1.  Reindeer

2.  Remembering

3.  The Lullaby League

Before the boys were born, The Man put up a roller blind in the Blue Room and hole-punched the wall with the end, leaving a golf-ball sized chip through the paintworkand deep in the plaster.  Son 2 aged 2y 1m has, over the last year, excavated it with the interest and determination of an archaeologist.  Golf ball, satsuma, tennis ball, orange, grapefruit, melon, pumpkin.  Piles of grey powder underneath.  Today, The Man Got Round To It.  So we had a family trip to B and Q to buy the plaster. Son 2 wouldn’t go in the trolley.   Son 1, aged 5y 1m, and weighing considerably more than the 15kg limit, climbed aboard instead.  So Son 2 tantrummed. “No Son 1! My toll toll! ”  The Man headed off to the Raw Materials.   I took them to look at the Christmas things and was saved.  There was a dancing Father Christmas, who, at a squeeze of his foot, sang “Santa Claus Is Coming To Town.”  There was a turkey who clucked when you pulled its neck. And, best of all there was a Spinning, Singing Reindeer who sang “Sleigh Ride.”   I was strangely drawn to the flashing house decoration reindeer.  £34.99. And gutter clips. £1.99. You need gutter clips if you put lights on your house. I never knew that.  We live on a busy river, where wives of yore will have burned lights in their window to guide their menfolk home.  A glowing cross appears on the opposite riverbank every December.  Oh how I wish I had the nerve.   There’s clearly a reindeer thing in the family, because Son 2 clutched the dancing fluffy one.  ”Just hear those sleigh bells jingling, ring ting tingling tooooooooo” echoed around the aisles.  We got it off him at the till with the promise of another poppy to replace the one he dropped out shopping yesterday.  

In his carseat, Son 2 dismantled the poppy, threw away the stalk and chewed the chokeable black bit like it was gum.  At home I put the boys in front of the telly, The Man mixed his stuff, I started making stew for tea.  A friend we knew walked past the house with his family.  He was on the phone, looking up at the house. Son 1 answered.  The family had been to a Remembrance Service, and were heading to the Yacht Club for lunch.  Were we coming?  Oh of course we were.  The stew went in the oven, the hole was filled, we got the toy golf clubs out and down we went. The food arrived. “I done poo.” said Son 2.  “Did you bring the nappy bag?” asked The Man. “No,” I said. “I thought you did.”  Staring at my soup, I stood and traipsed all the way  to the house and back again.  The boys didn’t want to eat anyway, they just wanted to play with the family’s girls.  When the indoor golf turned into a sort of under-eight rave, I packed up the toys and declared the outing over. 

Son 1 had been bursting to watch the Wizard of Oz. I let him watch “The Making Of” which was on before, but had to switch back to CBeebies when a black-and-white, facelifted Judy Garland started talking about drunk Munchkins.   During the film,  I had to translate every line of the plot. Son 1 sped behind the chair every time the wicked witch appeared.  For Son 1, there is no difference between the Munchkins and the Oompa Loompas.  For me, yes I know it was 70 years ago and they didn’t have CGI, but man, you’d think they could remake it better so we don’t have to watch it any more.  I sat agonising over whether or not to keep the recording. The boys got bored with the journey to Oz and went outside to plant bulbs with the Man.

1.  Good Behaviour

2.  Best Behaviour

3.  Bad Behaviour

The Man got back yesterday, so this morning was easier.  We were at School on time, and I had, for the first time this week, got the right combination of books in Son 1 aged 5’s bag. The Jolly Phonics book; we are currently doing e-e-e-e-e-e, the Reading Book; in which Biff, Chip and Kipper’s no-need-to-work parents take them places, have fun and cook Proper Food, and the Homework Book with Things To Draw and Letters To Write.  I got a smiley sticker from Son 1’s Teaching Assistant as a reward, and I wore it with pride.

Driving, I stopped to take a phone call, and pulled over on a yellow line - no parking from 1 May till 30 September.  There was one other car on it.  I reversed back towards it. Crunch.  Oh hell.  It was a proper crunch, not just a bump, to be waved off with my dear old Dad’s “Bumpers Is For Bumping” motoring motto.  Opposite me, a coach driver, sat outside a hotel, watching. I took a long time on my phone call. And I thought about the Good Samaritan who put my Nappy Bag, containing cards, purse and phone, on my doorstep after I’d left it in the road. I wrote my note. “Sorry, I’ve reversed into your car. If there’s any damage call Serenedays on XXXXXXXXXX.”  I got out to look at the other car.  I’m not very good at cars. I have to read the make and model from the back. This one was a 4.2 litre Jaguar with a personalised number plate.  Ah. And I thought there was a scuff on the number plate, and a possible scuff on the gleaming paintwork. But I didn’t dare touch them to see if they’d come off. Not a mark on mine. I left my note on the windscreen, and off I went.

I looked in the homework book after I’d picked up Son 1 from school.  He only got 2/10, which I thought was a bit harsh.  Until I realised it was the date. He and Son 2 aged 2 wolfed vegetable soup and pasta for tea, and then he wanted to go to the Yacht Club.  We went down, but it was closed. ”Oh come on, will someone open the bar,” said Son 1. What kind of parents have their five-year-old queueing outside pubs?  We trailed away, and then met one of the bar staff arriving to open up. “It’s October,” she said. ”Winter opening times.” The boys played on the grass with some other children. The tide was high and the river was still. We sat and watched the boats on the moorings and the reflected lights from the docks.   The Jaguar owner didn’t ring. And now I am a bit worried he (why do I know it’s a ‘he’?) just thought it was an excuse to leave my name and number on a nice car…

1.  Multi-tasking

2.  Multiplying

3.  Multi-coloured

Bone Tired. It has been a very long week.  I don’t know about children getting tired when they start reception but the five early starts a week are killing me.  We’ve been whirling at a cracking rate since the party last Saturday.  Son 1 aged 5 is truly dropping.  He is a saint.  Poor child. Opens a massive pile of presents on Tuesday and  hasn’t actually had the time to look at them since.   I wrote him 12 thank you letters last night. Because I Don’t Have Enough To Do.  I managed to work out what all but 2 children had given him. It made me late starting Office work and I fell asleep over my laptop.  This morning he was, all things considered ,a little angel.  Out of the house on top, breakfasted, teeth cleaned, telly watched and clutching his thank you notes. He posted them in the other children’s drawers as soon as he got to school.

Another high octane day at The Office, although there was a Friday lunchtime drink which was nice. Too much talk about young children though. I do realise that when people ask after your children they’re expecting one word answers… it’s just I never manage.  I picked Son 1 up from After School Club and he looked cross and wrecked.  “He’s been sitting looking out for you,” said the Teaching Assistant.  I heard a subtext which probably wasn’t there: “Can’t you pick him up any earlier, it is Friday.”  He’s got another full sticker card.  We went to Tesco, and again, he was fantastic. He was allowed some new Ben 10 pants for his stickers. He wanted plasticine. Or a comic. Or a toy.  40+ new toys lying around the house and he’s still nagging.

When we got back, The MAn had taken Son 2 aged 2 down to the Yacht Club. I took Son 1 for a quickie before I had to start work again. The Man and Son 2 were with two parents we know with their daughters.  Son 2 spotted me through the window, laughed, waved, and came running out to see me. The boys behaved disgracefully.  Loud shrieking, loud shouting, pushing over, pestering…  Textbook out. Look up symptoms. Ah. They are also shattered. I think what we all need is a quiet, relaxing weekend. We have a trip to the Olde Sweet Shoppe, a wedding and a Boat Trip planned. Looking on the bright side, Flossy and Coupon are flourishing, seem to think the new tank is great and are very relaxing to watch.  And the fish shop woman said we can have some more after four days or so.

1.  The Golden Bell

2.  Birthday Boy

3.  Teddy Bears

4.  Night Skies

Son 2 is 2.  Amazing.  Funny, determined, physical, loving, bright, gorgeous. And incredible that if I hadn’t taken tablets we wouldn’t have him.  Conceived the month after we lost Son 1.5.  I took the advice of a doctor who said: “Well, you could take some time to recover from the miscarriage but you’re 42 and every month counts.” I can still remember a dark December evening, Clomid packet in hand, thinking about C S Lewis: “Make your choice, adventurous stranger;  Strike the bell and bide the danger, Or wonder, till it drives you mad, What would have followed if you had.”   We struck the bell… and What Followed got  a handprint kit, Playmobil fish, fish books, a crocodile, a crab, and of course half a fish tank.

Son 1 aged 4y 11m was beside himself for the present opening. Son 2 loved having Happy Birthday sung to him.  I took Son 1 off to school, in the end having to bribe him with parma violets from next Saturday’s party bags. Back home, Wonder Nanny and I pushed Son 2 in the Big Pram over to the Beach By The Garden. Son 2 fell asleep on the way over, and woke within two minutes of us arriving. I’d pictured a day like Wednesday, but the wind was ferocious, so I hired a windbreak. The sea was mighty, great big surfy breakers crashing up against the high tideline.  Son 2 dug and went to the sea for water - taking me with him each time.  We had lunch from the Beach Shack, and then  I went Swimming In The Sea. I have decided this is now a tradition. Every year I will go Swimming In The Sea on Son 2’s birthday.  I couldn’t swim - the surf was too strong. I just swam into each waves, swam/sprang up over the top of each six footer, and had to turn my back into them so they’d break around me and not wipe me out.  I still got wiped out, and rolled around in the shallows.  When I took my costume off it was full of small stones.  We had ice creams and walked back.

Wonder Nanny and Son 2 went upstairs to watch telly, and then played outside.  I got the food ready for the Birthday Tea.  Not a party of course, that will happen next Saturday.  Cold chicken, cooked yesterday, ham and peanut butter sandwiches, hummous with cucumber, pepper, carrot and breadsticks, hula hoops and cocktail sausages. Nanna arrived. Then Son 1, his face worried through the glass of the front door “Have I missed the party?” Before he’d got to Son 2, one set of Wednesday brothers had arrived, then the other. Then the sole girl, with her big sister who was on her way to Beavers. They all brought Teddies for a Teddy Bear picnic.  The boys sat with their teddies for five seconds, stuffed their faces and then ran off to get all the toys out.  I sent out a plate of jelly tot and smartie mini fairy cakes.  Son 1 and Best friend took handfuls and sat behind The Man’s chair in the lounge stuffing their faces. Son 2’s Godmother arrived with Godbrother and Godsister. “Thank heaven you’re here Godbrother,” I said. “We need a light for the candles.” “I’ve stopped smoking now,” he said. Godbrother will be 14 at the end of this month.  We had a Monkey birthday cake and a singing candle with five others.  It was impossible keeping five bigger boys from blowing them out, but we kept re-lighting them and Son 2 seemed happy with his efforts. The cake vanished. The Man let off Poundland table top fireworks in the flower bed. 

After we all went to the Yacht Club with Nanna and the Parents Of The Girls.  Son 1 and Son 2 played with their golf set. Son 1 cried when he hit his ball into the river.  A scarily competent ten year old got in a dinghy and went and brought it back. We sat on benches outside, watching the boats, drinking and talking and talking and drinking. Jupiter shone large in the darkening sky.  “Look at that lovely star Mummy,” said Son 1. “It’s not a star, it’s a planet.” “How do you know?”  “The stars are small and far up in the sky.  The planets are big and nearer the horizon.”  We came back at nine. It was a Good Day.

1.   True Love

2.   Little One

3.   A Swell Party

Son 2 aged 23m has a hacking cough. Son 1 aged 4y 11m is sneezing and coughing.  I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.  It’s the end of August, and because The Man has spent the summer re-fitting and painting and sanding we’ve only been out on The Boat twice. The forecast was so-so, and worse for tomorrow.  The Boat it was.  Son 1 and The Man went off to get the dinghy ready. Son 2 ran after them, a sandal in each hand, “and me!” and sobbed when they left without him.  I put him outside in the yard on the astroturf, naked,  with a bowl of warm soapy water, some washing powder jugs and two beach buckets.  I started on the sandwiches.  Son 2 toddled back in carrying the empty bowl.  “More wah wah!”  “Who tipped out the last bowl?” I asked. “Me!”  Off he went.  I carried on.  He came back in twice more for water.  I chopped vegetables. Then he came back in and pawed at his clothes. “Dest.” “You want to get dressed?”  “Yes peez.” And then “Pooo.” He pointed to the yard. There, on the sodden, soap-soaked astroturf, was a damp, squashed poo. 

Son 2 was hard work. Clingy, insistent, tearful.  He also kept falling over.  The Man and Son 1 came back and we went down to the Yacht Club.  Son 1 and Son 2 played races on the lawn. “Ready… Steady… Go!” yelled Son 1 as they pelted across it. Son 2 was still falling over.  “Try ‘Ready, Steady, Lie Down.’” I said.  “Ready, Steady, Sleep!” called Son 1, and they both fell down. In lifejackets. Stuck on their backs like upended tortoises. 

So we took the baby with his fluey cold and balance problems and put him on a motor boat in a heavy swell.  He fell over. In the cabin. Bump on the forehead. He fell over on the deck.  Bump on the forehead.  We had lunch, and then bribed the boys. If they went to sleep they could have a sweet when they woke up. They both slept.  I read the paper, The Man and I drank coffee.  When they woke up we caught crabs. The world-record for Biggest One Yet.  Barely fit in the bucket.  Son 1 was a stroppy, screeching pain all the way back. I did not cope well.  I think that’s Three Down, and The Man in charge.

1. In Reality

2.  A Nightmare

3.  Dream Finish

Son 2 aged 23m is speaking in whole sentences, and I haven’t noticed.  “Great receptive language,” I had expertly told myself, “expressive a bit behind Son 1 now aged 4y 11m at his age.” This morning. “Ah Wah Wotsh Madda Da Da.”  I Want To Watch Madagascar.  “Ah Wah Pess Buh Buh.” While I was on my laptop. I Want To Press The Buttons.   Hey ho. There was me thinking, when I get a minute, when I remember, I’ll put all the single words he can do on my blog so I’ll have a record… including all those exciting two-word sentences like “Mummy car,” and “Me Do” (See Yesterday.)  And all the time he’s near enough on “You Must Never Go Down To The End Of THe Town Unless You Go Down With Me.”

I had another one of my anxiety dreams.  I was in the kitchen, making Jamie Oliver fish pie for tea. Son 2 wanted to stand on a chair and wash the potatoes. Son 1 insisted on doing it too. Son 1 wanted to peel the carrots, so I let him “Look! Look! My first carrot! It’s not bad, is it?”  Son 2 wanted to as well, so we had to see if he could do it. “Don’t touch the blade. Sharp. Dangerous.”  The Man said the sauce was too rich last time, so I used full cream milk, and it curdled when I added lemon juice. No matter what I did, the finished meal didn’t get any nearer the oven. Both boys were going nuts with hunger.  Son 1 was supposed to grate a big slab of cheese for my rescue sauce. He ate the lot. The boys were stroppy, The Man was stroppy, the pie still wasn’t in the oven. It was 1720 and it wasn’t a dream. ”I’ll just be five minutes and then I can get it in to cook!” I wailed. 

“I’ll take them for a walk,” said The Man.  “See if the Yacht Club’s open!” I called. “Then I can come back here and switch it off after half an hour.”  Son 2 ran for the door. “And me!”  The bar was open. The boys played with their toy golf set on the lawn. The Man had a couple of pints, I had a couple of glasses of wine. Dark grey, low clouds flew by above the river in front of us… we had a light blue patch high overhead. It was great.  A snatched al fresco playhour. We came back. The pie looked good.  The boys were too tired and wired to eat it.

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.  All Aboard

2.  Swimming With A Seal

3.  The First Round

The better forecast of the two days, so we decided to get on The Boat.  The Man warned that all The Boat was good for was travelling, because he’s ripped the cabin out so there’s nothing inside. We aimed at a barbecue.  We were up late, the boys were fractious, The MAn and I were snappy. We could probably all have done with a quiet day in. But a sunny day was on offer… so we invited two friends and their three year old. Last time we went on The Boat, Son 2 aged 21 m had to be carried down to the Yacht Club. Today I asked him, in his sun hat and lifejacket, if he wanted to be carried or walk. “Wor,” he said, and off he went.   The Boat was in a terrible state. Fibre glass strands and bird dung everywhere.. little bits of splinter-sized wood chippings, pieces of plastic and steel.   We swept up and fed the boys fruit while we waited for The Man and Other Dad to arrive in the dinghy.

Just a middle aged couple and their large dog were on The Beach By The Lighthouse when we turned up. Son 1 and 3 year old were in raptures, Son 2 splashed, sat and dug.  The Man barbied sausages. The big boys played pirates in the caves. Other boats turned up, other dinghies ended up on the beach. It was  heaven.  Incredibly hot.  I swam in the sea.  Absolutely freezing. Coldest yet. I swam out to The Boat, the waves slopping me in the face if I mis-timed them. Turquoise water, golden sand, not another soul in the sea.  Except one shiny, sleek-headed seal, about 50 yards away, watching me in a horribly human way. I wasn’t sure about Swimming With Seals. They are very large, their teeth are big, their breath is rank and I didn’t fancy being goosed from below by a fast-moving two-tonne sea beast. 

Son 2 was getting less and less able to cope, and more and more clingy. The MAn took us back to The Boat, where son 2 refused to go to sleep.  There were portholes to look through… and bits to pull off the walls.  Back at the Yacht Club, more friends were having a drink. I cannot resist the longer evenings, so although I knew Son 2 would make us suffer… I thought we might get away with it.  Son 1 sat on a bar stool with a two-pound coin and asked for two orange juices with straws.  The children ran round. Smack. Son 1 pushed Son 2 over. His nose started to bleed.  Two drinks later, we brought them home, like Good Parents.

1.  Conflict Averted

2.  Conflict Resolved

3.  Conflict Avoided

We are not wanted in Court tomorrow, which is a Fantastic Thing. I’ve done 4 10-hour days with Wednesdays off since I went back to The Office after having Son 1… so I’ve never had more than two days without a day with the children.   I wasn’t happy about being forced to do a five day week on Jury Service.  And then today… Ping. Don’t have to. Can you all come back on Thursday.    It means The Man can go on a Business Trip tonight instead of tomorrow night.  He’d made all his original plans for today, not realising there was a slight Home Alone problem with the boys if Mummy was busy fulfilling her civic duty.  We met up for lunch to celebrate.

In another Thing That Didn’t Make The Blog Because It Wasn’t Positive… I had a Parking Rage set-to with a neighbour the other week.  She had apparently been waiting ages to park, and was furious when I came along with Son 1 asleep in the back and innocently drove into a space near our house.  She tried to drive me out of it, which has never happened to me before, and wasn’t pleasant.  As I was in it, there wasn’t much she could do, apart from wind her window down and screech how annoyed she was.  I didn’t really respond, just told her there was also another space further up the hill which she clearly hadn’t seen.  I saw her again today and although she didn’t apologise, she made a lot of excuses for her behaviour.  We agreed some people park very inconsiderately and take up two spaces instead of one, and now we are Bestest Friends again.     

After the boys’ tea we went over to the Yacht Club at the invitation of a Dad we know, there with his two girls.   I agreed to go, but told The Man that if he sat down with his mate talking boats and left me in charge of four children, I would come home.  We had a couple of drinks; the children played.  I sat chatting with the Dad; The Man played football with the children.  Son 2 was so tired he could hardly stand, but was determined not to miss anything and kept on and on.  Son 1 cried with disappointment when, at 8pm, we said we had to get home.   Half past nine before we got them to bed.   That just wouldn’t and couldn’t happen on a normal work night.  Jury Service is a Good Thing.