1.  Mr Bump

2.  Mr Clever

3.  Bash A Fish

The Man took Son 1 aged 5 to school, so Son 2 aged 2 and I could bond at home.  He chose the activity. Sitting on my knee while he watched The Wiggles.  At the party, a Mum-Of-Three kindly donated 3 Wiggles DVDs which hers have outgrown.  Another friend gave him a “Mister Bump” sweatshirt, which I put him in today, thinking it was hilarious.   I went upstairs to do my hair and make up. I went downstairs to put on washing, clean up and get our packed lunch ready. ”Mummeee!  It’s Bished (Finished)!” called Son 2’s distant voice. “Ok!” I called back. Bump-Thump-Crash-Waaaaaaah.  Down the stairs again.  I couldn’t see him, but I know what happened. He thought I was upstairs and was heading on up… he heard my voice from downstairs… swung round and splat.  Never happens with Wonder Nanny. Always happens with me.

I pushed him over to the Rockpool Beach to see the Wednesday Friends. Another Mum from breastfeeding group five years ago was also there.  Two little Wednesday brothers, who’d both been at the Birthday Tea yesterday, were knackered. One cuddled his Mum and slept… the other played and sat.  They were in rainsuits and fleeces.  Son 2, within seconds of arriving, demanded to play in the water. I put him in his neoprene swimsuit, with his sunsuit over the top. He’ll freeze soon, I thought, and then he’ll sit with everyone, so I’ll play with him for a bit first.  Clutching the fishing net I’d transported upright on the Big Pram, he led me to the rockpools.  They were all full of shrimps.  Poor old Son 1 and I have been to that beach time after time. He loves catching shrimp. And we really had very little luck.  It’s one of the reasons we moved onto crabbing. And yet, just after high tide, there they all were, darting around in every one.  It was great. It probably means another polar bear somewhere with no ice cap to live on, but it was great. We caught three before Son 2 demanded we look for crabs. Which we couldn’t find.  He didn’t get cold. He didn’t sleep.  

We walked back via The Square. I had a coffee and got Son 2 a hot chocolate.  He fell over on the concrete - this is where he fell and ended up in casualty - and blacked his cheek. He pointed at something. “Big SeeSaw,” he said.  I kept trying but didn’t get it.  “Seahorse?”  “No.  ‘Mine. Mine. Mine.’ Like Nemo.”  “Oh, seagull!” “Es.”  We rounded up The Man and went to collect Son 1.  “You can bring siblings in for the school photos tomorrow,” said Smiley Teacher. Of course we can. Because Son 2 has a great swollen red mark on his cheek. On the way back we stopped in at The Fish Shop with a sample of water from our tank. Hooray. We can buy two fish.  Son 1 picked some little sparkly silver ones.  Back home, they watched his new Kung Fu Panda DVD, while The Man and I tried to sort the tank. When he set it up, he left the plants in baskets. And they have to be planted. So I stuck two in the gravel and tied one to the bogwood. Then we couldn’t get the airpipes into the skull and the treasure chest properly.  And the tank looked all stirred up and murky. So we put the fish bag in it. The boys ate tea, and then, at last, we released Flossy and Coupon into the water. They seemed to like it.  Then, upstairs, while I was putting Son 2 to bed, Son 1 asked if he could go down and have another look at the fish.  When I’d finally got them both to sleep, I went downstairs and there was only one. “I think we’ve killed the other one already,” said The Man. “Son 1 frightened it, it swam behind the bogwood and that’s it. That was an hour ago. ”  Bugger, I thought. I’d liked those fish.  I went downstairs for the paper while we were eating our meal. Two fish. It vanished again while we were washing up, and then came out when we switched the light off.  I do hope they live. We can have some more at the weekend, according to the woman in the shop. I am having one. When the boys have chosen theirs, and when they are settled, I am going to get one more.  i will put it into the gang and see how long it takes for them to notice. But it will always be Mine.

1.  Saying Goodbye

2.  Introductions

3.  Substitutions

I dropped my contact lens when I was getting up. “I’ll find it,” called Son 1 aged 4y 11m from bed, remembering how last time he got himself a Scooby Doo DVD for finding it. The Man found it, but didn’t admit it, giving Son 1 a clue instead. He came down the stairs, triumphant. ”I want a present now. From your secret present pile.” I gave him a Ben 10 pencil set I’d bought for his birthday.  The Man took him away to school and Son 2 aged 23m and I were left alone in the house.  Bereft.  For four and a half years I’ve worked flat out so they’re never apart from me for longer than two days. And now Son 1 will be gone five days at a time. Pang pang pang.  Son 2 didn’t care, he discarded the Tarzan DVD and put The Wiggles on.  And complained when I stopped it on the second time through so that we could go out.  

We went to the Beach By The Garden.  I took the Big Pram.  Before Son 2, I used to push the Big Pram everywhere. I covered miles and miles.  Son 2 fell asleep.  As I strode through coastal avenues I wondered whether I now had the chance to go for long walks on sunny Wednesdays for the next three years.  At the beach, each Wednesday Mum had only one boy. We last each had only one boy in December 2005.    It was very different.  Son 2 instantly expanded to fit the space alloted him: to the sea for water, climbing up me to balance on my shoulders, sitting with me, digging with me. At one point, as I tried again to loll back on the beach mat, drink black coffee from my flask and chat to the other mums, I considered saying: “Play by yourself, what do you think I am, your Nanny?”  He is of course designed to be irresistable.  I changed into my costume and swam in the sea. I turned round to look back and he had followed me down the sand, towing the beach mat, a Wednesday Mum completing the parade.  He had no intention of letting me go out swimming again, so we sat in the sea together, being slapped out by every seventh wave. “Again, again,” he chortled. 

We picked up Son 1, came back, they watched a bit of telly and I gave them an M and S ready meal spag bol for tea. Son 2 was weeping with misery over Son 1’s Ben 10 stationery kit. Son 1 loves it so much he won’t take anything  out of the box; Son 2 just wants to finger everything. Genuine, deep misery.  “Would you like one for your birthday?” “Yes peez.”  Good job I have the £3 Wall-E from TK MAxx, ready and raring to go.  I put Son 2 to bed. The Man and Son 1 wrapped his presents. Including Wall E.  The Man went out drinking. I came downstairs. On the phone was a message from the entertainer booked for the joint party a week on Saturday. ”Human Error. Mix Up.  Two shows booked for Saturday afternoon. Ours will have to change times. Sorry about short notice, he’s been leaving messaged on the wrong number. He’ll ring everyone. Not to worry.”  i left a message on his answerphone which said: “Sling Yer Hook, we’ll get someone else.”  Then I rang Wonder Nanny Crisis Management Services.  She suggested a person, and gave me a number. The Person can do the party. Hooray.

1.  Happy Father’s Day

2.  A Family Day Out

3.  The Servant

Man I was wiped out after yesterday, celebrating Nanna’s Grand Old Age from 0830 till gone 11pm. I forgot to say, she loved the cartoon fireman mushroom Son 1 aged 4y 8m chose for her. Kitch. A language shared by the elderly and under-fives.  We really thought we were in for a lie-in, but Son 2 aged 21 m was up and roaring at 6am.  The Man went.  At 0730, when I went down to see them, sitting together on the big chair watching The Wiggles, I said “Happy Father’s Day.”  He’d forgotten. “I’d have made you get up if I’d realised.”  A silent and invisible licked finger wrote a “1″ in the air. 

The Office was at a huge environmental event. Cycle trails, hearty walking,  pond-dipping, willow-weaving, that sort of thing.  I’d said I’d go, and The Man said it was the sort of Family Thing he didn’t mind doing for Father’s Day.  Son 1 packed his golf kit, and wee headed on out. Son 2 fell asleep straightaway, Son 1 hung on until a few minutes before we arrived. We chatted to my colleagues, and went to look around. We got as far as Face Painting And Smoothie Making.  Son 1 was a pirate,. The moustache, caterpillar eyebrow and eyepatch we have seen many times before. But the fake cheek slash was a new touch. Wax-based, red blood running from it, like something off the Casualty set.   We set off round the trail and the boys were murderous.  We split into teams and played “Spot the butterflies.” They came alive. The behaviour switched, instantly. The Man and Son 1 beat me and Son 2 10 - 4.  Ah. Not hungry, tired, or hot, then. Just bored.

There were bees as well as butterflies, and dragonflies, and crickets. Foxgloves, cowslips, a lily pond. All in a scorching day, the sun baking down on the trail.  We took an hour to get to the first mile marker, and an hour back again.  Son 1 spent well over an hour in the Wildlife People’s tent, making a Father’s Day card with a butterfly on it and colouring face marks with felt tip. Son 2 tipped up all the sticker shapes, and I took him away. He had an owl mask. “Owl. Owl.”  Which meant: ” I would like to stand back on that chair and colour my owl like Son 1.”  Eventually I tempted him away with “Would you like some cake?” and we went for ice cream. The Man and Son 1 were a full half hour behind us, because the face mask had to be coloured perfectly. “Didn’t you try to get him away?” “About a thousand times.”  They played golf, and Son 1 had a quick game of pirates with a big boy in the playground.   As we left, Son 1 said “Can I have a servant?” “You’ve got a servant,” I said. “Daddy is your servant, he’s just not very good at it and I keep having to do it instead.”  “No,” insisted Son 1. “A servant. Something we buy. From the shop.”  “You mean a souvenir?”  “Yes.”  “No you can’t. You had too much yesterday.” = 2 Wiggles Activity packs, and a Disney Golf set. Back home I googled the Wiggles.  Bad News.  Liking Anthony is not original.  Good News. I do not need to be concerned about the “Spending Some Quiet Time With Dorothy,” Do-Not-Disturb signs left on the back of the theatre seats.

1.  A Big Day

2.  A Day Off

3.  A Long Day

Nanna’s Birthday.  She is A Grand Old Age.  Son 1 aged 4y 8m, Son 2 aged 21m and I picked her up and drove over to The City to watch the Wiggles.   We arrived at the same time as hoards of other under-fives. ”Food!” said Son 2, trying to rip his way into the tuck bag as soon as we got through the sliding doors. “Food! Food! Food!”  I tried to give him a sandwich. “Cips!”  “Cips!”   I wasn’t sure about the Wiggles.  A Mumsnet talkboard raved about them, they were on Nanna’s Big Day, and we needed an outing.  But I am now enslaved.   Just go. You deserve it. Don’t, whatever you do, ruin it by taking children.  Son 1 bellowed out the names as they bounded on, and I was oh-how-sweet, he knows who they are.  Afterwards, Son 1 asked: “Who’s your favourite Wiggle Mummy?” “Anthony,” I said. “Guess why.” “Because he likes to run around and have lots of fun, doesn’t he?” “Yes, yes,” said I.  Mmmm. WLTM. Abs of rock. Does Handstands. Drums. Likes children. Filthy rich.  I can now, for the first time in my life, compose a lonely hearts ad.  

On the way back, Son 1 said: “Where’s Daddy?” “Having a day off,” I said. A Father’s Day present.  I left it a few beats. “Do you think Daddy has too many days off?” I asked.  “Yes.” “Do you think it might be someone else’s turn to have a day off?”  “Yes I do. When we get back, I will say, Daddy, we will have the next day off.  It’s our turn. It’s your turn to do all the tidying.”  Oh lambo.  You are the centre of your universe and you cannot conceive of a world where grown ups long for time without you.   Oh all right, I don’t.  From every quarter I am urged to take time off from them.  But I can’t spend a minute without them when I’m not at work. 

The Man bought balloons and did an al fresco strawberries and cream tea for Nanna. We made the boys have hummous and dips, and then brought out plate upon plate of  scones, strawberries, jam and a victoria sponge.     Nanna’s mother always gave her strawberries on her birthday.  We put candles on the Victoria Sponge, and Son 1 bossily shoved Son 2 out of the way so that he could blow them out. We are out of matches, so I went downstairs to light one from the cooker. I doughtily carried it upstairs and the wind blew it out.  Eventually Son 2 followed me down the kitchen, and I let him blow out candles there. “More. More.”  We took Nanna out for dinner at The Hotel With The River View. She had chicken, I had butternut squash curry, The Man had steak.  After, we sat outside on the terrace enjoying the fine Long Evening Before The Solstice.  Nanna rang Elder Sister to tell her about her day.  “They were fantastic,” she said.  “They were on air for an hour and a half and they never stopped. They did everything, and they were so entertaining.”  Nanna knows her stuff. She has, in her time, seen  people like Judy Garland and Danny Kaye live.

1.  Spot The Difference

2.  Spot The Dog

3.  Hitting The Spot

I have a Lovely Chair.  Brown leather, lilo-like back, big round arms, and a matching stool.  It was chosen, way BC, after a lot of research, from John Lewis, Oxford Street.  Flipping through the big leather swatches on the furniture floor with the helpful salesman.  Ordered.  Made for us. Delivered.   The Man envies me my Lovely Chair, and wants to get another.  Wiped out by our gold-plated childcare, we never will.   This morning I left Son 1 aged 4y 7m and Son 2 aged 19m watching The Wiggles while I showered,  dressed, and did my hair and make up.  I was nearly finished, when a voice bellowed “Mummy!  Son 2’s done a wee!”  Son 2, who is seriously and sickenly spotty,  had removed his trousers and nappy, and was sitting bare-bottomed on my Lovely Chair, watching telly.  In a deep lake of wee.   The leather in the Lovely Chair is so good that none of it had soaked away.  So when I moved the cushion it all ran and spilled.    

Son 2’s spots are just awful.  There are hundreds of them.  I had to go to The Office, and rang home at lunchtime.  He was fine, said Wonder Nanny, who’d taken him out to her Mum’s to play with the cats. I picked up Son 1 so late I barely made it there before closedown.  “Did I stay till the end for a special treat?” he asked.  We were back embarrassingly late.  “Son’s had a really good day,” said Wonder Nanny. “No scratching, and laughing all day long.”  She left. Son 2 burst into tears and scratched his ears off.  A toy dalmatian pup, free with the Disney film, has emerged from the toy pile on its own. Son 1 played with it. We hunted out its mate. I took off Son 2’s trousers to change him, but he escaped and waddled, bare-legged into the hall. ”Son 2! I need to change that pooey nappy!”  The nappy landed on the changing mat with a heavy splat.  He really is getting good at taking his nappy off.  And he already knew how to throw.  

His groin is horrible, with blisters on his willy and in all his little baby creases.  They didn’t seem to bother him till I slathered them in calamine lotion and then he cried real tears.  We went upstairs and did Where’s Spot as one of our books.  I put a ton of bicarb in the bath, on the advice of a colleague from The Office.  Poor Son 2.  Spots all over his back with hardly any bare skin in between.  All over his front.  In his hair, in his ears, behind his ears. Poor miserable little sausage.  He cried and cried when I got him out of the bath, objected loudly  to the calamine and was then worn out and inconsolable.  Even though I was incredibly late getting them to bed, I was relaxed and patient all the way through.  Possibly linked to my swapping my usual bathtime cup of tea for a very large glass of Sauvignon Blanc.  A Marvellous Mummy Am I.

1.  Far Away And Dreaming

2.  Smile While You Are Sleeping

3.  A Moment I Treasure

An undisturbed night, and The Man and I woke before the boys.  We went downstairs, eventually Son 1 aged 4y 6m wailed. The Man went up. I followed with drinks and snacks. They were in Son 1’s bed. I got in too.  Me: “There were three in a bed and the little one said - ” Son 1: “I’ll just go and get Son 2.”  Me and The Man:  “NOOOOOOO!”  I read three library books to Son 1. He eventually went to peek at Son 2 aged 18m.   And he was UP.  Sleepy and hot, standing up in the cot, gripping the rail and smiling and laughing.  The Man took Son 1 downstairs for telly, Son 2 and I read. 

Breakfast. The Wiggles.  Thomas Wooden Railway. Every piece we own, and we own a lot.  The Man wanted to go to the Big Town, so off we drove.  The boys fell asleep in the car, so we drove down to the Big Town’s park, left them sleeping and went and got takeaway coffees. I sat outside the kiosk with the paper, The Man looked at the boats in the river.  Sunny, with a cold breeze.  Cawing rooks. We parked for shopping, the boys woke. I took them on the Merry-Go-Round. We met colleagues from The Office who’ve had an incredibly worrying time with their two-year-old.  Some very important tests have come back negative.  The Best Thing.   We walked Son 2 on his reins and he chuckled and called and kept stopping to pat the pavement.  We looked unsuccessfully for shoes for Son 1. He wanted shoes with toys in the heels; or Ben 10 shoes. He has long narrow feet. Nothing fitted.  We have to find something soon because his trainers just don’t fit him any more.

On the way back Son 1 was holding Son 2’s hand in the car, and the air was filled with burbling baby giggles and hearty little boy laughter.   They kicked off their shoes and took off their socks and I tickled their feet with Five Little Piggies, and Round And Round The Garden.  More peels of magical baby chortles.  “I don’t want to be tickled any more Mummy, I need a nice rest,” said Son 1.   So did I.  The Man did pizza for tea, and we had them in bed and asleep by 1830 old time.

1.  A Hard Day’s Night

2.  This Will Be The Last Time

3.  You Really Got Me

Son 1 aged 4y 5m was in with me all night.  He’s always allowed the night before The Man comes home.  He is a heat-seeking missile who cannot be stayed from his course.  He is in bed to snug with Mummy, to lie against me and feel my eyebrows.  (Used to do it when he was breastfeeding.  Has never stopped.  Does it when he’s asleep. In my absence anyone’s eyebrows will do.  Also does it on Son 2 aged 18m.)  Son 2 aged 18m slept through, but woke at 6am.  I put his fan on (white noise) and got into the double bed with him.  He dozed.  Then he woke, cried, and wanted his sleeping bag removed.  I took it off.  He slithered out of bed, onto the floor, and off he went on his own.  ”Mummy’s staying in bed.” I said.  “Bye bye,” he said, stopping only to pull the blankets off the chair as he went past, opened the door and went out onto the landing in the dark.  He had the grace to totter back again and stand in the doorway.  “Mama.”  Ha.  Yes I had to get up but I think I still won on goal difference. 

We went to the New Play Centre.  On the positive side  (I Do Not Like The New Play Centre)  Son 1 had a blast, playing with Best Friend, Best Friend’s brother and another boy they know, Son 2 loved it.  He loved the Ball Pools, he loved being pushed around the baby area in a Little Tikes ride on car, he loved walking over the rope bridge, he loved playing with the sponge ball cannons, he loved rolling and climbing and sliding and pushing and just generally Being Big.  Son 1 was hilarious when I told him we weren’t buying lunch there. “Is that your tricking voice?”  No darling, they have again annoyed me and I shan’t be giving them any more money.  How do you explain the concept of a boycott to a four year old who wants sausage and chips.

Back home we had a good time. The boys ate their picnic lunches.  I got out some ham. It was smoked, and I’d bought 2 packets. “Try it, and if you don’t like it I’ll give it to Nanna.”  They wolfed it.  We played with the Wooden Railway.  Son 2 did a poo so big it went up to his neck.  Too much information, sorry.  But there was a big part of a crayon in his nappy.   He wears a one-piece vest.  His nappy tabs are fastened too tight for a crayon that size to fall down.  If something was blocking the tubes, that would account for the sheer volume when it came out.  But if Son 2 had swallowed that crayon he would have choked.  So how did it get there?  

Nanna arrived.  Son 2 wanted to watch The Wiggles again.  I booked tickets for The Wiggles.  Nanna will come.  I made Veggie Mince and tomato sauce.  Son 1 didn’t want the Veggie Mince.  But then ate it all.  A real breakthrough, offering  the possibility that I may be able to eat the same as them.  “Shall we try Daddy on this?” I asked Son 1.  “Daddy won’t eat Veggie Mince,” he said wisely.  The Man came home.  Nanna waved goodbye to Son 2 in the bath.  “Bye Bye,” he said.