1.  Stamina

2.  Focus

3.  Energy

Son 2 aged 22m howled at 4 something am.  Which of course he hasn’t done since well well before we put him in with Son 1 aged 4y 9m.  “Mum-meeee.  Mum-mee.”  We left him.  I think he woke again.  And we…er… left him.  I think I even heard a “Sssshhh,” from Son 1.  Who pad-padded up at 0730.  There wasn’t a peep from Son 2. I never enjoy it when he sleeps late.  I dread there being a reason for it other than a lie-in. Especially after leaving him twice in the night.

Son 1 wanted to paint, so I set him up on a newspaper on the kitchen table. “And me, And me,” demanded  Son 2. They were gorgeous, sitting there side by side, Son 1 painting picture after picture, Son 2 using only the painting water to washout his pieces of paper. He tipped the water over.  He pulled the newspaper over his head. ”Boo,” he said. Granny and Granddad came round, Son 1 squash-balled off the walls, and despite the forecast of severe showers, we went out. Halfway through the Town we passed The Church.  There were service flags, uniforms, civic chains.  A band. We waited. We were rained on. We watched The Parade, Son 2 with his heavenly expression of total interest and concentration.   We followed.  “I want to hear the music,” said Son 1.

Back home we roasted a chicken, and I tried to make a tiny amount of vegetables go round four adults and two small boys. I cannot count the number of times I have had a mountain of veg box bags to go through. Today I had about four carrots, some broad beans, 125g of out-of-date asparagus and half a head of rather old greens. We got away with it. I am Nigel Slater. After the meal Son 1 decided that the ribbon from the one helium filled balloon leftover from Nanna’s birthday was the finishing tape for sports day. To start with, he and Son 2 had running races. Then, as the excitement cranked up way beyond acceptable levels for 6pm, I told him to have a slithering-like-a-snake race.  We did a sideways race, a backwards race, a crawling race, a hopping race and snapping race.  Son 2 joined in for the egg-and-spoon race, run with wooden balls from a skittle set and old silver spoons. Again, that brilliant expression of concentration, and then unbridled joy when he got his egg across the line. Son 1 used the string shopping bag as the sack in a sack race. He was of course the only competitor in most of these races, which meant that he won them all.  He loved it.

1.  Good Food

2.  Good News

3.  Good Thing

Lunch With Nanna.  She’d invited us out. Son 1 aged 4y 9m picked Pizza Express. We went along with the idea. Son 1 ate no breakfast or tea on Friday.. and nothing but cake, crisps, chocolate crispies, chews, lollies and biscuits yesterday.  We figured he would probably go for their cheese and tomato pizza and dough balls. Not exactly Annabel Karmel-compliant, but at least a nod to the three major food groups. On the way to The Square we stopped off to get sandals for Son 2 aged 21m.   ”Choos.” He was delighted. He showed them to Nanna as soon as he saw her. Poor Son 1. Clarks could do nothing with his 11E slender feet.   The boys were ok during lunch. Son 1 cleared his plate, but didn’t quite stay sitting at the table, and ate quite a bit of his garlic butter with his fingers. Son 2 climbed out of his highchair (broken strap) three-quarters of the way through.  But considering what they’re capable of, a success. On the way back we saw Glamorous 22 year old Graduate. “Choos,” said Son 2.

And then at 1545 I wheeled them out again to go the Family Service at The Church. Son 1, who likes the crafts,  had decided he wanted to go.   Today we made  bricks and building and drawing houses.  A few more people there than previously.  Son 2 made a brick and a house. Son 1 coloured an orange house with a pink roof.  He then refused to go to the front of the church for the service because he wanted to make a house too. So Son 2 and I did The Wise Man Built His House Upon The Rock. And then into the Church Hall for tea.  “I made vegetarian cottage pie last time and you didn’t come,” said the chef, doling out sausage and mash and beans for the boys. Sorry, I said.  Son 1, after his lunchtime triumph, ate mash and had seconds of beans. I don’t think the sausages met his standards.    Another mother there had worked with The Man 15 years ago. 15 years ago The Man used his pet name for me in all his conversations.  She still thinks that’s my name, and that’s what she calls me. I wonder when he stopped using it. 

When the boys were in bed I went for a run.  8pm and a warm, close evening with great light.  I’ve never noticed the amount of roses in front gardens along The Terrace before. I’m still running-and-walking while I get back into it, but as usual, I’m very glad I went.  There and back I was dive-bombed by a seagull, clearly protecting a nest or fledgings. And on the final straight, the seagulls were clacking at top volume near The Hotel With The River View.  A small grey chick was perched unsteadily on the sloping slate roof.  I ran on.  A cat sat outside a house on The Terrace, staring at the gulls.  Today’s positive lesson? At least when I make a mistake parenting, no-one tries to eat the children.

1.  Outbreak

2.  Outside

3.  Outcast

Son 2 aged 19m has had a pimple on his chest for the last four days.  A red, acne-style beacon, sitting there, shining, glowing. “If there were any more of those, I’d think he had chickenpox” I’d vaguely thought.  Son 2 has had odd spots before, none of which have turned out to be anything other than odd spots.  Yesterday, Son 2 was scratching behind his ear like a flea-bitten dog.  This morning, Son 2 had: spots behind his ears, spots in his ears, spots on his chest, spots on his head, spots on his back, spots on his upper arms, spots on his baby thighs and a big, horrid one right on his willy.    I texted Wonder Nanny, to tell her that the person with the NNEB training was in charge of putting calamine lotion on the wrigglest child in the world.  She rang back. On Friday, with still, just that lone blister, she’d stripped him naked and checked him all over, so sure was she then that he had chickenpox.

Son 2 slept.  We got the paddling pool out.   Son 1 aged 4yr 7m checked with Next Door to see if they’d managed to borrow a pump. Nope. But Next Door did know how to get into a coconut, so Son 1 scampered round, and sat out in the yard with Next Door Neighbour and a hammer.  They smashed it.  He brought it round our side, testing it. “I don’t like it. It’s like the milk.”  He went inside, I stayed outside to try to blow the pool up.  I managed, but it’s already got a hole in it.  From where i folded it.  After 15 minutes I went back into the house.  It was strangely quiet.  “Son 1!”  No answer.  “Son 1! Where are you?”  “Mummy I’m here,” came a strange, faraway voice.  Upstairs?  I went to the bottom of the first floor stairs. “Mummy!  Mummy!”  He sounded scared, which made me scared. “Where are you!”  “Out here!”  I peered downstairs.  A littleface peered in at the front door.  He’d gone out the front door and shut it. ”How long have you been out there?”  “Fifty years.”  Stuck.  Which, coincidentally, is a word Son 2 has started using only today.   Falling between the legs of the upturned toddler chair.  “Stug!  Stug!” 

After lunch, we went down to the Discount Store in search of a puncture repair kit. Stopping off for Nappies.  The Discount Store had sold out.  We headed back, past The Church, where it was Family Tea Time service day.  ”We can’t go,” I told Son 1. “Son 2 will give the other children chickenpox.” “I want to go,” said Son 1.  He scampered up the steps while I battled with the shopping and The Big Pram.  The Vicar and His Wife came out. “It’s good to see you. We don’t know how many others there’ll be.” Code for: No-one Else Is Here. As we went in, a few more families headed in through each door.  Enough for it not to be embarrassing.  The theme was Fish.  Right up Son 2’s alley.  Son 1 fished for magnetic fish in a (puncture free) paddling pool.  Son 2 made Hand Fish.  I drew round his hand, cut it out and then he earnestly squidged gold glitter paint on it.  Then we did Casting Your Net Over The Other Side.  And then tea. Fish Fingers.   Son 2 tipped a beaker of squash down his front, soaking his jumper and vest.  ”Oh dear,” said the Vicar’s Wife.  “Have you got any other clothes with you?”  “Just his coat,” I said. “I’ll change him when I do his nappy.”  “Oh you can change him here, no one will mind,” she said.  They will if they see The Plague Of The Boils, I thought, and retreated to the privacy of the tiny loo.

1.  Foresight

2.  Hindsight

3.  Second Sight

I told Son 1 aged 4y 6m that, to mark the end of the holidays, we could have a Big Trip this weekend.  He chose the Fun Park, and he chose today.  Nanna, who on Sunday didn’t take Communion because she didn’t think could make it from the pew at the back of The Church, said she’d be fine with the huge amount of walking.  If we took the Big Pram for her to use as a zimmer frame.   I did a mega packed lunch, including coffee for me.  First, I don’t like the food or the cafe… and second I am trying to cut back. It took FOREVER.  Cost-benefit analysis.  Saved £20. But two bored boys allbut unravelled the carpets and peeled off the wallpaper.  Son 1 has a very sore and red left eye.  Worrying, as the Old Friend we saw on Tuesday was just over an evil bout of conjunctivitis. 

At the Fun Park, Son 2 aged 19m thought he’d entered Paradise.  Ponies and piglets.  “Dig! Dig! Dig!” at the climb-on diggers in the sandpit. Lambs and rabbits and chickens and goats.  Son 1 was insistent on going down to the Haunted House.  Soft Play in the dark.  Nanna sat outside while we played.  The Ball Pool, knee-high and low-lit, was being dragged by two men in Fun Park uniforms. Sort of dive, body plough, surface.  “Are you looking for someone?” I asked.  “A mobile phone,” one said. “Can’t you ring it?” “We don’t get signals here.”  We left them to go and play Scooby Do on the stairs in the dark.  

Lunch, a bit of a run round, some sliding with Son 2, and then it started to rain.  We played inside again, in a toddler area - ride on tractors, and  in another Ball Pool, where I played a game with both Son 1 and Son 2, lifting them up and letting them fall (slightly.)  And then upside down.  Son 2’s Ball Pool confidence grew and grew, until he was relaxed lying on top without moving while he waited his turn. And then there was a little castle which ran the length of one wall.  Son 2 was fabulously independent.  Climbing in, taking himself up and down steps, out-of-sight along walkways, vanishing until just a little red and white striped sock appeared, and then another, as he lowered himself down steps at the end.    Then back to the Haunted House and the Ball Pool there.  Son 2 sat, happy, letting himself sink till only his face was visible. Wiggling. “Dear little soul,” I thought. “He’s so good at these now.”  He leaned back and stuck up a little baby foot.  A bare baby foot.  No sign of the little red and white striped socks.   The wiggling had clearly been Son 2 removing them under the surface.  This time it was me dragging the Ball Pool. And it’s not easy.  By the time I found the socks, Son 1 had taken his off. They were exhausted when we finally left.  We got back in time though for the Pharmacist at Tesco.  Son 1 has a stye, not conjunctivitis.  We have ointment. And a proclaimation: “You’re not putting that stuff in my eye!”

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.  Goat Bait

2.  Candlemass

3.  Brothers In Arms

The Man left at 3am on a Business Trip, so we collected Nanna and headed for The Bird Park.  Son 2 aged 16m couldn’t get into the Baby Area fast enough.  Ball Pool.  Jet Bits.  Sitting over one of the holes so the remaining air streams blew even stronger.  The thin, four-inch wisps of his anyhow pre-haircut fringe blown up vertical.   He waved at Nanna. “Eh-yo.”  He concentrated as he threw balls overboard.  He got down.  We crawled up and around.  Son 1 aged 4y 3m was cross.  Growling.  Clawing his hands.  Pushing me away.  He wanted his Best Friend.  Only his Best Friend understands his game.  I tried to get us all playing together and might have succeeded at times.  He had a great time when Son 2 was sitting on the jets and throwing balls down at him.  He liked it when we followed him over the Big Children’s Stuff.  Son 2 slithered on his stomach and went down the baby slide on his own.  He learned to go down steps the same way today.  We went to see the otters and the owls.  Son 2 was in his reins - he loves walking, we’re hoping that having him in them early will mean he accepts them later.  When we know we’ll need them.  We looked at the Guinea Pigs.  £12 each.  Son 1 and I looked at each other.  If they’d sold hutches we’d've taken two.  We fed the goats, Son 2 managing to hold the food so the goats licked it from his hands, giggling his head every time their tongues shot out over his fingers.  The goats were standing in a quagmire, and everytime they leapt up their hooves spattered us.  Slathered in mud and goat spit, we washed our hands and made for the penguins.

We went early (for us) because it was the Family Tea Service at The Church and I felt we should go.  Son 2 didn’t wake up between car, house and street, and stayed asleep till we were at the bottom of the church steps.   Son 1 was exhausted, but will fortunately do anything if promised a comic, so trudged down like a trooper.  Numbers were few.  The theme was “light.”  The student priest put everyone under a tablecloth to show how Dark Things Were When God Forsook.  “And then Simeon saw a little baby just like this one (Son 2, possibly about 15 months too old for the role), and said ‘here is the light that will save the world.’”   We went back to our pews.  “Is Son 2 Jesus?” asked Son 1.  We sang “Shine Jesus Shine,” the words on a screen at the front.  My eyes are dim, the light was poor.  I so liked the idea of Kindly Brightness that I googled “Shine Jesus Shine, lyrics” when I got back.  Ah.

And then they provided tea.  Vegetable Bake, sausages, pizza, squash and cake.  Brilliant.  We zigzagged home across the main street - closed to traffic while they dig it up, Son 1 liked leading us from one side to the other.  We bought a Shaun The Sheep comic.  It was late and we were all whacked.  The boys went in the bath.  I insisted on washing their hair to remove goat saliva and hoof flecks.  I washed Son 2’s. Then I washed Son 1’s, singing him his lullaby to keep him calm.  Seeing him lying back on Mummy’s arm, being sung to, destroyed Son 2.  He cried, stood up, grabbed the arm holding Son 1 and sat his little bare bottom down on Son 1’s face, sinking him under the water. Then he stamped his foot on his ear and slid off.