1.  A Coating

2.  Paintwork

3.  Varnish

0030.  Crying from downstairs. Wailing. I was barely out of bed before: “Mummeeeee!”  Son 1 aged 4y 7m, at the bottom of the stairs, two small splats of sick on the carpet. ”I want a shower!” “You’re all right, let’s get you to the loo.”  He cried.  I mopped him up and he flopped on the floor.  I sent him up to The Man and cleared up the landing carpet.  Then I went into his room to check the bed.  Which was fine.  There was a massive splat on the floor though, with splash marks up the wall.  I cleared that up.  I went upstairs to get Son 1 out of the Big Bed - hard if he was ill again. “Has someone been sick?” asked The Man, blearily.  Son 1 didn’t want to move, so I hoisted him up to carry him back downstairs.  He was sick over me.  We cleaned him up, cleaned me up, cleaned his teeth and went to bed in his room. 

All three of us Gastro Bug victims started the day with stewed apple and banana.    Son 2 aged 19m was weak, fed up and was happy only when he was either sitting on my knee or being held against my shoulder.  Son 1 was on better form, but clearly still wasn’t that well.  The Man wanted to check The Boat, so we put Son 2 in the Big Pram, and Son 1 in the buggy and pushed them through The Town.  The Boat is a sturdy little fishing tub, but is looking sorry for itself.  Rusting and flaking, needs a lot of paint, a mooring rope fraying…  The Man switched on the engine and the pump.  Son 1 and Son 2 pulled off bits of paint and splinters and threw them overboard.  If we’d have left them long enough they’d have chucked the whole boat in the river, one flake at a time.

Son 1 wanted Pizza Express, so we gave it a go.  He ate most of a child’s margarita pizza, Son 2 ate two slices.  They ate dough balls. Son 2 ate asparagus from my pizza.  Son 1 had ice cream.  It was ok - apart from Son 2 climbing out of his highchair with broken straps and clambering across on to my knee.  We got out without incident.  Son 2 was dropping with tiredness, and cried and cried nearly all the way home. When we got back I left him in The Pram and painted my toenails.   This is an Excellent Thing.  BC I would never have had bare toenails.   Even at 7 months pregnant, The Man was painting them for me.  And post-Caesarian, my first Recovery Milestone was when I slapped on the nail polish.  But in my new incarnation as Working Mother With 2 Small Children, I just couldn’t do it.  Now I have new TK Maxx open-toed sandals, and orange toenails.  I am Back.

1. Beach Babies
2. He Be Bees
3. Oopsies
The Beach and The Garden. I asked Son 1 aged 4y 2m to keep Son 2 aged 15 out of the way while I took the Big Pram through the kitchen. He led him by the hand to the door. A little figure in a dark blue parkha, holding hands with a fat round anorak half his size, tottering ahead of the Pram. So sweet. Fantastic weather, blue skies, clear air, no wind, crisp and cold. Except on the beach, where Son 1 was running around in his sweatshirt and I took my jacket off. Son 2 walked a bit and played a bit, and then insisted on eating his way through the lunch box.

One of the Wednesday Mums has married in secret. At Halloween. I am absurdly pleased. Hardly anyone we know is married. although Wonder Nanny has just got engaged. Wednesday Mum says it was a necessity - like going for a smear. She asked the Registry Office if she and her partner could have a Civil Partnership, but apparently not. On the way back to the car there were about 20 bees on the flowering Hebes in front of a hotel. Honey Bees and Bumble Bees. Whoops there go the ice caps.

Back home Son 2 fell flat on his face. Nosebleed. Ibuprofen. I sat with the howling child on my knee, dose of ibuprofen in a hovering teaspoon, waiting for breath to be drawn so I could pop it in his mouth. A great globule of blood landed in the teaspoon, turning the cloudy white liquid red. Nice. I put Son 2 to bed and Son 1 and I watched Shrek 2. Then we played with the balloons we blew up for Wonder Nanny’s birthday. They were weasels. They had to be captured, fought, rounded up, thrown downstairs and chased. Son 1 barked orders; I obeyed. Nanna arrived. She too had to obey. I got Son 2 up. He burst a balloon with his toe nail. Mmmm. A little sign that Mummy’s been skiving one of her jobs again.