1.  Sleep Solutions

2.  Devolution

3.  Evolution

Son 2 aged 20m slept in forever. Something to do with getting to bed at 1030 last night after our Journey.  Over these last five days we have really cracked the early waking. It’s incredibly simple. You just don’t put them to bed till 11pm.  And they lie in.  I’m not entirely sure how that’ll roll along when I’m back in The Office, but at least I know the principle is sound. Son 1 aged 4y 8m was getting a bit frisky when we vetoed all his ideas for entertainment in case he waked Son 2… but eventually settled for a screening of Free Willy (£3 from Tesco, got it last night when we stopped off for milk.)  “Thank you Mummy for buying that lovely story for me,” he said, after they sprung Willy and the credits rolled.

We went to the Rockpool Beach.  Heaven.  Hot hot hot. The tide coming in all the time, so we had to keep packing up camp and creeping to a strip about 2 yards wide finally left at high tide. Son 1 and Best Friend at one point cleared everything up for me and carried it over. Stunned, I grovelled, gratefully.  Son 2 toddled off with them to paddle and pull seaweed and peer in rockpools. We had lunch. I put a roasting, fainting Son 2 in the Big Pram and wheeled him along some shady pavements, and he went to sleep. Son 1 and Best Friend were waiting at the top of the cliff. “We were worried mad about you Mummy, we couldn’t see you anywhere,” said Son 1. What he meant was he’d eaten his lunch and I’d told him he could have an ice cream afterwards.  So he and his posse of friends were waiting. He chose bubble gum flavoured ice cream, which until today I had no idea existed. 

And then I got changed and went Swimming In The Sea. Best Friend and I played a game getting in. “You’re winning, because you’re in up to your tummy and I haven’t got my bottom in yet.” “Oh Lordy, lummy, lummy, Lordy… look at you up to your chest and I haven’t got my tummy in.” Then he was chin high and I realised he would drown if I swam off, but another Wednesday Mum had spotted the problem and stayed to keep guard.  Swimming In The Sea is fab.  If you never have or simply don’t… then just Get In There.  There is something we-all-flippered-our-way-out-of-the-swamp about it.  I swam out for about 100m in an emerald, pond-flat sea and nothing mattered and everything made sense.  I swam back and the reflections of the buildings on the cliff top were almost still in the water.   Son 1 sat, as he always does, at the water’s edge, watching anxiously.  I’ll just do another 20 minutes, I thought, till I saw Son 2 up with a Wednesday Mum, staring out to sea.

1. Lying In

2. Swimming In The Sea

3. Bubbles

The trial I was sitting on involved a lot of complicated details about ants.  The whole court was deeply interested, but I just didn’t understand a word. “Mummy, Son 2 wants you.” Son 1 aged 4y 8m, standing by the side of the bed. 0750. “GoandtellhimI’mcoming.”  I got up slowly, put my contact lenses in and went down. Son 1 had switched on both lamps and was lying in the cot with Son 2 aged 20m. “I said did he want me to get in with him and he nodded!”

We went to the Beach Between The Headlands with friends and their 6 year old. A glorious Factor 50 day. Son 1 played in the sea in his wetsuit, Son 2 played and paddled and sat in the water.  I willed him to sleep, but he didn’t want to. “Ball.” The Friend fed him jammy dodgers, and he liked her enough to sta with her while I went Swimming In The Sea.  The water was flat and freezing. I could get away without the boob lift if I make this a habit.  My skin shrank and goose-bumped so much as I inched my way in that I was positively pert by the time I was shoulder-high. It was perishing, but as usual, bearable after a few minutes. The water was emerald from the reflected greenery either side of the cove.  It was heavenly.  A Good Thing that I got a sea swim in May, a Good thing that I’m still able to manage it when The Man is away.  Dressed and dry, I took the boys for ice cream. Son 1 and I chose a Mr Man raspberry ice lolly for Son 2. He cried with wanting it while we waited to pay.  I unwrapped it and he took one look, burst into tears, wouldn’t touch it and stomped back to the freezer to gaze longily at the Smartie lollies. He cried all the way back to the Pram, repeatedly refusing the raspberry one. I ate it, and he shared my choc ice.

Bathtime was lovely.  I was signing. Son 2 was slotting cotton buds through the end of an empty cleaner tube.  Son 1 was chewing the cotton off the ends of cotton buds, and doing great long bubbly farts, to great comic effect.  He farted, both boys laughed hysterically, I laughed. Their eyes shine, their smiles sparkle, they are full of joy and love and fun.

1.  Hours

2.  Minutes

3.  Days

Son 2 aged 14m made it through the night again, hooray hooray.  We had a slow but busy start.  Son 2 went back to bed at about 9.  I spoke to the Wednesday Friends, down to the Museum.  The Booming Business Mother is in the Southern Hemisphere on Glamorous Work Assignment, but will be represented by her children and husband.  Son 1 aged 4y 1m and I waited till Son 2 woke up.  He watched telly, I tidied and cleaned.  We all trailed out with the Big Pram at about 11am.  A traffic warden was writing down details of my car, parked in the one hour spaces, restricted after 9am.  What idiot left it there without moving it?  Ar.  Traumatic trip home last night.  Gridlock… didn’t ring Wonder Nanny because phone in boot… raced in to send her home, late late late.  Forgot where I’d dumped car.  The traffic warden was on his first pass only… so we dismantled the Big Pram, put it in the boot and drove to the Museum.

I unloaded and reassembled the Big Pram in the car park by the Museum.  The ticket machine wasn’t working.  Didn’t want to leave car without a ticket; didn’t want to unpick Pram again.  Put  Son 1 in museum with Wednesday Friends and moved car to a different car park with Son 2.  On the way we found a new pair of child’s mittens left abandoned on the pavement.  Son 2’s.  We are indeed having a Lucky Day.    

The Museum was great, Son 1 played everywhere, Son 2 joined in at every level with a single-minded determination, and a confidence in me as a resource that got everything he wanted.  Back home I put Son 2 to bed while Son 1 watched telly.  Nanna came round.  After bedtime another Friend came round, and we had a couple of glasses of wine and discussed children non-stop for two hours.  The Man says he may not be back till Saturday.   When I was half-planning to go Swimming In The Sea.

1.  Light Sleep

2.  Light Lunch

3.  Light Work

Son 2 aged 13m’s second time laid straight down in the cot instead of snuggling himself to sleep next to me on the double bed.   I worked late last night “Don’t wake Son 2 when you come up,” said The Man.  He went up.  WAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH.  Did I a) quietly go up to Son 2’s room and spend 30 minutes soothing him, and then come back and return to my work.  Or b) dart up to our room leaving Son 2 wailing, and dance round pointing at The Man singing “Who Let The Dogs Out?  So The Man did the 6am duty today.  And I had a lie in till gone 7.

We went to The Beach to see some friends, who were Swimming In The Sea. I said I’d do it next week.  Son 1 aged 4y 1m ran round a bit with the children, I spread out a rug on the sand for Son 2 who  crawled off it at speed and never went back.  They were both knackered, and passed out in the car as we drove off.  So we went to a seaside restaurant where we could park the car, sit outside and see the boys asleep in their seats.  We had coffee.  They stayed asleep.  I read the Independent.  The Man read the local paper. The temperature dropped.  The wind got up.  We’d missed breakfast, so we ordered Tapas.  It took forever to come.   Son 2 woke up and ate some of The Man’s salmon and chips. 

When we got back home Son 1 had missed lunch and was still tired.  Son 2 hadn’t eaten enough and refused to have an afternoon sleep.  So they were Very Hard Work Indeed.  I have worked out since she started doing 4 days a week that the difference between me and Wonder Nanny is that if Going Out will disrupt meals or sleeps she just doesn’t do it.  Whereas off we always jolly well go.  ”Why do they behave so perfectly for her, and melt down for me?” I ask.  We stuffed sausages and mash in them at half past four and put them to bed early.   Son 2 straight into the cot.  I wanted to blog, so  The Man’s gone up ahead of me.  WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

1.  Back to The Beach

2. Back in The Sea

3. Back to Nature

Flat water, boats pointing upriver, a little hazy mist with a sunshape seeping through. = The Boat.   We rang the friends with the 2.75 year old.  The Beach by the Lighthouse again. According to Little Friend’s Mum, this is called Conception Cove.  More to do with late-teen sex with rich girls arriving in Daddys’ borrowed power boats than anything mystical and fertility-related.  There were one or two boats there when we got there… and 16 when we left.  Sailboats and motor cruisers, fishing tubs like ours,  little plastic speedboats and big clanking yachts.  Son 2 aged 1 just wanted to get stuck into the sand.  Son 1 aged 4 and Little Friend fought with toy swords, explored, beat back the waves with seaweed sticks and ran round the beach tent when I said “Don’t go near that, I don’t want sand in my beer or in Son 2’s lunch.”  The Man lit the barbie.  I clunked into my usual routine of Son 2 maintenance.  Food.  Nappy. Sunsuit, suntan lotion.  Then attempting to get him to sleep.  He was hollering with fatigue.   I walked him and down the beach until he stopped crying.  I lay down in the tent with him and he started again. The friends took the big boys to play football further down the beach.  And Son 2 passed out.

I had lunch, and then Son 2 woke up again. I went back in the tent to try to get him to go back to sleep.  Son 1 came in.  Son 2 smiled at him and the battle was lost.  I gave him to The Man and went for a swim.  Sea cold, but not as bad as Tuesday.  And harder to swim too, because of the dinghy/kayak/rowboat activity.  Launches speeding in, speedboats anchoring, tenders leaving and arriving from everywhere.  I kept close to the rocks, figuring they’d all stay away, and swam out past the spur so I could see The Castle and the Big Yachts racing in the distance.  The sea was flat as a pool, and warm and turquoise.    With belches of diesel every now and again.    I don’t know if I want that wetsuit, I thought, this is great. But I need the sea goggles and the snorkel and the mask.  And swimming lessons so I can do crawl at sea.  I stayed in about twenty minutes, and then went back because I thought I should be playing with the children.  Son 1 was being buried by Little Friend.  He had LF’s mother’s shirt over his head.  “Where’s Son 1?” I asked. “We don’t know,” said LF’s mother.  Son 1 emerged. “Go for another swim Mummy, so we can play that again.”

We played Vanishing Boys with the tent.  Two boys in the tent. We zip up the front and say Abracadabra.  We unzip the front and the tent is empty.  And there are giggles and squeals from behind the tent, and sometimes little feet and toes still poking out the back zip.  We packed up and went for chug up one of the tributaries.  Heavenly.  Vivid, vibrant greens on the riverbanks, deep black greens in the water.  Sleek cormorants swimming and diving.  Son 2 wouldn’t sleep.  Son 1 and Little Friend ate any food going.  We had coffee, made on The Boat stove.  In a tree on the bank were eight or nine egrets, big bright white splodges against the green, perched near a heron, convenient for scale.  They flew away in a little flock.  When I came here seventeen years ago, I thought seeing a little egret was good luck, a sign I’d have a good day. Much later I realised they’re breeding here now because the planet is dying. Oops. Slight misreading of Mother Nature’s signals.

1.  Birthdays

2.  We are 3

3.  The dip

Birthday barbie with the Wednesday Friends on a beach we don’t usually go to.  We wanted to take The Boat, but it was too foggy, so we drove.  I didn’t put suncream on Son 1 aged 3 y 10m and Son 2 aged 10m. And then the fog seered off and their little baby faces have little red burn marks on.  The Man put up the tent.  Some more people arrived and pitched theirs nearby.  Someone from Emmerdale, according to the mother of the non-birthday friend - we were celebrating her birthday too ( and went out in a huge group in the evening for a BYO meal.)

I gave Son 2 his lunch, while Son 1 played with the birthday boy and their other friend, who’s a month younger than Son 1.  There were two other younger brothers kicking about.  The birthday boy is 4… which means the other two will soon clock over, and we will all be the mothers of 4 year olds.  It’s just galloping by.  It was wonderful watching the oldest three, who’ve been together since the days we could just leave them in their prams and natter.     They ran to the end of the beach 800 yards away.  They played pirates. They splashed and squealed and shouted in the sea. They trotted after each other.  They threw sand.  They played on an inflatable dolphin, ring and surfboard.  Son 1 was whizzed around in the water by a friend of the birthday family.  They dug, they played in the tent.  They trashed the tent.  They ate a birthday lunch.  The Man and the birthday dad snuck off for a drink.

I went swimming.  This beach lies between two mini-headlands, so it was sort of like swimming in a wide, shallow gorge out to sea.  Except I didn’t get that far.  Yet.  I’m getting in to it, and now I’ve been twice in a week I am of course training for a triathalon.  The water was flat, and freezing, then fine.  I do feel like I’m using playtime to go for my swims though.  Son 1 was playing in the water with his friends and the family friend for ages while I was feeding and looking after Son 2.  By the time I got in, he’d had enough and was digging with the others.  So should I have gone digging instead of swimming?  I’ll have plenty of time for taking a dip when I am a barking mad old lady, surely?  Was The Man worrying about how much time he spends playing with the children when he was having his pint I wonder?