again.  Because I know he won’t Want His Mummy forever.

Blue skies, crisp winter sunshine, little or no wind. We went to a new beach.  The Town’s are sandy shingle/stoney sand.  We wanted wide expanses of golden sand.  We took: the beach bag (beach toys, sun suits, beach shoes, beach mat,) the beach tent, Son 1’s inflatable surf board, two changes of clothing, two towels, two pairs of wellies, jumpers, a massive packed lunch and the Big Pram.   Son 1 checked my packing.  Son 2 fell over and split his lip open again, for the third time. (Minor Injuries again.  They said they can’t do anything now; put Vaseline on it.)  We drove for 25 miles and the boys slept.   On arrival the car park was empty.  We loaded up the Big Pram like a sherpa’s mule and trundled over a bridge across a rushing stream.  Pooh Sticks.  We all got our sticks, we got ready for “Ready Steady Go” and Son 2 chucked his stick in.  Every time.  Basic Human Instinct.  Lean over fence, look down, get given a stick, throw it in the water.   Laugh.  

Son 2 had his lunch with Wonder Nanny, Son 1 and I climbed rocks.  He pushed my hand away, he said: “I can do it!” as I reached for him.  He slipped and said “Don’t worry Mummy” before I could hoik him up again.  He wanted to walk all round the edge of a tidal pool as the tide came in.  Next time, I said.  I wanted to help him down; he jumped without me.  Pang. Slipping Through My Fingers.   We put the Beach Tent up and had our lunch.  Son 1 decided he wanted his sun suit on so he could play in the sea.  I blew up his surf board and rolled up my trousers.  In he went.  Splashing, wading, kicking, lying down, falling off, getting soaked from chin to toe in water which was so cold it hurt my feet.   Son 2, also in his sun suit,  came for a splash with Wonder Nanny.  The boys played and played.  Son 2 started crying with cold, so back in the tent I dressed him.  Son 1 came out, also crying, also blue with teeth chattering.   We made a massive sandcastle.  Son 2 kept sitting in the moat, Son 1 did all the work patting the sides down.  We took pictures.  Son 1 kicked it flat.  17 days ago he was making snowmen.   We used everything we took, which is an extra bonus point for me.