1.  Photos

2.  Parties

3.  Play

A party invitation today at the New Play Centre.  We tried it last Wednesday.  It didn’t make The Blog because only Good Things get in.  Fluid start time, morning sunlight in our East-facing house, so I put the boys in their Santa suits to take some pictures.  They were playing with the Treasure Chest, which I’d filled with chocolate coins on Christmas Eve.  Son 1aged 4y 3m hadn’t been near it because the Christmas Tree was in the way.  The Tree’s now gone, the Treasure Chest came out and Son 1 Couldn’t Believe His Eyes.  Or his luck.  “Can I eat them?” “If I get some nice pictures.”  He tried, he really tried.  I possibly got a couple of good ones… although the hats didn’t stay on.  And neither did Son 1’s belt.  But Son 2 aged 15m could have cuted for Britain.  That’s it now for his Santa suit.  Pang.

Last week the New Play Centre was crowded, chaotic, understaffed, with greasy spoon food (ONLY FOOD PURCHASED HERE MAY BE CONSUMED ON THE PREMISES) served after ridiculous waits.  Marked with my Never Again biro.  But a close friend is 3, so I said nothing, packed raisins, rice cakes and a large pack of Useby Jan 7 cocktail sausages, and along we toddled.  It was fine this time round, and I’m glad we went back because both Son 1 and Son 2 had such a brilliant time.  Their rope walk is a bit wider than The Bird Park’s… and Son 2’s absolute determination to get across it on his own was fantastic.  All He Cared About In The World.  We were five small boys and a little girl.  We all played in the baby area, we played with cannons firing foam balls, we played on the slides and ball pool, we climbed up, round, under and along.  We ate cake and the sausages were wolfed.

Son 2 was floppy with fatigue.  In the car, I told Son 1 that we couldn’t go to a Wednesday Friend’s house because we were all too tired.  Protest.  All right.  We would go for a Cup Of Tea. “And a little play?”  We went for a cup of tea and we were there two hours.  Son 1 disappeared with his friend and friend’s younger brother.  Another mother arrived with a seven month old girl.  Son 2 was asleep in the Big Pram, but the boys soon woke him up, and he tottered up and down the kitchen raiding the fruit bowl.   Back home I took more photos.  Son 1 posed hard.  I gave him a chocolate coin.  In the bedroom he put his arms round me and said “Thank you Mummy for my lovely day.”  I told The Man about it, fondly.  He didn’t look up from the telly.  “And who do you think put him up to saying that?”

1.  Coffee

2.  Church

3.  Presents

Son 1 aged 4y 3m longs for Christmas.  His tummy hurts.  He is excited.  Santa is coming tonight.  We have a deal that he can open his stocking and the big present under the tree he has his eye on - which he thinks is the Abyss underwater set but isn’t - and then he has to wait till Granny and Granddad get here.  He is also worn out.  Why are my children always so tired?  It can’t be anything to do with their five-hours-sleep-a-night full-time-working Christmas-Eve-but-I’ll-just-bash-a-blog out mother.  The Man went off to Marks for supplies with Son 2 aged 15m at about 9.  I prised Son 1 away from the telly and we met them, and Granny and Granddad for coffee.  Son 1 misbehaved, tired and excited.  Son 2, uncharacteristically, fell asleep in the Big Pram.

I took them to church.  The vicar wrote us a letter for a C of E school saying we attend from time to time, and I don’t want him to go to hell for lying.  We met some Wednesday friends there.  Son 1 and Older Brother tore up and down the aisles, played with the toys at the back and chattered, oblivious to proceedings.  Son 2 picked, uninterested, at the greenery arrangements.  In the middle of the reading Son 1 proclaimed “I need a poo,” and off we set, round pews, through doors, over concrete flooring, through an office, via a robing room (oops, that’s not it then) to the Tiny Loo.  We took Monday’s Birthday Boy with us.   Four of us couldn’t fit in, so we held the door open.  Birthday Boy is known for roaming, and wanted his Mummy.  Son 2 is unstoppable.  Son 1 took forever.  A flight of stairs plunged downwards yards from our nook.  After 10 years the Other Mother arrived, having only just realised I was three-up and out of control.  “This service isn’t very long,” I thought, as we warbled “Away in a Manger” to finish.  Then I realised we’d been waiting for Son 1 for about 20  minutes.

Son 1 put out a mince pie, a sherry and two gold chocolate coins for Santa, and a carrot and milk for the reindeer.  He was allowed to eat a chocolate coin to make sure they were good enough for Santa.  Then he decided to leave only one chocolate coin for Santa, and to put the other one back in his Trick or Treat bucket.  We decided he could leave two small ones out for Santa, but he could eat the big one.   Both boys were asleep at 7pm.  Who’s SuperMummy?  Granny and Granddad babysat, and we went round to our friends’.  We were supposed to be staying for one and then going to the pub, but they had crisps, and champagne, and an open fire, and we were talking and drinking and drinking and talking and then we had to go because G and G don’t really do Late.  Back home I put chocolate decorations on the tree, gold coins in the treasure chest and filled the stockings (not enough stocking fillers, where’s open at midnight on Christmas Eve?) while The Man heaved bags of presents down the stairs and piled them under the tree.  I need to get up at 6am to see to the turkey.  I can’t wait for the morning to come.