1.  Tik Man

2.  Seeing Straight

3.  Still

Son 1 aged 4y 9m has always sat patiently through scores and scores of books. I used to read about the Poor Mothers who had to read the same thing over and over, and rested content that my superior parenting skills  meant my son never obsessed over single stories. That was before Son 2 aged 21m. Enter  Stick Man.  “Tik Man.  Tik Man.”  From the minute he wakes up till our bedtime no-wriggle-room routine . “Tik Man. Tik Man.”  Stick Man has so many of Son 2’s Favourite Things. There is a dog, birds, sticks (naturally), a beach and a great section on being Stuck - another most-beloved phrase “DHUK!” “DHUK!”  “What would you like to read next darling?  Tiddler?  Feelings? PIrate-lift-the-flap? Farm-lift-the-flaps?” “Tik Man.  Tik Man.”

The MAn and I met in The Big Town to have our eyes tested. The optician is the father of one of Son 1’s best friends.  Optician’s Son 1 has impetigo. They have been told they will all get it.  “Are you all right?” he asked. “We’re all fine. I’m just worried about my eyes.  I can’t see in the dark, my distance vision is getting worse, I couldn’t see the splinter in Son 1’s finger in Kensington Gardens… I can’t see the boys’ scalps to check for lice and I can’t read ingredients or instructions on food packets.  It’ s clearly the result of too much computer-screen work, we agreed, although with everyone else it’s age-related. The Optician says I need a new pair of contact lenses because mine are scratched, and if I just go and buy a weak pair of off-the-shelf glasses they’ll help. And yes, I probably need to wear glasses with my contact lenses.  This is apparently the point where many people give up their lenses for glassses. I don’t know if I could . I’ve worn contact lenses for 31 years.

 Back home we took the  boys to the yacht club. Son 1 took his new golf set and played with Little Friend aged 4, whose mummy and daddy were also there.   The boys had a great time. At the start, Son 1 couldn’t hit a golf ball… by the time we left he had a respectable swing. Son 2 ran up and down bouncing a tennis ball. The Man and I had a couple of drinks and then came back. We put them to bed at half past nine and we are so praying we get a lie in tomorrow. Today’s fantastically good thing to top all good things was that for the third or fourth night in a row, when I left Son 2 he didn’t cry his eyes out. I  left him,said night night, walked out and  we didn’t hear a peep from him. Except through two run-throughs of Stick Man. .

1.  Box

2.  Tea

3.  Rain

Son 1 aged 4y 7m wanted a Big Box to make a den from.  One of his friends has one. So I lugged a huge dishwasher box home from The Office on Monday, and we made it into a house this morning.  A stable door, a window with shutters, and a skylight were my contributions. Son 1 has written his name on it and made a picture to hang up wonkily inside.  Son 2 aged 19m has drawn on the sides in felt tip pen.  “Boh!” he said, pointing. “Boh!” They were supposed to be getting on with playing while I made pancakes for breakfast.  It worked, kind of.   I struggle with pancake making. I burn or undercook, I never get the oil right, I’m rubbish at flipping them.  Wonder Nanny knocks out perfect examples every time.  She doesn’t use oil. “It’s a non-stick pan.”  I never understood that logic, but this morning I went with it. No oil.  Perfect pancakes.  They gobbled them up. 

Son 2 is still in hell with chickenpox. He woke up this morning boiling hot, scratching and howling.  I gave him milk, put him in a bicarb bath and let the shower run on his back.   One set of Wednesday friends didn’t come today, but the Mother was ill, so I’m hoping that as the reason.  We walked into town to meet the other. There was a book about a character with Son 2’s (unusual) name in Oxfam, so I bought it.  And Son 1 had been promised a Pirate Lego set for being good while Son 2 got all the Mummy Time. “Boog!” said Son 2.  We had coffee at one end of town, and then another coffee at the other.  I spent most of the afternoon putting the Pirate Lego set together. That’ll be why the box said 6 - 12 then. I got fed up with how much time I was spending on Pages 1 - 37 instructions, with two other sections to follow. Son 1 said “Well done Mummy.  You’re doing a great job.  Thank you very much for buying me my pirates.”  The pat on the head did the trick, and I persevered.  Again, I started grumbling.  I wanted to spend time with Son 1 and Son 2, not fish poxy two-bit Lego brick things out of piles of other poxy two-bit brick things. ”Well done Mummy,” said Son 1.  “Thank you for helping me.”  My heart sang.  There was a knock on the door.  The Wednesday Mummy, taking pity on me because The Man’s Business Trip goes On and On, had brought round some home-made sauce for us.  “Tee!” pointed Son 2 at the pan as the pasta boiled. 

Books and Bath and Bed was therefore earlier and more successful than other days this week. I am still starting off with a glass of wine. Son 2 and I did his books. I wanted Tiddler. He insisted on “Oceans,” which is pictures of dolphins and sharks and whales and seahorses and jellyfish etc. In the bath I washed his hair to get today’s calamine out before I slathered him again. He screamed.   Surely this is the worst his spots can get. He has great flaming lines of them down his back and his groin is a mess. “Wee wee,” he said, sitting in the bicarb-ed bath.  Wee wee is wee, but it is also willy. Translation: “My willy hurts.”  And then he pointed up at the shower head and said:  “Rain.”

1.  Babyschool

2.  Message From A Blog Reader

3.  The Comeback

Son 2 aged 16m sat through the whole of Tiddler.  He has a fish-thing anyway, opening and closing his mouth as a baby sign whenever he sees one.   He is an entry level Julia and Axel fan - he likes Monkey Puzzle, which I always feel is a good tale for the child of a Working Mother.  Although in our house it was sabotaged somewhat when I read out “Mummy doesn’t have great big saggy knees,” and The Man walked briskly by and said “Oh yes she does.”  He likes The Gruffalo.  But until today we hadn’t got much further.    This morning though he was glued to it.  The only disruption came from Son 1 aged 4y 4m who came down from watching telly upstairs and said: “She didn’t write it down for Son 2, she wrote it down for ME.”  And then Son 2 picked it again this evening out of a pile on the bed.

While I was at The Office I had a text from The Man:  ”Glad to read the heart scan was ok.”  “Thanks for asking,” I texted back.

When I got back, Son 1 was insistent.  “Don’t put me to bed before 8 o’clock.”  The Man had rung and said he’d be back then.  Son 2 had been swimming with Wonder Nanny.    I put him down to bed.   Little fat arms round my neck, pulling my face close to his.   On his cot pillow.  Jaysus that child can cry.  He screeched and shrieked and sobbed.  And this was before I left him.  I am still doing my lullaby/three rounds of Summertime, five counts down from 100 and then Nighty Night thing.  And he is still doing his ATOMIC SCREAMING.  The Man came back.  And Son 1 smiled and cuddled and cuddled and smiled.  Happiness all over his face.