1.  Avoir Fatigue

2.  M’Aider

3.  The Couleurs King

I have been awake since 3am. Ellen MacArthur did five months on five minutes’ sleep every four hours.  Or something. I could so see her off.   I woke up, couldn’t get back to sleep, went downstairs, made a cup of tea, went back upstairs, got my Book Club book and went back down to the Double Bed for a peaceful middle-of-the-night readfest.  A little figure came padding down from the Big Bed. Wordlessly and glassy-eyed, Son 1 aged 5 plonked himself in the Double Bed.  Mrs Smiley’s voice echoed in my head: “How’s his sleeping?”  I switched off the light. “My head is still hurting.” I gave him a slug of Kalpol. He didn’t sleep; I didn’t sleep. He eyebrowed vigorously and clamped himself to me.  After a very very long time, Son 2 aged 2y 1m wailed.

After an hour at The Office, my voice had gone again.  “I’ll go home and work there,” I told a colleague. I didn’t make it. I found if I kept my head down, said nothing and drank lots of hot drinks, I could manage. I did a mad run round the shops at lunchtime.  I have… erm.. burnt Son 1’s tummy by putting neat tea tree oil on his molluscum. It’s made his eczema flare up.  I asked Teenaged Niece what she put on her eczema. “HE 45″ she said. I wasn’t going to take her word for it. I was going to ask the pharmacist. Only all pharmacists in the Big Town take their lunch between 1pm and 2pm.  “When can you guys make it?  OK.  That’s when we’ll shut up shop.”  So. HE 45 it was. And some allergy-for-children medicine.

Back late, and Son 2, the Cooler King, was shut up in his cot in a darkened room, having a raging tantrum.  ”He’s been horrible,” said The Man. ”He wouldn’t eat his tea, he wouldn’t have a bath, and I only just got his teeth done.” I got Son 2 out, and he sat on my knee, quietly panting, his head against me.  I took him into the other bedroom. Son 1 had a French lesson today, and was singing something about quelle couleurs.  The Man and I were baffled by the verse: Hoar, jaune, bleu, vert. We eventually worked out that the problem was our dodgy accents. Our rouge features the same sound as kangaroo.  Son 1’s has a throaty soft French “r” and a “g” that rolls into the “j” of “jaune.” I gave him the anti-allergy medicine. And then read the ingredients. Sugar and alcohol.  Nice.  I really want to give that to my five-year-old.

1.  Nobody To Hug

2.  Fancy Dancing With The Fleas

3.  Every Little Crawling Creature You Can Name

Well let’s start off with a Big Fat Positive.  Son 2 aged 2 slept through the night without HOWLING for me. Big big relief.  Yes I know it’s only one night… but at least it shows he still can, and hasn’t flipped back to the nightmare days of a year ago when Wonder Nanny was off, Son 1 had just started the new Nursery and I’d just stopped feeding him and he WANTED HIS MUMMY.

And then. I got up at 0545.  Made lunches, put out breakfast. Cleaned. Did washing. Left dishwasher for Granny. (Daring.) Took The Man a cup of tea. Son 1 aged 5 woke, reluctantly.  We got him up. We got him dressed and fed. We were nearly on teeth and Out Of The Door.  He scratched the back of his head.  He’d scratched the back of his head on Friday, and I conditioned him and Nitty Grittied him. The back of his hairline looked red, but I took him to the Hairdresser and she didn’t find anything.  “Son 1, come over to the light and let me have a look at you.”  A Secret Thing I will tell you about Being An Older Parent is we can see Bugger All.  It’s blissful. We can’t read ingredients on packets, so we fret not over sugar or salt.  We can’t read safety warnings on toy instructions , so we never worry.  We can’t see marks on whites, pencil on walls or insects on the lino.  We can’t cut toenails: “Ow Mummy! You made me bleed!” Never, Ever, let us drive you at night.  And head lice on blond children? Forgeddit.   I am so short sighted I need blastproof thickness contact lenses. And yet my near focus has gone. So. I took out my lenses, yanked poor old Son 1 round by the window and stared at his hair from a distance of one inch. There was something dark gripping a hair which I couldn’t pick off. I combed. And I found an insect. I rang the school. Treat Him, they said, and bring him in.  I conditioned and Nitty Grittied Son 1 in the bath.  We found two more critturs.  I rubbed sheepdip into his hair.  “I need to do mine, I need to do mine,” The Man panicked. My head started to itch. Granny, in her dressing gown, looked after Son 2.  Son 1 wriggled and cried and whinged. “If you sit still Daddy will buy you a packet of Go Gos,” I said. “I need two packets,” said Son 1. “Done!” I said.  Son 1 sat, saintly, patient.  I finally got him, damp haired and stinking, to School an hour late.  I am overwhelmed at The Office at the moment. If I had to pick a day when I simply couldn’t be late, today was it.   

At The Office the “Only One Way To Get Rid Of Head Lice” stories rained down.  Wrap your hair in olive oil in a towel for two days.  Make sure you get the eggs.  Tea Tree oil.  I tackled my work pile and was pleased with how far I got. Son 2’s Godmother got the tests back. E Bloody coli.  Where did she get that? Apparently it lives in your gut and can spontaneously skate in.  One of those Shaddap About The Headlice moments. I took her sunflowers.  I went to Boots for more sheepdip.  The Assistant couldn’t have cared less about our outbreak. I just made it to Son 1’s school before the After School Club shut. Back home I shampooed and combed two slithering, wriggling children. And rubbed Agent Orange into my hair. I am bleached blonde. It will probably be green by morning.

1. Soaking

2.  Nesting

3.  Choices

I had a bath.  Door closed. Several drops of Tea tree oil.  I have a stinking cold, and The Man entertained the boys this morning while I soaked and steamed.  It was great. Younger Sister gave me a very nice bottle of bubble bath for my birthday last year and I’ve only just finished it.  I never get near the bath. Just showers. With one or two boys at my feet, playing in the water collecting with the plug in.  Or with the plug out. If they like.   I used to be very into aromatherapy, but then I had a godawful cold lasting about three weeks, and afterwards I had no sense of smell. About 6 years ago.  No-one minded except me. I saw a consultant privately: “Oh sometimes you get catastrophic nerve damage with upper respiratory infections. There isn’t anything anyone can do.”  So. I still can’t really smell anything, but I had a tea tree oil bath last time I felt fluey and the bug wandered off again.  I’ve been putting lavender oil on Son 1 aged 4 y 6m’s pillow, and Son 2 aged 18m’s sleeping bag, and, unarguably,  they have been sleeping better.  And this morning I was wrecked and wretched, but able to function after my bath. Even though I can’t smell.   I am reconverted. I think you’re supposed to alternate camomile with lavender for sleep problems, because in the end your system gets used to the oils and they won’t work as well. But can I use it on children?  I never learnt that Before.  

The Man is stressed, so he was building shelves all day.  Under pressure,  it is usually sheds, but sometimes shelving. Or compulsive tidying.  We now have a new shoe and coat rack in the hall.  Hooks expected any day now.  He’s also made a mammoth book shelf in Son 2’s room for all the childrnen’s books. While he went to B and Q and Jewson, we played.  Playdough mainly.  Son 1 was engrossed in operation: making little shapes that the patient had eaten.  Earlier, his game had been scratching in an ink pad with a feather to try writing.  Son 2 was now pressing the feather into a big lump of red playdough.  Then he was waddling around with the playdough under his sock and the feather stuck to his foot by the playdough.

The boys and I went to the library.  I’n't Libraries Great? They just are.  I apologised for our 14 books. ”It’s ok, it’s 18 per ticket.”  Son 1 had a book that I said we shouldn’t get. He took it over to the scanning machine and put it in the tray. “Mummy bring me the ticket!” Won’t be long before he can download all my pictures and back up my blog for me.   Of course we took out the book he wanted.  Nanna came over.  Son 2 took one look at her, did his dance and pointed upstairs.  = “Shall we watch The Wiggles?”  He cried when the DVD finished.  I made Jamie Oliver fish pie for all. Reasonably successful, although Son 1 has decided he doesn’t like prawns. He had two helpings of cabbage though. Paragon sticker to him.

Nanna waited after bedtime and The Man and I went out for a drink. I had a champagne cocktail to celebrate being back at work a year.