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.  The Clash

2.   The Darkness

3.  The Feeling

Son 1 aged 4y 10m has two weeks of holiday left before he starts Reception.  Pang. He cried and clung this morning. “I’ll take more time off next summer,” I said.  Pang.  Wonder Nanny, The Woman I Am Paying To Take My Children To The Beach While I Am At The Office, arrived.  Oh stuff it.   At least they can go to the beach. Son 1spent his first three summers inside in Nursery.    I don’t believe in lyin’  back, sayin’ how bad your luck is…

i did another TK Maxx run at lunchtime, and bought some birthday stocking fillers/random presents for under a fiver. And then went like the clappers in the afternoon so that I could try and get back at a decent time to see the boys.  I didn’t even leave till Wonder Nanny’s finishing time, so I knew I’d miss her, but I was hoping Son 1 and Son 2 would still be up.

Up?  They weren’t even home. The house was strangely still when I went in.  No chatting, no laughing, no shrieking.  No squeals of “Mummmeeee!”  No pitter patter of feet down the stairs.   Just The Man, loafing. “Where are my boys?”  “Wonder Nanny rang. They’re all having their tea on the beach.”  i had a cup of tea. I looked at the paper.  The Man paced up and down. He went up and down the stairs.  “This is like the old days.” Not quite. In the old days I would have come home from The Office and gone straight out for a run.  But it still felt very odd.  Household life suspended, while we waited for two little heartbeats to come back.

1.  Commes Des Yorkshiremen

2.  Comme Il Ne Faut Pas

3.  Commes Des Garcons

Before the school holidays, I used to get both children up, dressed, breakfasted, washed and teeth-cleaned, get myself showered, hair done, made up, do my packed lunch, a load of washing, washing up and hoovering, mostly singled-handed, before scooping up Son 1 now aged 4y 10m and his assorted bags, walking half a mile to the car and getting to his Nursery 30 mins away at the madly early time they insisted day began.   Now I’m leaving it all to Wonder Nanny, The Man is home, and I still can’t make it to The Office without a 1950s’ Look At That Clock Why Can’t It Be Wrong mental ringtone haunting me all the way.  So my first Good Thing is the school hols.   Because I have no idea how I’m going to do it all five days a week and lots, lots earlier.

I’d taken the afternoon off, so the whole morning had the same panicky, desperate pace.  I talked faster in meetings as if that would make them end quicker.  It didn’t. It just made my voice get a bit higher, and I got the where-could-she-have-inhaled-helium look from my colleagues.  “I’m really sorry,” I said. “But I have a child’s birthday party and I need to go.”   Oh-good-nothing-important said their faces.  Out late, I rang Wonder Nanny from the car park. ”I’ll see you there,” she said.

It was Son 1’s Best Friend’s brother’s party.  I was first to arrive. The Working Mum So Busy She Forgot To Take Her Children To The Birthday Party.  Best Friend and brother looked unimpressed and continued doing lazy forward rolls on their sofa. Wednesday Mum had prepared a Blytonesque spread, cleaned the house from top-to-bottom and laid on party games. I made her a cup of tea. Other Mums arrived. I made them tea. At last Wonder Nanny, Son 1 and Son 2 aged 23m turned up.    We partied. Son 1 and Best Friend match-fixed the pass the parcel. I was so proud.  Wednesday Mum stopped the music dutifully and fairly so that 10+ small children each got a sweetie as the layers were removed. It took a long time, she got bored, there were still layers left so she gave the CD remote to Best Friend.  When the music stopped, Son 1 had the parcel. He got the chew bar. The music started. The ring of cross-legged children passed the parcel. The music stopped. Son 1 had the parcel.  He got the prize, a packet of jelly sweets. I wish I could say he shared it with Best Friend. It’s Because I Work.

1.  Mummy Vanishes

2.  Fishing

3.  Finding Nemo

The Man was still alive this morning.  “I did think you might be worried.  I’ll take my phone up with me next time.”  “Is it a Wonder Nanny day today?” asked Son 1 aged 4y 10m as I was getting ready for The Office.  “Yes,” I said. “And then Mummy will be with you tomorrow.” He let off a high wail.  “You don’t (sob) love your boys (sob.)”  Thanks for that one Son 1, I’ll even up a little when I’m in the nursing home.  Son 2 aged 23m was a little darling. “Neno!  Neno!” I do an abridged version of Son 1’s Disney book. “Tak Ta!”  His lift-the-flap farm book.  I almost got him to sit all the way through The Cat In The Hat last night. The Cat was a winner, so was the fish.  He went walkabout well before Mother Came Home.

I had to drive to The City. The roads were ok, it’s always good to see my colleagues from The City Office, and someone said something very nice to me in a meeting. On the way back I stopped at Waitrose because we’re out of Cheerios and tea. A friend wants Wonder Nanny to take her child as well as our two for one day.  Fine, I said, but I’ll have to ask Wonder Nanny. She’d gone by the time I got back. Son 1 pelted down the stairs to greet me, Son 2 just sat up top laughing. 

Son 2 is great. “How old are you going to be on your birthday, Son 2?” “Doooo.”  We sat and read, and then he had his bath, lying face down, full length in it as he played with two tigers and a donkey. His post-bath game is called “Boo.” It involves him lying down with a towel over him. “Daddy, Daddy, something terrible’s happened!  I can’t find Son 2!”  Daddy comes in - somehow this is always timed just after he’s lain down on the bed - lifts up the towel and there is Son 2, who laughs his head off.  Son 1 also plays. He comes in, points at Son 2 and says “He’s there. Under the towel. He’s always under the towel.  Every time.” Again, thanks for that. I put a toy Nemo we’ve had hanging around for ages into the cot with Son 2 tonight, in the hope it might stop him screaming for me the minute I leave. He still screamed, but not for as long.  Could this possibly be the solution?

1.  A Thousand Cuts

2.  Thanks A Thousand

3.  A Thousand Times

Son 2 aged 22m didn’t wake up screaming till 0615.  This is a Good Thing. Lately it’s been unremitting before 0530.  The Man has tried.  I’ve just left him, his screams not quite drowned out by the klaxon of my guilt. I wonder what’s wrong. Wonder Nanny says he’s the same when he wakes up from his daytime naps. I wouldn’t know. He never sleeps in the daytime when he’s with me. Which all leads me to the Pang Pang Pang conclusion that he needs to see me more. Oh Lord.   At least we have Wonder Nanny so he doesn’t have to go to Nursery.  He stood at the door and cried after she left tonight. Pang Pang Pang.    

Cheer Up, Said George.  (Son 2 and I are doing The Smartest Giant In Town at the moment.)  The Man has taken some time off.  This is cause for the firing of cannons and a public holiday.  I have tried pointing out that even Junior Doctors are barred by law from working more than 48 hours a week but for some reason he thinks he’s exempt from the Working Time Directive.   And the boys’ Elegant Aunt has offered us her timeshare week. Hoorah hoorah.

I tried to get home from work a bit early to see a little more of Son 1 aged 4y 10m and Son 2.  Didn’t work.  When I cuddled Son 2, Son 1 went mad with jealousy, and relentlessly tried to bash him off me or force his way between us. When I cuddled Son 1, Son 2 let out intolerable ear-splitting shrieks and I ended up dumping him in his cot.  I left him there for five minutes, and then went back up. He was standing, in his dungarees, cute as a kitten, in the corner of his cot.   A big smile. “Mummeeeee!” “Are you going to stop shrieking?” “Yesssssssssssssss.”  And he made it till bedtime without a single screech.  And then, after I’d laid Son 1 down in his bed and closed their bedroom door, their day ended as it began. “MUMMMMEEEEEEE! MUMMMMEEEEE!!!!”

1.  Daddy Rings The Bell

2.  Show That All Is Well

3.  Rocking, Rolling, Raging

Man, what a week. It doesn’t feel like I’ve seen Son 1 aged 4y 10m and Son 2 aged 22m. Which is daft, because I had my half day on Tuesday and as usual had Wednesday.  I left early again, this time needing to go to The City for The Office.    Son 2 apparently had a really bad night and kept The Man up throughout.  I didn’t hear anything. This is Indeed A Good Thing.  Apart from they were both fairly fractious by the time I got up.  Son 2 was lovely for our morning reading time though.  Say Hello to The Animals, Full Of Love, The Boy On The Beach, Maisie’s Fire Engine and The Snail And The Whale.  I like to think I do 5 books in the morning with him and 5 books in the evening. So he has 70 books a week.  This will Help His Receptive Language and Ensure He Has A Large And Confident Vocabulary.  In Son 2’s Top 10 words are Burp, Bart (for fart) and Bum Bum, when he bends over and waggles his bottom in the air.   These have so far not featured in any of his children’s books.  They are though heavily over-used by Son 1.  And before you start really hating me, the 5 books is a target.  Many, many days I am just too knackered.

A long old day in The City, and then back again. I stopped at Waitrose.  Like I did on Tuesday.  When I bought a two-pint bottle of organic milk, got it home and found it had a use-by date of the previous day, and a sell-by date of the day before that. Waitrose!  I always thought they were up there with John Lewis and… John Lewis as quality brands. I phoned them up and they grovelled, and told me to come back in and they’d give me a refund. They gave me a refund and a new bottle of milk. Sell by August 7. I checked. 

Younger Sister is down, just till tomorrow. She had Nanna to stay, and brought her back yesterday. So I had a Grand Plan that we could all eat out at Pizza Express.  5 o’clock, I said. And then got stuck, stuck, stuck in the traffic. Friday evening in the school holidays, what was I thinking of? i got there at about 6pm. I could hear a baby crying from outside. Too young to be  Son 2, I thought. As I came up the stairs, I looked into the eyes of a contorted, red, screaming toddler face.  Son 2 in Tantrum Town. The Man was just Iron Maiden-ing him into the high chair.  There wasn’t much I could do with him either.  It was good to get out, and good to see Younger Sister, who goes back tomorrow.  Son 2’s second mega-strop this week. I hope it’s not because I’ve not been around.

1.  Writing

2.  Talking

3.  Reading

I have been back at The Office, full-time, for One Whole Year.  I just read my blogs from March last year.  Pang.  Little six-month-old Son 2.  I know I’ve done brilliantly keeping at work, keeping well, keeping everything together and keeping time with the boys sacred.  Keeping at The Blog, which I think has helped ward off depression.   But Pang Oh Pang.  You really don’t get it back, do you?  Thankfully I have a week off now, which is why I’m writing this so late. It always takes me forever to finish on Fridays before I have leave.  Stinking cold.  Exhausted. And I’ve been reading a year ago, when I was hoping to get back into my pre-pregnancy clothes.  Wouldn’t it be great if you lost weight wnen you cut down on your sleep?  Much fairer to mothers.

Little 18 month old Son 2 is sliding down the stairs on his tummy now.  Fast. With a daredevil grin.  A year ago he was just on solids, and just had his first teeth.  Now he wants the Wiggles on the telly, he wants a smoothie from the shopping, he can say bear, and ba (for bath, sheep and ball) and dum dum for dump truck and di di for digger.  And bye bye and mama and hallo, and mi for milk. And snap snap for crocodile. Accompanied by a dance. And a point at the DVD pile. 

Son 1 aged 4 y 6m finished at Nursery for Easter today.  He lay on his bed this evening and looked up at his animal alphabet wall chart, sounding out the start of all the letters.  Foxed a bit by N. And baffled by Q.  He also for the first time stopped me in a story to sound out the letters of a word m-on- k-ey.  I was thrilled, but none of it is anything to do with me.  I’ve deliberately not taught him to read because I Do Not Believe In Forcing Boys To Read Too Early. It Will Put Them Off.  Nothing to do with never having a minute to sit down with him.  26 letters and 40ish sounds?   I haven’t got the time.  Just that year.  Sitting in cyberspace. Maybe one day he’ll read about himself.

1. Early Bird

2. Mocking Bird

3. Homing Pigeon

Son 2 aged 14m woke at 0425am, calling for me. The insistent, foghorn: waaaah waaaah waaaah. I’d gone to bed at midnight, so decided to give him 10 minutes. He realised I wasn’t coming straightaway, and lost his temper, arpeggio cries getting angrier. And then he went back to sleep. I think the sleeping has been better since he started walking. I got up at 0530, so we wouldn’t have a mad rush for Nursery. We still had a mad rush for Nursery.

I drove to the Whacking Great City (population 125x The Town’s) for The Office. 3 Hours + A fine, cold morning, but wet roads. The car I’ve only just taken through the car wash was covered in crud. Windscreen washers all the way. BC I went to WGC a lot. But I haven’t been since long before Son 2 was born. I parked the car, and instantly noticed better-trained classical buskers. Ours are a bit folky. And surely in the old days there were never as many women with pushchairs. Wherever I looked, mothers were pushing sleeping moppets, alert pre-schoolers or fat swaddled babies in buggies and prams. While mine were 200 miles from my side. Ladybird, Ladybird Fly Away Home. She was definitely a Working Mother.

And then I had to get back for Wonder Nanny, who had already agreed to start early and leave late. I left the meeting later than I thought. Then I had to stop for some Office phone calls. Then there was a crash on the Motorway. The the fuel light came on. I cruised along ignoring it, knowing where I was going to stop. I pulled in. The garage was shut, coned off, three police cars parked on the forecourt, bright fluorescent jackets visible inside. There’d been a police incident, said a staff member. “Where’s the next garage?” I asked. 12 miles Thataway, or 3 miles back the way I’d just come. When I got home, Son 2 was asleep but Wonder Nanny had let Son 1 stay up. I put him to bed, and went downstairs. There was a card from the police on the mat. Next door but two was burgled today. Ring if we know anything.