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.  Whiteout

2.  Green slime

3.  Red eyes

A murmer from Son 2 aged 15m this morning, and The Man was gone.  I passed out again.  And was woken when a wall of light exploded in my brain.  It burned my eyes and seared my skull like it was bleaching my roots from the inside.  TheMan, I thought fuggily. Itmustbelateandhewantsmeup.  A flutter beside me.  “Mummy here’s a present for you.  I found it. ” Son 1 aged 4y 3m.  I’d left a tub of eyecream under the tree yesterday, because I knew what it was, and because I was busy.  “I’m sorry I opened it.” “That’sallright.Turnthelightoff.”  “I can’t reach the light.”  “You can reach the light. You turned it on.” “I can only reach it to turn it on.  I can’t reach it to turn it off.”

Son 1 had several pirate things for Christmas, including a game in which you fill a plastic skull with slime and have to fish plastic coins out of it.  I checked the list written in haste on a Christmas card.  I didn’t write down who it was from.  That means we can’t thank them.  I put Son 2 to bed, we filled up  the skull and off we went.  Son 1 fished with relish while I checked his coins were the right ones.  I got good at flicking through the ones in the slime to see which ones they were.  The Man lost, but he was the only one with a clean hand at the end.  There was a lot of slime on the FT, and a lot down Son 1’s top.  He won.  Granny and Granddad arrived as I was washing the coins, and declined the offer of a game with our champion.

Son 2 ate leek and potato soup for lunch, which was a Good Thing because he’s eaten nothing but sausages and sweets for the last two days.  Granny stayed in, and Granddad, The Man and I walked the boys down to The Square.  Son 2 was swaddled up in the Big Pram, Son 1 was in his parkha and my big leather gloves.  Son 1 ran and chattered all the way down.  Unfortunately he misunderstood what The Man said we were doing, which was walk down to The Museum and have a coffee in The Square while the children ran about.  Son 1 thought that meant we were going in the Museum.  And it was shut.  He howled and real tears flooded his face.  He rode on The Man’s shoulders on the way back.  The walk did him good - he was asleep before we’d finished his stories tonight.  Son 2 went down well, but has just been up for ages, and The Man’s gone in to sleep with him.  Instant quiet.  It’s got to be teeth.  Those big ‘uns deep in his jaw bone.  The clue is in the way he stands up and gnaws the rail of the cot while he cries indefatigibly for rescue.

1.  The Mystery Of Faith

2.  Let There Be Light

3.  The Patience Of Job

Son 1 aged 4y 2m and I went to Church.  First Sunday of Advent.  We sat at the back.  He burnt his fingers on a boiling hot pipe running along the wall just above the floor.  We were taken through a side door to a little kitchenette.  The water was so cold that Son 1 soon decided his fingers didn’t hurt anymore.  He did a puzzle at the back.  Then he reached into his Parkha pocket.  “I’ve got something for you,” he whispered.  And produced a handful of bigger-than-pea gravel.  “Where did you get that?” I asked.  “From the beach,” he whispered.  He coloured in his stones with the Church’s felt tip pens to make jewels for his Treasure Chest.  

Late Afternoon we walked down to The Square for the Parade to switch on the Town’s Christmas Lights.  Son 2 aged 14m was trussed up in his cosi toe, happy in his woolly hat.  Son 1 had four layers on including a fleece and his Parkha.  He was too tired to walk down and rode on The Man’s shoulders.  He wanted candy floss, which his Favourite Thing in All The World, even though he’s never tasted it.  In The Square it was perishing.  Son 1 sulked over candy floss, Santa helium balloons, although a friend supplied some raisins in yoghurt which quietened him.  The Parade started.  We were behind the Samba band and the Mayors’ parties, but in front of Santa.  There were sweets. Lots of them.  Lollies and haribous and chocolates, handed out from great carriers full.  Carols were sung, the Lights went on.  I listed Son 1’s sugar intake as I cleaned his teeth: ice cream, yoghurt raisins, haribous, lollipop, more jelly sweets, candy floss, more haribous and raisins.  He bounced off the walls like a squash ball.

Son 2 aged 14m woke 4 times in 90 minutes after we put him to bed.  He’s been sick twice, crying himself into gagging because I haven’t rushed up.  I’ve just cracked and lay down on the double bed with him to get him back to sleep… and that’s taken well over half an hour.  He has started drooling again, so it could be teeth.  It could be separation anxiety - I don’t feel as if I saw a lot of him today… he could be coming down with something…  it could just be too much stimulus from the Lights switch on.  I really thought we were getting somewhere with his sleeping, but that was awful.  And I’ve still got to get him in his cot when we go to bed.  However.  Today I gathered up my 5 remaining feeding bras and threw them out.  Progress Has Been Made.

1.   Craving Sleep

2.   Fighting Sleep

3.   Losing Sleep

Lordie we are all tired.  Son 2 aged 14m barely made it past breakfast before he was eye-rubbing, yawning and shrieking.  Son 1 aged 4y 1m was producing weapons-grade sibling rivalry.  I held Son 2’s hands across the highchair table; and Son 2 laughed.  Son 1 stopped what he was doing and came and climbed on my knee, blocking out the route to the highchair table.  I put Son 2 down for his sleep, and Son 1 and I played Scooby Doo and made Pirate finger puppets.

i am doing a Running Gag. Whenever anyone asks if The Man is back, I say yes, but he’s Very Tired.  Our neighbour walked down to The Town with us, asking The Man when he’d got back.  “Yesterday,” he said.  “He’s Very Tired,” I said.  “Don’t you get tired then, Serenedays?” she said, Getting It beautifully.  We wandered along in the rain, Son 2 in the Big Pram, Son 1 in the buggy.  “We’ll just have to push them and they’ll fall asleep and then we can have a coffee,” I said.  Son 1 fell asleep eventually.  Son 2 just went on and on and on.  It was an amazing feat of endurance.  We’d stuffed him into an anorak, in a cosi toe, with his new (hot) hat on.  His hat fell down over his eyes so he could only see out at the bottom.  And still he stayed awake. 

Back home he was so tired he needed his tea at once, but melted down before he’d had very much.  We think there is a teeth thing going on again.  Son 1 says his teeth hurt at the bottom front.  Hells bleeding bells.  I’ve probably dissolved them in fruit juice.  Bathtime was agony, getting them to bed was awful - Son 2 woke and woke and woke… but when I finally got him to sleep I rang a Friend  for a chat and felt better. And The Man is having a go at all my outstanding filing.  Good to think it’s getting done. I’m a bit worried it might be like Son 2’s tidying up though… bits of cheese spread sandwiches left in the vegetable rack, crayons in the washing machine, jigsaw pieces in the bin.

1.  The Moment It Stopped…

2.  The Driver

3.  The Run

I’ve had to spell out the 3 Good Things, because Son 2 aged 1 is killing us.  Sunday night was ok… we got him in his cot three times before I finally went into bed with him.  Last night was sheer hell.  He was up for nearly three hours.  Wriggling, crying, crying wriggling.  New trick: lock your legs in your sleeping bag  rock hard and stretch up your body until the shoulder press studs pop and you can kick your way out like a snake shedding its skin.  Because then your wriggling potential increases tenfold.  He had Calpol, he had ibuprofen.  He had a new nappy, which it took two adults to hold him down to get it on.  He had water, he had cuddles, he had me.  In the end I said: “Mummy’s had enough now.  Go to sleep, or go in the cot.”  And - at last the Positive Point - he snuggled down on my shoulder and went to sleep.

We all woke up late.  Wonder Nanny is on holiday, so The Man had taken today off to look after Son 1 aged 4 and Son 2.  I had to go to The City for a training session. The nighttime warzone has gone on for two weeks now, and I probably should take some time off.  But I’m grimly determined.  Two of my colleagues carshared with me and one of them drove, which was great.  I sat in the back among the sticky smoothies, feathers, sand, pine cones and toy sword - my late start meant I didn’t get time to clean the car out. Another factor in soldiering on was of course the deep truth that had I stayed home, The Man would have gone to work…

When I got back he said he’d been clock-watching for me since 2.30pm (still in my meeting in The City then… well over two hours away…)  He doesn’t know how I do Wednesdays.  The boys had been good as gold, but Son 2 had only slept for 15 minutes.  We put the boys to bed.  I got Son 2 in his cot.  Within 20 minutes he had started yelling again.  And we left him.  I feel awful, because I know it’s teeth, separation anxiety, over-tiredness, a smashed routine, Wonder Nanny vanishing and probably reflux too.  And the only cure is Mummy.  But I wanted to go running.  I came back three miles later and Son 2 had only just stopped crying.  I started work and he started again.  I’m bound to wake him up when I have a shower, but then I’ll take him in with me.  And hope tonight will be the night it all gets better. 

1.  Signs

2.  Mimes

3.  Reminders

Looking on the bright side, I’ve started to stop breast feeding, and I’ve cleared out a cupboard.  But big attack of the Pangs.  I didn’t do the morning feed.  I’ve probably picked the worst time to drop it… Son 2 aged 1 is still sleeping badly… his teeth hurt… he’s lost Son 1 aged 4 from his life three days a week… Wonder Nanny is on holiday so he’s done two days in  a row at the Old Nursery for the first time ever… and along I come. You Are One Now So We Have To Stop Breast Feeding.   Son 2 asked and asked (When will Justin do that sign? Launch yourself forward with an open mouth at Mummy’s chest… “you sign ‘I want to feed from your breast.’”) But we did without.  And then I sorted Son 2’s baby clothes round for a friend who’s just had a little boy.  Pa-a-ng.  Horrible.  To start with I was doing a bit of “I could keep this,” and ” I could sell that.” But I decided to just give the lot away.  It hurt.   I’ve taken my first step towards the place where I accept there isn’t going to be another baby. 

But, the day got better.  We went to a party - one of the children from the New Nursery.  Well, one of the children and the entire New Nursery class.  Oh dear.  Now what do I do? Go through the whole year going to New Nursery parties without admitting that we already had a big one… or watch Son 1 not get invited to New Nursery parties because he didn’t invite the whole class.    I am amazed at how much I care about Son 1 and parties. While it’s good to still be able to surprise myself at my age, the old, BC me is standing on a hilltop in a parallel universe willing me to get a life in this one.  I think it’s just because I love seeing Son 1 so happy.  Today he didn’t really know any of the other children, yet he knows the language, pass-the-parcel, the parachute, the team games.  He made tiger claws and roared, he was an aeroplane, he was an elephant.  All unselfconsciously and with sparkling eyes and intent concentration.  Till he sees the party bags. “Can we go home now?”    

Then we went to the friend’s house with the bin bags.  New little three-week-old, lying asleep in his Moses basket.  His 4 year old sister playing instantly with Son 1.  They haven’t seen each other since Christmas, so it was good to see them click. Son 1 shared his party bag chocolates with her… unheard of.  Son 2 carpet-bombed from his nappy. And then crawled up to her keyboard and played and sang into the microphone.  He’s still feeling awful.  And olgaorbit has reminded me what a rubbish time he’s having. I think I’ll sleep with him tonight.

1.  Toothache

2.  Begrudging Beijing

3.  Driven

Son 2 aged 1 has four whopping great canines coming through at once, plus one odd front tooth on the bottom.  He’s sleeping badly, he’s cross when he wakes up, he doesn’t want to be put down, he doesn’t want to play with Son 1 aged 4.  All he wants to do is be carried around with his head on my shoulder.  We are now at the end of our two-week Birthday Fest, and we are all knackered, so today was Toys, Telly and Tidying.  Poor old Son 2 wrote off the first part of the morning - I could do nothing because he would not be put down.  So I put him to bed.  I lay down with him to soothe him to sleep… and he snapped awake whenever I moved.  In the end I had to leave him in the cot to cry.

One Wednesday Mother is on a Business Trip to Beijing.  Earlier this year she had a Business Trip to Borneo. We remaining Mothers are very pleased for her.  The other Wednesday Mum came round with her 2 year old (the 4 year old is at school.)  Aged 2 fell down the stairs, hollered and woke Son 2.  Son 1 and Aged 2 dressed up, Son 1 in his new Fireman Sam outfit and Aged 2 as Sportacus. The boys had cartons of smoothie.  Son 2 instantly demanded a share.   The visitors didn’t stay long, and I got the boys lunch and put Son 2 down.  He slept for three hours.

Son 1 and I watched his new Sinbad DVD, played with his new airport, played with Son 2’s toy ambulance and did some colouring.  Son 1 was tired, lying down a lot, sitting on me to watch telly, sitting on the floor.  We didn’t get any tidying done. Son 2 woke up, I started tea and The Man came home.  And Son 1 transformed into Wild Child, getting up from his tea constantly, sword-fighting and hitting both of us with a balloon left over from the party.  So I popped it and threw it out. “Oh bother,” said Son 1. I think the problem was me playing with Son 2 during tea - with a balloon.  I was pleased to see Son 2 smiling again and showing an interest in life… Son 1 couldn’t handle the sight.  He clung to me during Son 2’s reading time too.  Their need for me is simple, over-powering and incredible.  I’m sure I was never like that with Nanna. Hadn’t I been shoved out into the snow with a broom at their age?         

1.  Birthday Presents 

2.  The Fun Park

3.  The First Straw

Son 2 aged 1 slept through.  He has three tiny white prongs poking through, with a red, swollen bit in the middle of his gum.  Poor little Lambo.   He was up before Son 1.  Son 1 aged 4 today came upstairs first thing and ripped through the family presents: an airport from Nanna, a Scooby Van from Son 2, a sword and some books from us.  Then went to his room and opened his party presents, which were piled under the bed.  I have made a list, but dear God when do I get two sets of thank yous out.  Then downstairs to the drum kit.  He pulled off the pirate paper we’d draped over it and just stormed on for the next presents - a couple which had been left downstairs.  Son 2 loved the drum kit.

We went to the Fun Park.  I’d promised Son 1 a Trip for his birthday, without realising that by the time we’d done Son 2’s birthday, The Town Festival, The Man being away for a week, the Birthday Party and the Big Town Park… we would all be dropping with exhaustion.   Still, a deal is a deal as Shaggy - and now Son 1 - says, so off we trooped.  About an hour away, The Fun Park is cheap (except to get in,) amateur and not very clean.   Farm and small animals, various play rooms, various outdoor attractions and rides.  But it was a lovely day, and we had it almost to ourselves.  Son 1 loved it.  We went on a water slide, we played Scooby Doo in the Haunted House.  We played in the ball pool, we climbed 25m up some rigging (go go go older mums,) we went down a log flume.  I love it when I am his playmate and get bossed about “Come on, Mummy.”  Son 2 was miserable and needed Calpol, but he managed to pat some ponies, play in the ball pool and play in the sand pit. He didn’t eat very much today, but is drinking a lot of milk.  He’s on cow’s milk in the daytime now, he had his last formula yesterday.  Memories to cherish: Son 1’s baby-toothed laughter as we scrambled out of our boat on the water slide; Son 1 driving little electric cars around a tiny circuit - needing to use the accelerator and the steering wheel correctly. Son 1’s blue tongue from a long chewy snake someone bought him for his birthday which he took all day to eat.  Son 2 stretching his hand out for the ponies and goats, and for the ball pool, and crying when we took him off for his lunch instead.  Son 2 carefully dipping his breadstick in his hummous and licking it off.

We got home in time to see Nanna and Elder Sister arriving.  Son 1 had to eat his tea and then we were breaking out a Scooby Doo cake I bought yesterday.  The Nice Neighbours called round with birthday presents for both boys.  We drank bucks fizz and ate cake.  Son 2 hi-jacked Son 1’s Innocent smoothy, and used it to teach himself how to drink through a straw.  It was like watching a monkey learn how to get a  peach down from the top of a cage.  Son 2 recognises the cartons because all the boys on the beach drink them, and he’s mineswept them before, just chewing the straws to get the sweet juice on them. So he knew he wanted the carton.  Then he chewed the straw.  Then he sucked and a bit of liquid shot into his mouth.  Then his little mouth was going nineteen-to-the-dozen as he tried to make it happen again.  Then he made it… again and again…then he cracked it.   We didn’t get the boys to bed till 20 to 9.   

1. Arms and legs

2. Lift off

3. Calpol junkie

Woke to a room with no sound of Son 2 aged 9m and what felt like many arms and legs wrapped round me.  I was in the Big Bed, with Son 1 aged 3 and a half, who moved in while I was asleep.  Son 2 woke when I went to bed, and I gave him Ibuprofen - I’ve been wandering around the Mumsnet chat again and saw someone suggest it for teething.  I took him into bed with me and he went nuts.  Again, I just had to leave him in the cot.  It must be the milk. He’s exhausted,  wants to feed himself to sleep and I won’t let him.  He slept from about 0030 through till well past 7am…    Oh look at those hopes, bobbing around on the ceiling.   

Getting two boys out to nursery on my own on time (ish) is definitely a Good Thing.  It feels like a production line, though, and yet again I feel sorry for Son 2 who sits there watching his mother tear around in a bewildering blur.  Pack up lunch, snacks and medicine for Son 2. Milk feed, shower. Dress one, dress the other, dress me, hair, make up.  Breakfast for one. Breakfast for the other.   Leave every worktop covered in bottles, plates, knives, fruit peelers, cups and tubs.  Toys and bits of breakfast coating the kitchen floor.  Get briefcase, nursery bag, lunch bag, M and S bag with my lunch in it and put them in car.  Put boys in the car. Drive off.  Forgot Son 2’s milk.      

The production line again for tea and bathtime. I took up a cup of tea for me, milk for Son 1, a syringe of calpol for Son 2. Or I thought I did.  After I’d bathed Son 2, I sat down to give him a feed and noticed the syringe was empty.  Oh, I thought.  This must be this morning’s. We’ve obviously got two, and I’ve left the full one downstairs.  And then realised what the other explanation was.  “Where’s  Son 2’s calpol?”  A sly smile.  “In my tummy going down to my legs.”

1.  Asleep

2.  Curry

3.  Flowers

Another dreadful night with Son 2 aged 8m.  Cried in the evening, cried in the night.  Cried for me.  He was obviously in some kind of distress, so I tried sleeping with him  - as he’s been so good about not trying to feed.  He just could not stop crying or roaming around the bed.  So in the end he went in the cot, screaming so much you could hear he’d strained his voice,  and I went downstairs for a cup of tea.  And he went to sleep. 

 Wonder Nanny and The Man think Son 2 is teething.  He’s certainly not himself, poor thing.  I was upstairs giving him another feed after bedtime when The Man was making curry for tea.  The Man is being nice.  He has to go on a week-long business trip on Thursday.  He will miss the taster day for Son 1 aged 3 and a half’s new school.  So much for having a week off work because he’s so tired.  Being positive of course, we have both booked a week off in July.  And I have got Wonder Nanny to help on Thursday.   

 There are flowers in the blue vase in memory of the one we lost.  Who would have been one yesterday.  If he’d arrived on his due date.  If he’d made it.  I always think of him as a boy.  I don’t know how I feel - we wouldn’t have Son 2 if the other one had been born because he was conceived next time round.  But the anniversary bothers me, and I’m glad I remember.  Things do get better.