1,  Chest Flies

2.  Lord Of The Flies

3.  No Flies

We didn’t get the boys to bed till 9pm last night, so we felt we deserved a lie in this morning. Nah.  The only impact was no little visitor clambering into bed with us during the night.  The Man got up at about 7 and went downstairs… Son 2 aged 23m wailed, I heard Son 1 aged 4y 11m chatter… and that was it. I rested for as long as I felt I could get away with it.  “I don’t understand why my cold’s gone in three days and yours is still going on and on and on,” said The Man. “Because if you’re exhausted your immune system doesn’t work as well.” “Well why don’t you check into rehab or something?”  Not Just My Husband, My Very Best Friend.

The Man wanted to drill holes for the fish tank power. The boys and I took Nanna’s giant stone mushroom to her house - two months after her birthday. We picked her up and then went to the Garden Centre. The idea was that each boy would choose a toy for the fish tank, to be given as a present on their birthdays. Son 1 couldn’t care less about anything I showed him: one-hole two-hole three-hole rocks, hippos with mouths that opened by bubbles, pieces of wood. He only wanted a bag of shells. He said if I bought them for him he would behave for the rest of his life.  It seemed like a good deal. Son 2 got a red ray, and I chose a lump of wood for Son 1. Away from the fish tank, it looked as if it would fit. Back home it clearly won’t.  Might have to saw a bit off.

We walked down through the town to meet Nanna for lunch.  The Man strode off with Son 2 in the Big Pram, Son 1 and I took longer. In the cafe Son 1 wanted pizza. I turned to Son 2.  “What would you like?” “Cips.” Not 2 years old and he can order in restaurants.  I didn’t go into a cafe till I was 14 years old.  The kitchen messed the order up so we had two small, tired, over-hungry boys melting down.  Looking on the bright side, they could have been a lot worse.  After we went to the discount shop, where I bought them each a Playmobil toy with money Nanna gave them for a birthday stocking-filler. Son 1 studied each box on the way home. “Son 2’s is better than mine!” he decided.  Son 2’s cost a pound more.

1.  Hallelujah

2.  Guns And Roses 

3.  A Doll On A Music Box

Take two organically-reared children, add large quantities of chocolate and stand well, well back. For maximum effect begin dose before 7am and continue for 12 hours.  I am knackered. I took Son 1 aged 4y 6m and Son 2 aged 19m to The Church with Nanna.  Son 1 coloured beautifully at the back. Son 2 was just too tired to be there, but he liked the singing.  He ended up colouring too.  In the Prayers for Intercession the name of a widowed neighbour was read out.  My heart stopped.  She’s an Easter Church attender, and she wasn’t there. Neither was the friend she goes with.  My mind span.  When? How? Why didn’t we know she was ill?  She lives with her son, a great friend of ours.  How was he? Where was he? Could it have happened yesterday? Overnight?  At the end of the service, while Son 1 was egg-hunting round the pews,  I asked the vicar.  Same name, different woman.  Lordy Lordy Lordy. Son 1’s haul was three Creme Eggs.

And a comic for being good in Church.  Son 2 passed out in The Big Pram.  The Spar was open.  We checked about four comics. All had guns as the toys.  Son 1 is Not Allowed Guns.  He hummed and hah-ed over the only one he vaguely liked, an ITV arty comic.  Feeling sorry for him, I picked out a sealed bag for a comic covered in cars.  ”The toys probably won’t be very good though,” I said. “Because they don’t want us to see what they are.”  Son 1, exhausted from the walk, dawdled up the hill on the way home.  “Shall we open the bag to see what toys you’ve got?”  A gun. With four bullets.  Son 1’s face shone with a golden glow. His smile lit the street. “At last! My very first one!”  He fired it in the kitchen. It nearly took the vase out. The other toy was a mobile phone which fires discs.  Luckily I can see the funny side. She glowered.

“So Son 1,” I said.  “Easter,  you’ve been eating chocolate all day and you’ve got a gun.” He cackled like a demon. “It’s the Goodest Day I Ever Had.”  The Man had made the Sunday lunch while we were out.   He lost a couple of points for forgetting to put my veggie pastry thingies in, but apart from that he did a pretty good job.  Son 2 woke but was too tired to eat.  Son 1 managed a bit of beef, a roast potato, the top of a Yorkshire pudding and a pile of purple sprouting broccoli.  After, The Man went to work, and we all watched Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Son 1 hid from the Child Catcher.  He leapt up to copy Dick Van Dyke in the Music Box bit.  So I was Truly Scrumptious.

1.  Messages From The Deep

2.  Sunday At The Pub

3.  One Star Dining

Son 2 aged 17m and I were sitting on some steps round a sports race track.  I dropped him, and I snatched at his clothes but no matter how much I tried I couldn’t get a good grip.  I called to The Man who was with Son 1 aged 4y 5m but no matter how loud I yelled he didn’t hear me.  The last bit of Son 2’s clothing fell away from my fingertips and he tumbled to the bottom of the steps, out of sight, and then emerged screaming, no longer wearing his trousers or nappy, his face red, his eyes closed in slits.  I woke up, realising that the reason my scalp, hairline and skin behind my ears has been itching for the last week isn’t head lice.  It’s a reaction to the new conditioner I’ve been ladling on to comb through with the Nitty Gritty.  It was 7am, and The Man was downstairs in the lounge with the boys watching Dora The Explorer.  I think I need more sleep.

Friends rang before 9am offering to take Son 1 out for a walk for an hour.  I said no, I can’t do without him when I’m not at work.  By 1015 we were coated, booted and ready for a walk through town.  Grey clouds descended and a cold wind whipped up.  The Friends’ van was parked outside the family pub and they were outside, having already done a bracing Sunday morning stroll.  We all trooped inside the pub for coffee, tea, and a play for Son 1 with their 3 year old.  By 11 Son 2 was unravelling, so off we went.  We picked up some bits we needed; Son 2 fell asleep in the Big Pram.  I said I wanted to make the most of his snooze so we went for coffee.  Son 1 had a new Ben 10 sticker book.  When he recited the names of twenty different aliens I wondered whether I should abandon my vague anti-mode and teach him to read.

This afternoon the boys played in the lounge.  Son 2 had the Wooden Railway out.  Son 1 alternated between playing with his castle, doing a puzzle and plonking himself in the middle of Son 2’s game and starting a completely different one.  Son 1 wanted to watch Harry Potter.  I said he couldn’t have it on with Son 2 around.  We settled for The Wiggles, again.  The Man rightly decided we were all too knackered for a Sunday roast, so they had sausages, leftover potatoes and peas and I had omelette.  Son 1 managed to sit at the table throughout.  He has another 8 weeks to learn to do it in front of Granny and Granddad on holiday.  Ever hopeful, we have started a new sticker chart.   8 stars gets him a Gormiti egg.

1.  On The Rocks

2.  Tell Tales

3.  Anchor Rope

We woke up to a wild wind. Down the chimney, against the windows, blasting in through the letter box.  I opened the blind in the Big Bedroom to see the tide at its highest, white horses rolling across the river, heaving waves crashing into the riverbank walls and spray punching up over the top.   Boats come off their moorings when it’s like this, I thought, my eyes following the path of the white horses.  And down below, by the dinghy park, was a little fishing boat getting smashed up on the rocks and jetty.   Son 1 aged 4y 4m and The Man came to watch.  Son 2 aged 16m could see over the bottom of the window by standing on my huge pile of ironing.  We considered Doing Something.  The Harbour Master doesn’t work on Sundays.  Coastguard?  “They won’t do anything till the tide goes out,” said The Man.  He and Son 1 settle down to watch telly.  Son 2 and I went downstairs to read.  A few books in and ”Here comes the rescue!” I cried, as a launch chugged in.  Up we all went again.  Son 2 was brilliant.  Straight for the ironing pile, pulling himself up with his two little fists gripping the sill… hanging on so he could see.  The Man wasn’t sure the launch should try it.  Depth/rocks/current/cold/wind issues.  But one man reversed it, the other popped a rope on the stern and they hauled it off, dented and holed, woodwork in shards, mast broken and its gear splayed out like mangled ice hockey goals.  From up top we could see the Inshore Lifeboat pelting across the river. “Someone must have called it in,” I said. “Nah, they train on Sundays,” said The Man.  The rib zoomed in but the launchmen gestured they didn’t need help, and off it went again.  The wind howled.  In the garden the shed roofing felt flapped like sheets on a washing line.

We needed a trip to the Discount Store to get stuff to mend the shed roof.  The boys played in the lounge while The Man got ready.  Son 1 was playing pirates, Son 2 was sitting in the window seat sorting out chokeable Peter Pan pieces.  I’ll have a look at the paper, I thought.  Sunday Times.  Front page.  Having more than 2 children destroys the planet.  Review section. All children are destined to be pyscho killers because parents work and are too selfish.  I put the paper away, and went to talk to Son 2.   If I stop getting The Sunday Times I can have an extra two trips to the hairdresser a year.   

Freezing cold out, so we stopped at The Square and had coffee and biscuits.  Back home the boys stood on chairs at the sink and helped with the vegetables.  Son 1 made a pretty good job of scrubbing the carrots, parsnips, potatoes and swede.  “See Mummy, it’s perfect!”  Yes it was.  No mud on the veg.  But mud in the sink, around the sink, on the walls, on Son 1 and on Son 2,  on the microwave, and the floor was flooded.  Who cares.  Not us.  Son 2 played with the carrot peel and plopped the veg back in the sink one by one.  They went upstairs to play.  I peeled salsify, feeling guilty that I wasn’t going with them for quality time.  So everyone.  Make your mind up.  I can play with them and they can eat Turkey Twizzlers, or I can cook organic veg from the local box scheme and we can have a sit down meal together.  Whaddya want.  The other salsify paradox is how you’re supposed to cook it.  I roasted it with the root veg.  Nope.  Like chewing the sort of mooring rope that wouldn’t have broken in last night’s storm.

1.  Humpty Dumpty

2.  Kevin

3.  Can’t Catch Me 

Son 1 aged 4 was the one who had an awful night this time.  Feverish. Crying. Sore throat.  In with me.  On the bright side… Son 1 didn’t have a problem with my going taking Son 2 aged 13m swimming without him, especially as I said yes, he could stay in bed and watch telly.  Swimming was lovely.  Son 2 played Humpty Dumpty… half-jumping in himself. Then he wanted to stand up and fall in.  He spent a lot of time trying to work out how to climb in and out of the pool.  The frog armbands were on, off, on, off, on. Depending on whether whichever child Son 2 was watching was wearing them.  He splashed.  He watched everybody.  He got tired and just snugged into me while he looked and looked.  When I got him home he was asleep in his car seat. We got his shoes and coat off, got him in his sleeping bag, got  him in his cot and got the side of the cot up without waking him.  And then, when I had a panic about whether he’d fallen asleep with sandwich in his mouth, I stuck my finger in each side of his mouth to check. And still, the lightest sleeper on the planet didn’t wake up.  Poor lamb.  Talk about a sign of stress.  Physical exhaustion can wipe him out, but he’s got so much crowding his head that it’s just not happening otherwise at the moment.  

The Man cooked Sunday lunch while we were out. Son 1 had fallen asleep on a makeshift bed in front of the lounge telly.  Nanna came round. We decided we’d all eat if the children didn’t wake up, but Son 2 of course joined us.  Son 1 woke, wouldn’t have any lunch, wouldn’t see Nanna and went back upstairs to watch telly.  He’s so advanced.  I’m sure I didn’t do that to any of my relatives till I was 12 or 13.  Without Son 1, we had a relatively straightforward, enjoyable lunch.

Son 1 had skipped lunch, breakfast, tea last night, had a sweet potato yesterday lunchtime, and skipped breakfast and tea on Friday night.  He is gulping when he swallows, and he’s very hot, so we know he feels awful.  Nanna, Son 2 and I went out after lunch in search of cartoon pasta, jelly, and anything that a sick four year old might eat.    Our haul was one half can of fishy pasta shapes and some spaghetti hoops.  We stopped off for a Costa coffee and then came back.  Son 1 was interested in the Scooby Doo Ice Pops, and ate the can of fish-shaped pasta.  Son 2 ate and ate and ate.  And was then  chased upstairs by me doing “Coming to get you and when I do… I am going to TICKLE YOU” with him in peels of giggles. Tickling a child with Son 2’s capacity to throw up is always risky… but on a very very full stomach… I was careful.

1. The face in the dark

2. Birdy mouth

3. Rory’s story

Son 2 aged 8m woke at 4am, howling still.  He ate very little tea last night because he was too tired, had only  a tub of shop-bought stuff for lunch and didn’t have much breakfast.  = hungry child in the middle of the night.  I fed him - much to The Man’s disapproval.  I’m not really keen to get back into the midnight feeding thing when we both worked so hard to drop it, but he was hungry. exhausted, flung back into childcare after our week together… so For One Night Only…     Then, when he’d gone back to sleep, I couldn’t.  My brain-train decided to chuff through The Office, our mortgage, our power bills, our untidy house and all stations inbetween.  Be Here Now, I told myself, yogically.  I peered, in the gloom, at fluffy hair, long eyelashes on pale round cheeks and a little peaceful mouth.    And I fell asleep.

Mother came round for lunch and I did salmon steaks, new potatoes, parsley sauce and peas because The Man has decided he needs to lose weight.   I’ll just take some salmon off Son 1’s plate for Son 2 I thought, he’ll never eat all that.  No.  Son 1 was not going to donate any of his to Son 2 so The Man had to oblige.  Son 1 did manage to eat about half of his, which was pretty good.  But Son 2 was the revelation.  He had salmon, potatoes, peas and cheese sauce all mouli-d up.  And ate a bowl and a half.  That little peaceful mouth opening wide again and again and again.  We have sheepishly concluded that he.. um… cries when when he’s hungry.    

One of the bedtime books was “Rory’s Story.”  A tiger with a new little sister, so Mummy and Daddy are sometimes too busy for Rory.  Rory was feeling sad, and left out and lonely.  “Do you sometimes feel sad and left out and lonely if Mummy and Daddy are busy with Son 2?” I asked gently.  “Yes. Today when I went to the loo on my own. ”  “Where were Mummy and Daddy and Son 2?” “In the garden with Nanna.”  Great throaty chuckle.  “I ate three spoonfuls of sugar from the sugar bowl ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.”