1.  The Morning After The Night Before

2.  Air Pressure

3.  The Bear Garden

Jaysus if it’s like this the day after one of them is 2, what’s it going to be like when they’re 18?  Son 1 aged 4y 11m had a lie in, Son 2 aged 2 was live and kicking at 7am despite his crackalacking day yesterday and an extremely late night. The Man and I were washing up, rinsing bottles and gathering up leftover paper in bin bags. As far as I could tell, the tally was one bottle of vintage cava, one bottle of white wine, two cartons of pineapple juice and a heck of a lot of stubbies. We let them have a lazy day. They watched Son 1’s new Charlie and The Chocolate Factory DVD.  Yes I  know, but he had a hard week. He had to go to school on the Wednesday with the Best Weather this year, his chosen Party Entertainer dumped us, and he had to go to school on Son 2’s birthday. And it was from Oxfam so I was Saving The World.   

We planned to go to the library after lunch, but a parcel arrived from Younger Sister for Son 2, and Son 1, sick with excitement and sibling rivalry, shrieked so loudly I nearly had him adopted.  It was like he nail-gunned a knitting needle into my ear.  The whole side of my face went numb.  I picked him, carried him up two flights of stairs and hurled him into his bed, closing the blinds and shutting the door. Son 2 and I went into The Town, but every step made my ear hurt, so we came back. I suspect the problem has more to do with my rampant upper respiratory congestion than his high-frequency blast bombs, but I still felt assaulted.  Son 2 fell asleep in the Big Pram on the way back, Son 1 was asleep in his room, so The Man and I had Daytime To Ourselves. We worked on the fish tank. He fiddled with the pipe to the skull and the treasure chest, while I read fascinating facts about the plants he’d bought. We had about three minutes’ Quality Time before Son 2 woke up.

Son 1 pulled out last year’s Birthday Party things. He wanted another Teddy Bear’s picnic, so we let them play outside while I did some food.  The Man was admirable. Spontaneous decision to go outside again - taken well. Arrival of 30+ Teddy Bears from the plastic bag under Son 2’s cot.  Taken Very Well.  Pirate and Peter Pan flags and flagging hung from fences and washing line. Taken Very Well. Children hooting with excitement during meal, Taken Very Well.  The Teddy Bears had salad, green beans, new potatoes, and leftover chicken and cocktail sausages from yesterday.  They went to be at Six O’clock because they were Tired Little Teddy Bears.  Son 1 and Son 2 went considerably later. Taken Very Well.

1.  Daddy Rings The Bell

2.  Show That All Is Well

3.  Rocking, Rolling, Raging

Man, what a week. It doesn’t feel like I’ve seen Son 1 aged 4y 10m and Son 2 aged 22m. Which is daft, because I had my half day on Tuesday and as usual had Wednesday.  I left early again, this time needing to go to The City for The Office.    Son 2 apparently had a really bad night and kept The Man up throughout.  I didn’t hear anything. This is Indeed A Good Thing.  Apart from they were both fairly fractious by the time I got up.  Son 2 was lovely for our morning reading time though.  Say Hello to The Animals, Full Of Love, The Boy On The Beach, Maisie’s Fire Engine and The Snail And The Whale.  I like to think I do 5 books in the morning with him and 5 books in the evening. So he has 70 books a week.  This will Help His Receptive Language and Ensure He Has A Large And Confident Vocabulary.  In Son 2’s Top 10 words are Burp, Bart (for fart) and Bum Bum, when he bends over and waggles his bottom in the air.   These have so far not featured in any of his children’s books.  They are though heavily over-used by Son 1.  And before you start really hating me, the 5 books is a target.  Many, many days I am just too knackered.

A long old day in The City, and then back again. I stopped at Waitrose.  Like I did on Tuesday.  When I bought a two-pint bottle of organic milk, got it home and found it had a use-by date of the previous day, and a sell-by date of the day before that. Waitrose!  I always thought they were up there with John Lewis and… John Lewis as quality brands. I phoned them up and they grovelled, and told me to come back in and they’d give me a refund. They gave me a refund and a new bottle of milk. Sell by August 7. I checked. 

Younger Sister is down, just till tomorrow. She had Nanna to stay, and brought her back yesterday. So I had a Grand Plan that we could all eat out at Pizza Express.  5 o’clock, I said. And then got stuck, stuck, stuck in the traffic. Friday evening in the school holidays, what was I thinking of? i got there at about 6pm. I could hear a baby crying from outside. Too young to be  Son 2, I thought. As I came up the stairs, I looked into the eyes of a contorted, red, screaming toddler face.  Son 2 in Tantrum Town. The Man was just Iron Maiden-ing him into the high chair.  There wasn’t much I could do with him either.  It was good to get out, and good to see Younger Sister, who goes back tomorrow.  Son 2’s second mega-strop this week. I hope it’s not because I’ve not been around.

1.  Bared Teeth

2.  Hand Holding

3.  The People On The Bus

The Man took Son 2 aged 18m downstairs this morning while I grabbed some more time in bed.  Son 2 howled and hollered.  Stood at the bottom of the ground floor stairs baying upwards.  Son 1 aged 4yrs 6m woke, shrieking for Mummy.   I collected Son 1 on my hip and took him downstairs.  Son 2 cranked up his tantrum because I was carrying Son 1.  I picked up Son 2.  He screamed and shouted and pushed Son 1 away. I put Son 1 down.  He curled up in a miserable ball on the kitchen floor.  I tried to get Son 2 to give him a kiss and a cuddle to make up.  He wouldn’t. And he wouldn’t stop yelling.  We gave him teething powder. He quietened down.  He has three canines coming through.  They seem to pop out and then sink back.  The bottom right one is now an iceberg tip - I’m sure it was bigger a few days ago.  And the bottom left one came through with a shred of pink gum up the side.  The pink bit’s gone, but the tooth still looks like it’s gone back in.   Poor child.

Dressed, breakfasted, shoe-d and coat-ed, the boys were ready to leave the house and waiting for me.  Son 1 opened the door. This terrifies us.  He’s fine, but Son 2 never stops trying to escape. A whiff of fresh air and he’s straight outside.  I rolled up the blind and put a chair next to the door so Son 1 could see out.  Then Son 2 needed a chair next to him.  Two little backs. One little head peering out, another little head, shoulder-high, alongside.   Holding hands.  Mush.

 Son 1 has been nagging me to take him on a bus. We are a rural, two-car family, so buses aren’t big in our lives.  We drove to the Big Town to the Park And Ride.  Both boys in raptures.  Son 2 pointed and pointed.  “Buh!  Buh!”  “And what do The Wheels on the Bus do?”  “Rah rah.”  And, as it was raining, The Wipers On The Bus Went Swish Swish Swish. All Day Long.  Son 1’s cheeks were fat with his smiles.  We went to the Big Town Museum. Free entry, and full of other rained-out families. The boys dressed as spacemen and played with lego.  We walked from one end of the Big Town to the other to get the bus back.  We were last off. Son 1 had removed his waterproof trousers and taken his shorts and pants down as well.  And we needed to sort the buggy.  A Bus Man came on and started pressing all the bell buttons.  “It’s the law,” he said, self-consciously. “Because we’ve got them, we have to check they work.”  “Do you need anyone to help you?” I asked.  “Because Son 1 would love that job.”    Son 1 got to press button after button after button.  He did indeed love that job. And The Bells On The Bus did indeed Go Ding Ding Ding.

1.  Energy = Mass Times The Speed Of Light Squared

2.  Bonded Particles

3.  Planetary Movements

I have been awake forever.  Bring chocolate.  Son 1 aged 4y 3m arrived in the Big Bed at 2am.  He woke me at 4am, and I couldn’t get back to sleep.  I tiptoed in to Son 2 aged 15m’s room and got into bed.  He stayed asleep, I stayed awake. I  went downstairs at 0520.  Put some washing on, hung some washing out.  Emptied dishwasher.  Made sandwiches.  Drank coffee.  Had breakfast.  Read Sunday Times.  Made snack box for Son 1 after Nursery.  So easy this work and child-rearing thing. Just skip the sleep and the rest falls into place.

Two penguin dances this morning.  Son 1’s was in the bathroom, trying to distract Son 2 so he’d let me put a nappy on.  If a tuning fork lifted its prongs up one at a time, very fast, it would look a bit like Son 1’s rigid-legged, madly-paced tap dance.  And then Son 2, in his usual skewwhiff-didn’t-catch-me nappy, copied.  Laughing, staring up at Son 1 with his “you’re fantastic” look on.  Holding hands, bumping over.  One sight of me approaching with a baby vest and off he zoomed towards the stair gate.

It was just about light when I parked the car to pick Son 1 up.  Two weeks past the solstice and already I can just about tell that the days are getting longer again.  Good Thing.  Spring is on the way, hooray.  The Man and I have worked out why it’s so cold.  It’s Winter.  Son 1 and I headed home in the gloom, a bright, low light in the sky which I assume was Venus.  In the old days I’d know.  We were late, surprise surprise, way past Wonder Nanny’s home time.  But there she was just leaving as we parked the car.  Instantly I mentally blamed The Man - he’s back late, she’s had to wait - but no, she’d been hanging on to see Son 1 because she’s missed him.  Son 2 giggled, pleased to see me, but then exploded into his biggest, loudest, longest tantrum yet.  Being positive, there are probably now several small Universes in existence that weren’t there before.  Pang pang pang.  He was so tired, and he was so pleased to see us, and he just lost it and was overwhelmed with crashing emotions.  I put him in the bath and ran the shower and we got him back in the end.

1.   The Din In The Dark

2.   Sale Rails

3.  The Lunchtime Lull

Oh. What. A. Night.  The Man was already in with Son 2 aged 15m.  Son 1 aged 4y 3m arrived… whenever… clambered over the top of me and plopped in the Big Bed on the other side.  At 3am Son 2 started the loudest screaming fit yet.  Louder, louder, more and more hysterical.  Code for: I WANT MUMMY AND IT IS THE END OF THE WORLD GET HER GET HER GET HER.  It must be an evolutionary thing.  If he makes that noise just because he’s got the wrong parent in bed with him, he’s got to be able to fell bears with a shout under real attack.   I went down.  It took 15 minutes to calm him down; he had so completely lost it.  I slept with him, and he spent the next five hours waking every… whenever… and sobbing his heart out till I soothed him back to sleep.  I planned to get him back into his cot as soon as he went into his deep sleep - he didn’t.  Every time I moved away even an inch he shot out a hand to find me.   I vaguely heard Son 1 and The Man upstairs with the telly, and eventually went up.  It was 0830.  The latest I have slept in a very long time. 

And of course today was the day I wanted to be out of the house at 0830 to get to the Big Town for The Sales.  I skipped the books, skipped the shower, skipped breakfast, skipped dressing children, did my hair, put my make up on and left in 15 minutes.  I called into The Hotel to get Granny’s jumper which needed taking back.  Granny came too.  We did Monsoon - little boy trousers, little boy tops, odds ands ends, we did TK Maxx, we did Jaeger, we did Lakeland.  And we were back within an hour and a half. 

After Son 2’s lunch we packed up the boys and set off for The Square.  It was brutally, bitterly cold, with a gale force Easterly freeze-blasting skin and clothing.  “I’m getting draughted everywhere!” complained Son 1, so we rolled him up in his blanket and sat him in the battered MacLaren.  I tried to  pull the blanket down over his face so he could see.  “Leave it,” he said. “It’s cosy in here.”  By the time we got to The Square we had both boys asleep.  The Man, Granny, Granddad and I had wine, starters, pizzas and coffees while both children slept on.  Never in our Family History have we achieved this.  Granddad paid.  The waitress said they’d box up Son 1’s meal for him.  As we left, they made him a new pizza because his other one had dried out.  When we got home he ate every scrap, including his dough balls.  An honourable mention for PIzza Express.  They didn’t have to do that, but it made a big difference.

1.  Little Yellow Book

2.  Cuckoo

3.  Late Lambs

Son 2 aged 15m enjoyed his books this morning. We do five if we can… today we got up to seven before he decided to crawl off towards the bathroom.  He pointed and “Am-ma”-d at the book shelf, and then tottered over, reached up, and picked his favourite animal picture book.  Baby Bright.  We sit there flipping through pictures of a horse, a fox, an owl, a parrot, guinea pigs, a zebra, a lion, a dog, a penguin.  Son 2 loves the fish.  Am-ma is his current word for… everything really.  Milk. Mummy.  Fetch that. I dropped that.  I want to switch the light on and off.  He is also doing Uh-Oh if he drops something, and Ah-lo for hello.  Various snap snap quack quack noises for crocodiles and ducks.  Just yesterday and today I’ve noticed him trying to make new sounds.  Maybe that’s why he falls over when he’s walking.

Sickness has gripped The Office, so it was intense and fast-paced with every minute over-filled.    A long, hard day.  I was so late back.  Boys in pyjamas, playing, staying up waiting for me.  Son 2 was legging it for the top flight of stairs as I came up towards the landing.  “Cuckoo,” I said, from the stairs below him, peering through the bannisters.  ”Ah-lo,” he said and carried on trying to escape upstairs.  I took him up while I changed.  He grapped a remote, climbed on a toybox and tried to switch the telly on.  “Am-ma,” he pointed “Am-ma.”  I picked him up and took him downstairs and he launched into a high-Richter tantrum.  I couldn’t cuddle him, I could barely hold him. Plank boy, horizontal in my arms, head thrown back, heart pounding in his little boy chest. I got him back with his animal book, but then when we stopped reading, he tried paddying again.  I put him in the cot and he passed out within minutes.  Overtired.  The  vaccination on Thursday. He’s just not himself.

I’ve changed the name of the blog.   I have a colleague who’s worked in South Africa.   Way before the boys, I remember him talking about an expression there for a child born to an older mother.  A Late Lamb.  It came back to me after Son 1 aged 4y 2m was born.  I like it.  A Spring in the Autumn feel.  Like my boys.

1.   Noise

2.   Toys

3.   Boys

A quiet night from Son 2 aged 14m.  Fireworks this morning though.  The Man brought the boys up their snack - banana and apple pieces.  “I want grapes,” said Son 1 aged 4y 2m. “We haven’t got any grapes,” I said.  Son 1 grizzled a bit.  Son 2 grabbed his tub, peered in, tried throwing it on the floor… grabbed Son 1’s tub, flung the banana and apple on the floor, snatched his own again and succeeded in throwing the contents out… and then hurled his Doidy cup of milk across the chair and mirror.  It was a spectacular piece of tantruming, just because he didn’t have grapes in his tub.  He was dumped back in his cot and left to stew.  Well, boil would be a more accurate description.  Jaysus if he’s like this now what happens when he’s had time to practise?

Getting Son 1 to Nursery on time was a Good Thing.  We left late, the roads were awful, and I decided to try another route which was ok until we ended up in a long stationary queue.  I’m usually pretty patient in traffic, but we’d already been late twice and I really felt like Flinging My Tub. We got there on time though, and I even saw the teacher for the first time in a week.  I like the way Son 1 goes into Nursery now.  Eyes darting around to see what the others are doing, checking out all the different toys out in all the different places… his brain really switches instantly to What-Am-I-Playing-With, rather than I-Want-My-Mum.

Back home after The Office Son 2 reached and shrieked for me as soon as I walked in, and then, once he’d clamped himself to my shoulder started looking round for the next bit of action.  I did some books with him and got him in his bath.  Son 1 went in the shower, Son 2 sat at the plug end playing with the bubbles, the Winnie The Pooh squirters and some plastic jugs.  Son 1 was cleaning toys and polishing the shower screen.  They were both enchantingly engrossed in their own games.  For two minutes, till Son 1 “accidentally” poured soapy water in Son 2’s eyes.  Waaaaaaaaaaahhhhh.  It was hard settling him again, but we made it.  Six weeks since I stopped feeding him, and I think he’s now happy with milk from a cup and water from a glass.

1. Organic Matter
2. Smile and Wave
3. Vegetable Matter
Son 2 aged 13m woke up in his cot at 0545. Hooray hooray. The Man was Tired, so I took the boys swimming one after another. Son 2 was so excited that in the changing room he sat by the cubicle door and bounced up and down. We sat in the baby pool in the Shallow End. There was Matter in the water. I checked Son 2’s swim nappy. It wasn’t his. I looked around. More Matter. I took Son 2 over to the lifeguard, stepping past a two inch turd lying at the bottom of the pool. “There is poo in the pool,” I told the lifeguard. “Where?” he said. “There,” I said. “And there, and there and there.” Son 2 was so keen to swim that I took him up to the Deep End where some Friends were swimming. Nothing sinister there. I watched the lifeguard go from the Shallow End to talk to his colleague at the Deep End. They changed seats. Nothing happened. 30 minutes later, a net came out. Stuff was removed from the Shallow End, many times. The net was emptied into a fire bucket. Then the fire door was opened, and the contents of the bucket were tipped onto the grass outside. As our Friend said: “Isn’t it lucky they shut the cafe?”

I took Son 2 back at the end of the session, and picked up Son 1 aged 4y 1m. At the pool, the wave machine was on, and I gave him a surfboard. He pulled himself on it and kicked and paddled effortlessly to the Deep End, where he joyfully bounced up and down on the biggest waves. Then he paddled himself over to the Tunnel, turned himself round and kicked himself backwards all the way along. Every time I tried to touch the board he pushed me off. “I can’t believe my eyes,” I said. “Where did you learn how to do all this?” “At my Nursery,” he said.

“But can he swim?” said The Man, back home. “No idea,” I said. I have taken Son 1 to swimming lessons since he did dunk-the-babies when he was about three months old. He hated going under water from the first immersion and has never budged his opinion. So now I never comment, never enquire, never try and make him do anything. The boys played, and I finished off the roast chicken dinner. I didn’t get Son 2’s on his highchair in time to avert major ice-cap melting tantrum. He couldn’t do it. Son 1 however, transformed himself into a Perfect Child. He rejected the courgettes and parsnips, but ate whacking great chunks of cauliflower and shovelfuls of leeks. He got his toy dustpan and brush and cleared up all the food Son 2 had flung overboard. Then, when I at last got near my meal, he sat on my knee and ate my cauliflower and leeks too. Apparently if you eat more vegetables after your pudding you have to have another pudding. We settled on a Scooby Doo Ice Pop.