1.  What Do You See, You People Gazing At Me?

2.  Scrumptious As The Breeze Across The Bay

3.  Marshmallow Mouthfuls

Son 1 aged 5 and I got to School on time, after another disturbed night and, subsequently, a bit of a sleep in.  Back home, Son 2 watched Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. It is slowly dawning on me that he thinks I’m in it.  He has, throughout his obsession, sat watching it, saying: “Mummy,” and putting his face against the screen.  Now.  If I were a lot thinner, if my hair were longer and natural instead of short bottle blonde, if I wore hats and sashes… there is a certain pointyness to my nose, the way I know all the songs, and the lashings and lashings of mascara…. I am Truly Scrumptious.   

A text from a Wednesday Mum. The Beach By The Garden. 10am. Son 2 aged 2y 1m and I can’t get anywhere by 10am on a Wednesday morning.  Son 1 aged 2y 1m had a 0930 swimming class at the Town Pool, and I was out striding the mile and a half over there at 0845 every week.  Just can’t do it any more. Son 2 and I got there at 1045.  Two Wednesday Mums, two three year olds, and our old friend from Breastfeeding Group and her second, now a year old.    One Wednesday Mum has just run a half marathon. Pang.  I dug a sandcastle, I went down to the water to bring back bucket after bucket of water.  Son 2 made himself a little bed out of his towel, my towel and a pram blanket.  I read a comic to a three-year-old. Son 2 got up to listen.  One Wednesday Mum left. ”I wan’ a wee wee,” said Son 2. “Do it in your nappy, darling,” said She Who Doesn’t Want To Toilet Train Till We’re Back From Holiday. ”No. I wan’ go on toy toy.” “Come on then.” Off we went to the loo. I changed into my swimsuit while I was there. Son 2 played, and I went for a swim in the sea.  In October. Hooray. I thought the water was flat until two successive waves smacked me in the face, filling my mouth with saltwater. It was cold, but it was great.  I came out. ”I can’t go in,” said the running Wednesday Mum. “I just can’t do cold.”  I wasn’t that cold. This is the difference between someone with no spare flesh, and someone who has built-in layers of goose fat to keep her warm.

Son 2 fell asleep in the Big Pram, so The Man and a work colleague came out for lunchtime burgers.  Son 2 of course woke up, furious.  He was tired and hungry and loud. No. No. No. No. No. No. He wouldn’t let me take him out of the Pram, he wouldn’t be cuddled, he wouldn’t eat…it took about 15 minutes to get him back to us. Then he sat demurely eating his chips.  When we had coffee, he wanted hot chocolate. I took him to the counter. “Tell the lady what you want.” “Hot Choc Choc. Peez.” He has ordered his first drink.

1.  Spellbound

2.  The Evil Queen

3.  New Lamps For Old

And again, I couldn’t get them up.  I have decided to Be Positive and Not Take This Personally.  It is getting darker in the mornings. That is why Son 1 aged 5 and Son 2 aged 2 are struggling in the mornings. Still, it gave me time to tumble dry Son 1’s school shorts. Which he sprayed yoghurt on in the car on the way home yesterday. Bloody Frubes again. So. I was Mrs Perfect Housewife and had them cleaned, dried and ready to be worn when I finally tow-trucked him out of bed this morning. He tipped milk down them when he was having his breakfast.   

Mrs Perfect Housewife turned into Mother From Hell this afternoon.  I picked up Son 1, who was leaping and laughing because we were going to the Joke Shop in The Town to see if they have a magic kit.  A reward for coming home with Heavenly Photos.  Son 1 wants a magic wand.  I agreed, thinking he wanted one of the ones he sees at parties - rigid in the hands of the magician, floppy when the children hold it.  Since saying ‘yes’ it has slowly dawned on me that he thinks a magic wand is… er.. magic. Anyway. Outside The House. Heading for The Town.  “I want to ride in the Pram.” “Darling you’re five, you’re too big. And anyway, Son 2’s in the Pram.” “Wark.”  “No, you go in the Pram, then we can get to the shop before it closes.”  “Wark.”  “Oh all right, but you’ll have to wear your reins. And walk, Son 2, no, don’t stop to look at a feather. If you want to walk, then walk. Son 1, I cannot manage you in the Pram and Son 2 on the reins. Son 2 will you walk! Put the stone down!  If you don’t walk you’re getting in the Pram…”  So.  I stuffed Son 2 in the Big Pram “Wark! Wark!” He cried and  corkscrewed and twisted himself out. Everytime he got out, Son 1 got in. I put Son 2 back in. He screeched so loudly people on the other side of the street stopped talking to look over.  And so I marched us all home, with Son 1 crying and begging to be allowed to go to the Joke Shop. At home I stripped Son 2, put him in his sleeping bag (to stop him climbing) pulled the blinds down and shoved him in the cot. Gave Son 1 a vast chocolate bar to stop him crying and poured a large glass of white wine. 

Son 2 and I are also developing a battle of the wills over toilet training. He wants to give it a go. I have just bought 132 nappies in two big boxes. “Wee wee!” “Oh, do it in your nappy.”  “Want loo. Want pot pot.”  He did another poo in the loo this evening.  I wanted to lie on the bed reading books to him. He wanted to get up and wee in the potty every five minutes. I have run out of chocolate buttons. Which should slow the little beggar down a bit.  I got them to bed and then sorted out the recycling.  Two birthday teas, two birthdays and a huge party have passed since the last collection. We have generated mountains of cardboard, paper and bottles.  I have positioned our pile far down The Terrace. To make it easier for the recycling men to load it on the lorry, of course.

1.  Sleeping

2.  Smiling

3.  Sluicing

And of course I couldn’t get either of them up this morning. The Man left at 0530 on a Business Trip. I got up, had coffee, had breakfast, emptied dishwasher, hung washing out, put washing on, put boys’ breakfast out, showered, did hair and make up and STILL they weren’t bothering.  Why.  Why at the weekend, when I am gripping my bed like I’m on a 20th-floor ledge, do they make me get up? And then why do they not even hear me in the week? Even Son 2 aged 2, the original I WILL WALK 500 MILES AND I WILL WALK 500 MORE hypercharged baby was comatose.   I got them up, and I got us out.

When I picked Son 1 aged 5 up from school, he burrowed in his bag and produced several proof sheets from the school photos taken last week. Wonder Nanny had taken Son 2 along as well, so there were five of the two of them together.  i have long told Son 1 that if he smiles nicely in official photos, Mummy will buy him a present. The pictures are truly fantastic, and Son 1 knew it.  Crumple of small boy when he realised I didn’t have a present with me.  In my defence, I had said I needed to see the smiles first. We have agreed we will try and get to a joke shop tomorrow to see if they have a magic wand. 

I did them corn on the cob for tea. Served with little sharp skewery things in each end.  Kitchen gadgets I bought in the days when I though we weren’t having children.  Son 2 pulled his out and started shoving one through his teeth. Son 1 played pirates with his. The corn was too hot to eat, so I sliced it off onto their plates. Son 1 stared at the pile in disbelief. “I want it back on,” he wailed.  Upstairs Son 2 was in the bath while I sorted washing and Son 1 spoke to Birthday Boy Godbrother on the phone. “Big Poo!” came the battle cry. We went in. There was a toy turtle floating in the bubbles on the top. But nothing sinister. I put my hand in for the turtle. It wasn’t a turtle.  And my hand went straight through it, a five-fingered macerator which scattered the soft turd down, along and up the sides of the bath.    Son 2 couldn’t have had more toys in the bath if he’d piled up every one he owns in there.  Today’s Top Tip.  In net laundry bags (Lakeland and kitchen shops,) in the washing machine, Quick Wash. ”Big Poo,” said Son 2 again. We put him on the booster loo seat. He performed. Four chocolate buttons each for a poo in the loo.  Keeps the children still and quiet for just long enough to spray and wash the bath out.

1.  Fungus

2.  Fertiliser

3.  Photos

A ridiculously long, complicated day, involving a drive over to The City which meant I wasn’t home till 8pm… then a quick night night to Son 1 aged 4y 10m and Son 2 aged 23 m, who’d been kept up specially, and then zooming out again for an Office Thing. We were up daftly early though, so I did have time to read to Son 2 this morning.  He pointed at a mushroom in a picture book. “Mush mush.”  Hmmm.  I spend hours each week patiently going through piles of children’s books with Son 2. They are very heavily centred on cartoon cats and dogs, jungles and farm animals, vehicles and babies. Mushrooms don’t really come into it.  I’ve told him what they are a couple of times - on the odd occasion he’s been through the veg box before I’ve had chance to put it away. Clearly a genius. Or possibly something to do with Wonder Nanny. 

I fetched the hairbrush to brush Son 2’s hair. “Me do,”  he said firmly.  And for the poppers on his sleepsuit.  He also wants to wee in the loo. Won’t use his potty. Doesn’t want to use the booster seat.  Just wants to stand up on the plastic step and point.  I went into the bathroom to see Son 1 and Son 2, starkers, Son 2 on the step and  Son 1 beside him gently holding Son 2’s willy while he weed in the loo.  Both with beaming smiles.  Sorry, but I’m leaving that one.  I’m very happy for Son 2 to toilet train himself, and skip all the extra bits of plastic Son 1 used. I still remember having to take the Big Chair Potty to the beach under the Big Pram, because he wouldn’t go in anything else. And I can remember packing a booster seat in the suitcases to take to Portugal.   But if he wants to wee standing up he can hold his own willy. You Do. 

The Man has had some holiday pictures sent to him by the Elegant Aunt. A lovely picture of all four of us sitting on a sofa in the bar area of the holiday village, and others taken in the cafe/pool area. The Man flipped back and forth between them. “Son 2 looks different in this one.  His hair’s longer…”  “No darling, ” I said as gently as I could. “This one - ” the family shot ” - was taken last year, in May 2008. This one -  ” - Son 2 and I, on the terrace, “was taken on this year’s holiday. He’s eight months old in that one, and 20  months old in this one.”

1.  Lies

2.  Damn Lies

3.  Statistics

Last night I worked late and went to bed very late.   Well towards 1am, I tiptoed upstairs, weightless, soundless, I did not breathe.  The Man rolled over, grumbled and switched off the telly.   I took out my contact lenses.  I peered behind me.  Son 1 had teleported in,  lurching round like a drunk. The Man was in the Big Bed, he wanted to lie down, but “Where’s Mummy?” “In the bathroom.”  Son 1 was still bothered by The Man in the Big Bed.  “When you’re not here, if I wake him up when I come to bed, he settles down in your side watching me while I take off my make up and do my teeth, and then I have a little read in bed, and then we both go to sleep.”  The Man harrumphed and  trogged off to the Blue Room.  Yes yes I know that Son 1 will one day be off with She Who Will Never Be Good Enough For Him and I should be Putting My Eggs In The Man’s Basket (this is going badly wrong) but what the hell. It was the way Son 1 just stood patiently at the bedside waiting for his space to become available… 

So this morning I was matchsticks-under-the-eyelids. Another oh God look at the state of the boys, never mind, Wonder Nanny can do it when she gets here, bye, sesh.  I am doing better though on reading to Son 2.  We did our five books.  Pinocchio, for God’s sake. He insisted.  This is Son 1’s library book, the Disney series that everyone has at least 1 of, somewhere.  I should be reading stuff that is Rooted In Reality.  About washing machines and buggies and looking at leaves.  So. Son 2. Gepetto makes this toy, and the only woman in the story, winged, badly drawn, wearing a pillow case,  makes it come alive, and it goes shopping and gets mugged - twice -  and then gets caged, whereupon Gepetto rescues it and they all live happily ever after.  Son 2 couldn’t give a hoot, and wanted it twice. He’s only really looking at the pictures of the nose getting bigger. “Wee wee,” he said, at the end.  I went all the way downstairs to get his potty. He rejected it, sat on Son 1’s old booster seat, and wee-d in the loo. PSB. “Bye bye Mummy,” he said, as I went off to The Office. 

At bedtime, Son 1 gets the book time. We took out 17 from the library, some for Son 2, but most chosen by him. ”Improving your fishing,” has been a bit of a challenge.  I always put at least one book about another country or culture in the pile. ”And the liberal, with a small ‘l’, cries in front of the TV,” sang Billy Bragg when I was Young. ”Coming Home” went in on the strength of a cover drawing of a black woman in a hijab with a small boy. Oh-Good-Islam-Portrayal-Not-Arab-We’ll-Have-It was the quarter second attention it got as I tossed it in.  Hassan is a Somalian refugee.  Son 1 and I have done Somalia, in answer to the “Mummy, are there any pirates now?” question. “There are some very poor people from a very poor country run by bullies and they steal other people’s boats and ships because they Have Nothing.” “What happens to them?” “President Obama (Most Powerful Man In The World.  In answer to: “Who’s that man on your book?”) sent a big ship and told them to stop. Now darling, let’s clear out Son 2’s old toys and take them to Oxfam.”   Hassan’s Uncle is killed by soldiers who burn his house down. Son 1 wanted it twice. ”Is his Uncle dead?” “What happened to the animals?” “Where are his cousins?” “Will it happen here?”  At this point my inner Nanna broke through and I couldn’t resist. “No. Because we are one of the richest countries in the world, and you are such a lucky little boy, and that is why Daddy and I get cross when you don’t realise - ” Son 1 burst into tears. “I’m scared of the soldiers.”  Gepetto was a woodcarver, I said, and one day he made a puppet. 

1.  Starting Slowly

2.  Finishing Fast

3.  Dropping Marks

Son 2 aged 21m, rattling around downstairs before 7am, while I drank coffee to wake me up and got together drinks and snacks.  I took his night-time nappy off to change it. “Wee wee,” he said. “Do you want to do a wee?” “Yes,” he said, and toddled off to the potty. He sat on it. “No,” he said, getting up.  knowing Son 2 to be a child who can wee on the bathroom carpet whenever he feels like it, I said “Oh go on Son 2, do a wee on the potty and I’ll give you a biscuit.”  Up he sprang, the potty forgotten. “Bisbik.  Bisbik.”  A heat-seeking missile, following me, his course unswerving “Bisbik. Bisbik.”  We haven’t got any, so I went upstairs to hunt in my briefcase, which is where I put the free ones you get sometimes in coffee shops. He burst into tears thinking he wasn’t going to get one. ”Bisbik.”  

Son 1 aged 4y 9m has been in Nursery since a few days before he was six months old.  When I first left him he was a babe in arms, with no hair and huge blue eyes.  Today was his last day in Nursery, a scruffy schoolboy in shorts, falling down socks, floppy hair, and dancing eyes.  He has the summer off and then he’s in school. I feel like I’m on some mad express train racing past these milestones so fast I can hardly see them go.  Surely it’s only a minute since he left the Day Nursery for this one. http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2008/09/01/last-day/ We have Three Things to celebrate now: Son 1 leaving Nursery, Son 1 getting a Good School Report, and Son 1 saving my big leather chair from Son 2 aged 21m (the biro still hasn’t come off.)

Nobody told me you have to give the teachers and teaching assistants presents on the last day of term. It was like a wedding in there. A table set aside for the floral arrangements, carefully wrapped presents and pretty carrier bags. All the little children conveying in their gifts. Except one. We had a card which Son 1 made for Miss Lovely before we set out.  How do people find out this stuff? I’ve spent all week checking and checking again that the other children weren’t going to turn up in their own clothes today… and then they all sneak the present thing in.  I rang Wonder Nanny to beg her to sort it. ”Oh yes, when I was a Nursery Nurse we were always getting presents.”

1.  Roar Power

2.  Pushing Ahead

3. Raw Power

Every night, when I’ve turned off the light in the kitchen, I’ve been roared at. The first time it happened, The Man was away.  I froze and stared at the light fitting, wondering what I’d done to it to make it go so wrong.  http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2009/04/14/changing-things/ Since then, at the end of each day, I have jumped out of my skin and hoped it wasn’t a sign of an electrical fault which would burn the house down.  Eventually I worked out that the noise wasn’t coming from the light, but from the filled-in fireplace where the toys are kept. Aha. A light sensitive toy, I thought. Beyond that I was baffled.  I’d eyed the ridiculously loud fire truck suspiciously but hadn’t had time to check. Although it did keep making me jump very late at night.  This morning I managed to tidy and clear out some toys.  I put a missing tiger shape back into a wooden ELC jigsaw.  Get the shape right and the puzzle makes the right animal noise. It roared at me.  Well, now you know how those work.

Son 1 aged 4y 9m did a poo without his booster seat. “I don’t need it any more.”  Hooray hooray.  I’m very Lazy Parent over Son 1’s milestones. I waited till he was two and half before toilet training, because I couldn’t be bothered earlier. Then we did it in a week, with him learning very quickily that every wee in the potty got him a chocolate button.  We still take the old McLaren buggy out with us if we walk somewhere and think he won’t be able to walk back. I read a thread on Mumsnet discussing how old your children were when you stopped using pushchairs.  some people guiltily confessed to still having older children in them… and Son 1 was older then any of them.  I think that was about three months ago.  Son 2 aged 21m is exactly opposite and will never relax his plank-boy body long enough to strap him in the Big Pram. Unless Son 1 wants to get in, of course, in which case he won’t get out. 

The Rockpool Beach. Blue sky, light wispy cloud, but a gusting easterly wind.  Son 2 was a joy, Son 1 was trickier, but played well with Three Year Old Friend. Best Friend and Little Brother are on  holiday. We collected shells - I found a cowrie, which The Other Mother told me to keep for luck. There was a four inch black sea slug in a rock pool.  Plus a couple of fish and shrimp. I went for a swim in the sea, but it was low tide, and the waves were higher than my head when I was standing hip-deep.  I didn’t have to do my usual inching-in routine because I’d been smacked into, buffeted, knocked off balance and sprayed within a few steps. I swam out a few strokes, swimming up and over the top of the waves, and then semi-surfed back on them, but it was just too random to enjoy. Waves were breaking over my head, and I was in sunglasses (yes I know) and contact lenses.  And I was getting pounded onto rocks and seaweed in less than two feet of water.  I can’t have been in more than 10 minutes but I was breathless when I got out. It was amazing experiencing the power in the sea, and I just didn’t feel the cold…  But I can’t help thinking, having just read back what I’ve written, that it might have been…er.. a little bit dangerous.