1.  Little Boy Blue

2.  Not Today, I Got A Lot To Do

3.  The Man In The Moon

Three bloody 20 am. I heard a rustling, a scuffling, a pitter-patter with cat-like tread. I went to the loo.  Son 1 aged 5y 3m appeared in the bathroom doorway. “Mummy Santa has been, there are presents under the Christmas tree and we’ve got stockings – ” His voice was rich and breathy, he was almost dancing with  excitement. “Let’s go down and see,” I whispered. His stocking had been emptied on the lounge floor. “Did Santa leave your stocking here?” “No, I brought it down.”  I told him we had to go back to bed. “But you said I could open my stocking whenever I woke up!”  “Yes but I didn’t know it would be at three in the morning…”

At 7 the house was still, but I had to get up to get the turkey in. Going down, I woke Son 2 aged 2y 3m, but had to leave him for The Man.  I’d forgotten to get any orange juice so Mummy couldn’t have her Bucks Fizz at 0730.  Christmas Morning ruined.  The boys opened their stockings in the lounge.  Son 1, high on happiness, came running down with two bags of chocolate coins. “Mummy put these in the Trick Or Treat bucket.” He stopped. “What are you doing to that chicken?”  Shoving fistfuls of sausagemeat up and under the skin on the turkey breast.   The Man can’t watch me do it.   

We had to get Nanna up to open the presents, so Son 1 yelled: “Nanna! Are you getting dressed or do you want a dressing gown?”  She wanted a dressing gown.  So. Nanna in my cuddly Portuguese towelling robe… The Man without his teeth… and me were the audience for the main event. Son 1 sorted the presents into piles.  “Son 2’s presents are all bigger than mine!”  Fortunately, on the way back with Nanna yesterday, we stopped off at a toy shop and bought a Playmobil carry case Castle. Massive box. Small castle. Everybody happy.  “I knew Santa would get it for me,” Son 1 said, contented, opening it and instantly moving onto the next one.   If only he knew. Son 2 drove him nuts by sitting down happily to play with his first present – a Hot Wheels lorry – and ignoring all the others.  Wonder Nanny had bought them The Polar Express DVD so we put that on. “I don’ loik it,” said Son 2. “I scared.”  I had a new purse from the boys, and “Tender” from The Man.  The Nigel Slater cook book I asked for,  but we could pretend it’s a mark of his feelings…

From 12 onwards I fought the bloody turkey. Size of a bloody ostrich and too big for our oven, which is great at the top and doesn’t bother at the bottom.  The crackers had all been popped by two small boys who like crackers. Nanna was fading into oblivion because she hadn’t had breakfast, The Man was telling me to relax and I was worrying my little vegetarian head off.   We finally ate at 1430.  They enjoyed the turkey, the boys ate a bit of most of the vegetables. I cleared up. I put the leftovers away. I did the washing (yes, yes, but there was so much we could hardly get in the downstairs loo.)  I made cups of tea. ”Sit down, Serenedays,” said Nanna.  I got the boys crackers, carrot and cucumber for tea, and read them their Christmas present books. “Again, again,” said Son 1. 

We got them to bed and at last I collapsed on the sofa with Nigel Slater. The Man pulled out our remaining, unopened presents. The pyjamas weren’t the ones he wanted. In fact they were the ones he didn’t like. He didn’t like the lounge tops I got him to wear with them. And I don’t think he wants his boxer shorts either.  They are all back in their carrier bag waiting to be returned to Marks.   Oh well. Christmas is already cheaper than I expected.

1.  Low Gear

2.  Sonic

3.  Heavy Going

Son 1 aged 5y 3m started the day in a sulky huddle because it wasn’t Christmas.  Outside it was bright and beautiful and freezing cold.  Do not drive unless your trip is essential, said the police, the Highways, the AA and the Met Office on the radio.  I was in Tesco in the Big Town by 9am. Their car park was so icy I could hardly stand. Inside the store was deserted. Rows of checkout women chatted in their Tesco fleeces. A friend rang. She’s just got an amazing new job.   One of those brilliant happy ends for someone who’s had an undeservedly hard time.  I stood by the pie counter, squawking in excitement. From Tesco I legged it to M and S, skating, slipping, sliding. And bought packets of pyjamas and pants for The Man. They’ll all be wrong, and I’ll have to take them all back, but at least he’ll have a pile of presents to unwrap.  Then ELC to see if there was anything which could make up Son 1’s present deficit.  Then Boots for make up for Nanna. And Waterstones for lego for Son 1. 

I went the very long way to get Nanna because i didn’t trust the roads. She came out of her house with bag upon bag upon bag upon bag of presents.  From her and Younger Sister.  The House was empty because The Man and the boys had gone to get my present.  I hauled all the shopping in and stashed the present bags.  The others came home with pies for lunch.  Some friends came round with their nearly four year old. Son 1 was a hooligan.  No amount of “he sees you when you’re sleeping; he knows when you’re awake. He knows when you’ve been bad or good so be good for goodness’ sake” could calm him.  He couldn’t remember to be good, and got very upset when he did something we felt meant Santa would miss him out.  At 10 to 3 we zoomed off to the Church for the crib service. Son 1 made a star. Son 2 aged 2y 3m played with the wooden nativity set. Son 2 wouldn’t go to the front for the service.  Son 1 talked through the prayers.  Son 2, the perspicacious little poppet, chose Mary, the manger and Baby Jesus to play with.  Then he stuck Mary’s head in his mouth and chewed and chewed. “We have four speeds on our Christmas Tree” announced the vicar. “I’ve put it on the fastest one to celebrate the Good News.”

We had fajitas for tea. We put the boys to bed. We wrapped presents. I made stuffing. We hunted for the chocolate bells I bought weeks ago for Santa to hang on the Christmas Tree.  I wrapped The Man’s presents, and Nanna’s presents.  I made stuffing. At 10pm, cross and knackered, The Man and I stomped off into The Town. We had a babysitter and, barely talking but still arguing,  we were going out. For just one.  We had several.  We came back late.  Nanna had already gone to bed.  The Man ate the shortbread we left for Santa. I chopped parts of the carrots off.

1.  The Day Before

2.  SOS

3.  Mamma Mia

I haven’t got enough presents for Son 1 aged 5y 3m.  He is off his rocker with excitement. He has taken out the three cheapo feltish stockings we’ve had since he was three months old. There are two big ‘uns, each about a yard long and  a foot wide, and one little ‘un, eighteen inches long, three inches wide.  He has carefully laid the two big ‘uns over the end of his bed, and hung the littl’un on Son 2 aged 2y 3m’s cot. This evening, The Man and I retreated to our bedroom with scissors, sellotape and wrapping paper.  I burrowed in the eaves and pulled out the present pile.  And Son 2’s, with his Duplo zoo, Brio horse railway, plastic horses, plastic horsebox and Tesco playtill complete with Loyalty Card, has beaten Son 1, with his two boxes of scarey Lego, ELC rocket, painting set, crayons (recycled from birthday to see if he notices) and ELC cricket set.  And only one more day to go. And all of us frozen into our homes like Narnians. 

Not the easiest day I’ve had. There was Trouble At T’Office, which kept me busy by phone and online all morning. Deep, movie trailer voice:  It’s Worse Than Work. It’s Worse Than Looking After Children.  It’s…. Working While You’re Looking After Children. My colleague said: “How can you even think when that noise is going on?” It was Son 2.   In a previous life, he was saved from a deep gorge simply by the power of his Shout.  It melts rock. It stops rotar blades.  It changes tides and can be Heard From Space. And he can sit for ever, emitting shrieky screeches like a chick cheeping at 200 decibels.  In his high chair, in his cot, in his car seat.  It’s been so bad lately that a shadow of doubt had tiptoed across my mind.  Is there Something Wrong With Him?  He had a sleep today, and was back to his giggling, chuckling little self. He’s not crazy, he’s just been in a very bad mood for the last two years.  Maybe I was ruined with Son 1 and his silent tantrums.

Nanna’s Christmas has been destroyed by the weather. She planned to get the train cross country to Suburbia, to be met by Younger Sister, who would then drive her to their house.  A grand scheme, machine gunned by variables. If we can get her to the station on the ice rinks that are our roads, if the train runs, if Younger Sister can get her car started (RAC: at least a four hour wait; you’re at home,) if there’s no more snow, if the roads are passable…  So Nanna is coming here, which I don’t think she’ll mind.  We have a big turkey and a lot of vegetables, because a very Nice Man brings them to the door.  We have nothing else. Not even a present for her.  In fact, forget the present, we haven’t got any milk.  Please kill me if I leave my Christmas Shopping this late next year.

Had a great time today at speech day for our school, whch is like presentation day, and then me and my lovely nanna went to lunch in Westfield and bought some stuff. It was really cool. My friends were going shopping and watching movies, but I think I probably had more fun with Nanna than I would have had with them.

Now it’s coming up to 3:00 and I’m sitting on the couch waiting for my mum and brothers to get home and watching hilarious reruns of Whose Line is it Anyway? It’s very funny.

I thought I’d be nice to mum so I’ve stuck a lollipop to the kitchen cupboard for her when she gets home. I hope she doesn’t read this before she gets here.

She’s home, gotta go!

1.  Advent

2.  Mother And Babe

3.  Three Kings

I went to bed at 0030. Son 1aged 5y 2m snuck up before I’d gone to sleep and curled himself into a corner of the Big Bed.  It rained at 0530. I woke up and got up.  Coffee and breakfast in peace.  The boys and The Man came down; we used Advent Calendar chocolate to bribe Son 1 into having his hair treated with head lice solution.  The Man took him off for School.  In my pyjamas, I squirted great slops of pesticide into my hair and gave it a good rub in.  A knock on the door. The Organic Veg Man on the doorstep.  Worlds colliding.  Me,  bottle blonde hair slicked upwards in a greasy Jedward and stinking of organo-phosphate sheep dip… him, sustainable, biodegradable and offset.   I wrote him a cheque. He left a veg box, four litres of organic milk and half a dozen free range organic eggs.

 Booming Business Wednesday Mother is in Barcelona.  Just back from Cape Town.  Both without the children. She won’t be enjoying herself.  The remaining Wednesday Mum and I are never envious.  Teeth Toys and Telly We all went swimming, Son 2 aged 2y 2m overjoyed with excitement. Into the pool, instantly swimming in his armbands, into the bubble baths, asking the lifeguard for a surfboard. Then, after about half an hour, suddenly saying “I wan’ ge’ changed,” and marching off to the shower. I distracted him, got him back in and we had a great time playing fishing with the noodle.  Afterwards we went to the Beach Cafe for coffee.

Straight over to Nanna’s to pick her up, and then on to the School for Son 2’s Christmas Play. We were early, because Nanna can’t walk very far and we needed a disabled space.  Among the first in.  We chose seats in the front of the audience, because there seemed to be a lot of space between them and the four rows of little chairs in front. Nanna needs room to move.  The hall filled up with parents and grandparents.  Scores of small children filed in, angels, snowflakes, shepherds, cow, lambs, donkeys, and sat between us and the stage. Three little Kings sat in front of us. And one was Son 1, near enough to touch, and clearly near enough to be distracted and disturbed by us the whole way through. For 75 minutes I wrestled Son 2 as he tried to take crowns, roll his lorry up and down the kings’ chairs, climb over and call out: “I don’ loik it.” and “I wan’ go ‘ome.”  I fed him organic rice cakes – a lucky break in front of School Eyes, as our usual snack is Tesco Value Hula Hoops. Son 1 held out his hand: “I’m hungry.”   I didn’t dare. Son 2 gobbled his rice cakes, drank his juice and ate ham sandwiches. Turned round in their seats and watching every morsel go down were three huge-eyed little Kings, salivating. 

1. Here Comes The Son

2. A Long Cold Lonely Winter

3. The Ice Is Slowly Melting

Jackie Paper Came Back.  He’s got his Gormiti Egg and his Turtle Guy, so who cares about sticker charts? Into the Big Bed at 2am.  What a waste of wistfulness. Squashed between Son 1 aged 5y 2m and The Man, and boiling hot, I clambered out and went downstairs to the Double Bed.  The Man followed later. Son 2 aged 2y 2m cried in his cot. The Man went and got him, and laid him down next to me. He pressed his soft little toddler face next to mine and went back to sleep.  

Many hours and hundreds of miles later, The Man and I were at the Aged Aunt’s funeral.  Also there: Eldest Brother, Grown Up Nephew, Grown Up Niece and her husband, Elder Brother, Sister In Law and Teenaged Niece, and Younger Sister and Godfather 2.   Lots of elderly people, lifelong friends of the Aged Aunt and my late father.   Elder Sister has cellulitis and couldn’t go.  Nanna also stayed away.  Eldest Brother, the child of my father’s first marriage, was brought up by the Aged Aunt.  Don’t Ask.   The vicar said we were Giving Thanks For and Celebrating the Life of the Aged Aunt. The churchyard was closed for burials years ago, but they made an exception for her because she wanted to be buried near her parents and her grandfather.  My father’s ashes are buried in our grandparents’ grave.  As are the ashes of Younger Brother, whose death, 10 days before my 30th birthday, wrecked everyone’s lives for years and years.   Don’t Ask. Again.  There is a lot of Stuff in our family.

Elder Brother, Sister In Law, Younger Sister, Godfather 2, Teenaged Niece, The Man and I lingered in the churchyard afterwards. The Aged Aunt’s grave was covered in flowers.  We wanted some for her, and for the Other Grave.  We walked over to a nearby florist, and everyone chose some.  Sea Holly from Younger Sister.  Cyclamen plants from Sister In Law and Teenaged Niece. Red Roses from Elder Brother.  Michaelmas Daisies from me – our childhood garden was always full of them at this time of year.  We laid them on the graves, and then walked across the town to Grown Up Niece’s house for tea and sandwiches.  We were kept away from Eldest Brother as children – yet more Stuff – and only got to know each other as adults.  I see much less of them than everyone else… I moved a long way away, a long time ago.  It was good to be there.  The Man and I drove all the way back again as night fell.  Heavy showers hammered down on the windscreen as we crossed  pitch black moorlands on the way home.  And I thought about the flowers on the graves, in the dark, in the rain.

1.  Effort

2.  Results

3.  Reward

The Man let me lie in till 7am.  ”Well done for staying in your bed again Son 1!” I beamed, as I went downstairs to where he was eating his breakfast.  He beamed back. “I’ve got a sticker.  And I’m eating two breakfasts.”  ”He’s already eaten a pancake,” said The Man.  You will remember yesterday that Son 1 aged 5y 2m had four stickers to go on the breakfast line of his sticker chart.  This morning he had two.  Hence the bowl of cereal as well as the pancake.  You will also note that this process would not stand scrutiny by the Electoral Commission.  At some point yesterday, an extra sticker was stuck on the breakfast line. It wasn’t me, and it wasn’t The Man.  We don’t care; Son 1 has never in his life stuffed himself at breakfast time.   Yes I know, all your children  tuck in gratefully to rolled oats and wheatgerm with slivers of dried apricot and ground linseeds sprinkled on top.  Ours have Coco Pops Moon and Stars because we have tried EVERYTHING to get Son 1 to eat before he goes out for his 10-hour school day.  Sometimes he can’t be bothered to add milk and eats a few dry from the bowl. Sometimes he doesn’t touch them, and drinks the chocolate milk they make after soaking. And now he eats two breakfasts. Hooray.

Son 2 aged 2y 2m and I went to the Town Pool for a swim with the Wednesday Mums. Really good. I do like swimming with small children.  It’s so easy and stress-free.  The water was cold, so Son 2 headed for the Bubble Pools.  I’m a bit wary of these, as there was a lot of  “spa baths cause scarlet fever” anecdotes pinging round when Son 1 was ill. But Son 2 loves them.  He was playing with a green sea horse. I took my eye off him for a couple of seconds. “Where my see ‘orse?” It had vanished.  ”I don’t know, where is your sea horse, what have you done with it?”  I looked over the side into the swimming pool. I peered into the foaming depths of the bubble bath. I squinted along the channel running round the outside.  There was a gap in the cover.   We went back into the big pool and I told a lifeguard.  Two of them dismantled the filter and found the sea horse. Son 2 had posted it through the gap.  He swam, he played with a surf board, and he was a joy to be with.  After an hour we all got out and went for a coffee in a hotel.  The boys were all horrible, climbing over sofas and running up and down. We consoled ourselves with the thought that things would have been much worse with the elder three around. 

The Man collected Son 1 from school, because we were meeting Elder Brother and Nanna for pizza in Town. The phone rang.  Son 1. “Daddy hasn’t brought my Gormiti Egg.” “Oh dear,” I said. “It was Daddy’s job to get it.” “He says he didn’t know it was his job.”  “Silly Old Daddy.”  We agreed they would head for the other end of Town so they could get a Gormiti Egg. I’d push Son 2 in the Big Pram to see if he would sleep, and we’d see Nanna and Elder Brother in Pizza Express.  I pushed, Son 2 slept, we met the others. Son 1 turned up with his Gormiti Egg. £6. I thought it was like a Kinder Egg.  Oh boy. I am being seriously out-classed here.  Son 1 ate his food, Son 2 woke half way through and cried and grumbled. Elder Brother is leaving very early tomorrow to get to the Aged Aunt’s funeral. The Man and I were planning to drop Son 1 off at School and then drive over. We have booked Wonder Nanny to do tea, bath and bedtime.  Elder Brother says it could take six hours to get there.  Oh boy.

Tags:

Non sono sempre rose e fiori come si può immaginare.

E allora capita che una notte ogni tanto la Zampetta la faccia passare in bianco ai poveri genitori che al mattino dopo e pr tutta la giornata hanno veramente le batterie scariche: sembrano quei giocattoli con le batterie quasi finite che cantano al rallentatore con voce lamentosa.

E così giocano lentamente, cullano piano (per la Zampetta non esiste il concetto di cullare piano…), sono 2 stracci  e un bambino piccolo non ti dà il tempo di recuperare.

Oggi al supermercato guardavamo con invidia i caribatterie:

“carica in 15 ore” – buono dai! Dicevamo…

“nuova tecnologia, ricarica completa in 7 ore” – ah, va bene, questo è ottimo!

“ricarica super-fast! in 15 minuti, 80%”. Abbiamo comprato quello. Peccato che non ricarichi anche 2 due genitori…

Zampetta non è facile da far addormentare, anzi! Mentre gli altri bambini quando sono stanchi semplicemente dormono chiudendo gli occhi, lei no, lei non riesce a dormire se non cullata per lunghissimo tempo meglio se cantando canzoni a lei gradite.

E anche dopo tutto il gran ballare e faticare, non vi lascia certo vita facile: bisogna adagiarla nel lettino. Ci si muove lentamente, con attenzione e circospezione, si arriva all’altezza della sponda e si cominia un lentissimo movimento verso il basso, millimetro dopo millimetro visto che ogni minima differenza di altezza potrebbe infastidire (e quindi risvegliare) la nostra Zampetta.

Quando, dopo copioso sudore, siamo riusciti ad appoggiarla nel letto, la parte più difficile deve ancora venire: togliere le mani che la stavano sostenendo. Prima quella sotto il sedere…fatto! Poi quella sotto la testa…piano … piano…ok fatto! In quello stesso istante…click! occhi aperti, la bocca si splanca e un urlo selvaggio esce dalla piccola ugola: si è svegliata. Bisogna ricominciare tutto da capo.

Potenza dei sensori!

Mi convinco.

Chiamo il pediatra per il consiglio sul sonno mi consiglia  metodo Estivill, già collaudato con la piccolagrande. In fondo già lo sapevo ma c’ho provato lo stesso.

Devo dire che il libretto “ Fate la nanna” del Dr. Estivill o lo si odia o lo si ama.

 Vie di mezzo non ce ne sono.

 Il metodo consiste nel far piangere i pargoli con degli intervalli che vanno assolutamente rispettati.

 Ecco il metodo

 1) Lei piange tu aspetti un minuto e poi ti appalesi davanti alla culla e non la prendi assolutamente in braccio per nessun motivo

 2) Lei piange e tu spetti tre lunghissimi minuti e poi come sopra

3) Lei piange e tu aspetti cinque lunghissimi minuti e poi riparti dal punto 1

 Con la piccolagrande ha funzionato , adottato alla lettera in una settimana la cubista si è trasformata in angioletto che dorme.

 Con la gnoma siamo al secondo giorno di prove e devo dire che sembra più tosta.

 Il nazista che è in me stenta ad uscire e quei secondi sull’orologio non passano mai.

 Ieri sera ad esempio ci siamo alternati io e il capofamiglia  con l’affaccio  sul lettino della piccola per rassicurarla ma lei ti guarda, si calma, ti sorride e implora il prendiminbraccio prendiminbraccio  prendiminbraccio  prendiminbraccio.

 Ciuccio no – pupazzo no- canzoncina no- sorriso no- lucetta no- giochino no- in braccio si.

Abbiamo resistito dicendoci che era giusto che il sonno si regolarizza a 6 mesi come abbiamo fatto con Au-lola e ci siamo trovati bene.

 Devo dire che in questi momenti avere una spalla, un conforto che ti dice che quelle urla alla fine sono per una causa benefica serve al tuo morale che è decisamente a pezzi.

 Bilancio: la notte non è andata come previsto, ma non voglio mollare stasera sarà il terzo giorno del metodo nazi- Estivill… ma lei ancora non lo sa….

Ci sono dei momenti in cui Zampetta piange disperatamente, così forte, così con convinzione che sembra che niente la fermerà. A noi genitori piange il cuore a sentirla così e facciamo di tutto per farla smettere. Nell’ordine: si canta, si balla, si mette davanti all’acquario, davanti alla tv, si fa scoltare musica, davanti al fuoco della stufa, si prega, ci sia arrabbia, si prova a giocare, le si mette davanti Bobo e tutti i suoi giochini.

Niente.

A quel punto ci sono le soluzioni combinate: acquario + giochino, musica + ballo, Bobo + smorfie, supplica + dondolo. Non è facile farla smettere anche perchè questa cosa succede in momenti non sospetti: ha mangiato, dormito, fatto la cacca e quindi non dovrebbe avere esigenze particolari.

Per farla breve, l’ultima combinazione che ha funzionato è stata: dondolio sulla sedia + stufa accesa con fiamma crepitante + schermo del telefonino acceso + musica (Caparezza). Zampetta si è così ipnotizzata, ha dimenticato il pianto disperato che riempiva l’aria fino a un secondo prima ed ha assunto una espressione come se ci stesse dicendo “Visto? Non chiedevo poi molto…”

A volte bisogna essere proprio fantasiosi per soddisfare i bambini…

3rd October would have  been my Nanna’s 90th birthday, but sadly she died in 1997. However she was a great lover of her sweets. She never ate them, just made a few every now and then. In honour of such a big birthday I’m reproducing below what was one of her favourite recipes, for coconut ice. She was a real whiz in the kitchen and a few weeks before Christmas every year she and my mother would shut themselves away in the kitchen and start baking. That no longer happens now as without her my mother is down one member of a team and has never really baked since she passed away. Anyway, the recipe is below. Thanks for reading.

Ingredients

1.  350g dessicated coconut
2. A large tin of condensed milk (397g should suffice)
3. 350g of icing sugar (Silver Spoon is best)
4. Vanilla extract (You won’t need much of this, a few drops is all)
5. Food colouring  (Most people use pink or red nowadays but my Nanna always swore by yellow)
6. Also some butter (Or Marg) to grease

How To

1. Use a 23cm x 20cm x 4cm deep square cake tin. Rub a little of your butter, or marg, over the inside of the tin, then line the tin and 2 of the sides with baking paper.
2. Next Pour the tin of condensed milk into a large bowl. Then add the coconut, icing sugar and drops of vanilla extract and mix it together really well. Now spoon half of the mixture into the cake tin and flatten it by pressing with damp fingers. (Don’t forget to dampen your fingers)
3. Add a few drops of your chosen colour of food colouring to the mixture in the large bowl and mix it together evenly. Spoon the coloured mixture over the top of the white layer (In the square cake tin) and use damp fingers to smooth the top.
4. Now loosely cover and put in a cool place, leave it overnight, so it will set and dry out. When this has happened use the baking paper to lift the coconut ice from the tin, and then cut into pieces (Should make around 40, however cut it into less if you want larger pieces).  The coconut ice will  need about a day to set so resist all temptation to wolf it down until then.
5.  Finally store in an airtight container in a cool place and consume within 3 weeks. If all’s gone to plan, it should look something vaguely like the ones below.

1.  Fed And Watered

2.  The Breezes And The Sunshine

3.  Soft, Refreshing Rain

Son 1 aged 5 and I arrived at School. It’s Harvest Festival Day.  His class, all dressed as scarecrows, is singing a song. Son 1 will pop up wearing a straw hat. I said I would try and get there. And was then told the time.  2pm.  No bloody chance.  “Are lots of parents coming?” I asked Mrs Smiley. She smiled, as she always does. “Oh yes. There’ll be a very good turn out.”  Outside the school, I rang Nanna, and Wonder Nanny. They can go. “Have we got to take something?” asked Nanna. “I’ve got strawberries.” Nope. I sent in a bag of groceries earlier in the week. I hunted high and low in the cupboards. I found two tins of Lite Evaporated Milk which were Best Before Apr 2005… and a tinned Fray Bentos steak and kidney pie so old it didn’t have a sellby date. I looked for things I wouldn’t use.  But deducing that someone getting a School food parcel would not feel too grateful for Chestnut Puree and Aubergine Pesto, I put tea, coffee, tuna, baked beans, soup and tinned tomatoes in a bag instead.  

Not the easiest day I’ve had at The Office, mainly because I did 16 hours yesterday and I’m knackered. Halfway through I remembed a snag in the Harvest Festival plan. I’d promised Son 1 an after-school trip to Tesco.  Last night Son 2 aged 2y 1m had done some blackbelt tantrumming because I wasn’t there… and Son 1 had behaved beautifully.  Plus he’s managed to get up for School for more than 6 weeks. I rang Wonder Nanny. Can they take him to Tesco as well if he wants to go.

When I got back home Son 1 was throwing small plastic balls which transform into aliens around. Son 2 was sitting in his highchair eating strawberries and sweets, giggling. ”I wan’ si’ on Mummy’s lap.”  It was late, so we rounded the up for Books And Bath And Bed.  Maybe The Man was making up the behaviour last night. Could this shiny-cheeked cherub with dancing eyes, sitting in the shower, laughing and splashing Mummy, possibly be the roaring banshee who was put to bed without a bath, without teeth cleaning, and without anything?  Teenaged Niece bought the boys new pyjamas. Son 1 was dashing in bright red Lightning McQueen, Son 2 in oversized bright green Buzz Lightyear. Another Good Thing: Son 2 seems to be getting a bit bigger.  If it carries on he may even get into 12- 18m trousers…

Capita che Zampetta esca a spasso coi genitori. Capita che in quelle occasioni i due abbiano fatto il diavolo a quattro per farla stare buona e magari farla dormire a suon di Marcia del Camposanto ruotando per il centro cittadino in macchina per una buona mezz’ora. Capita che i genitori abbiano gli occhi fuori dalle orbite e pensino con un misto di odio e riconoscenza a Vinicio Capossela. A quel punto, la zampetta angelica nel suo passeggino sta tranquillamente riposando accompagnata da due zombies vagamente pensanti: al primo incontro capita che una signora di una certa età si avvicini e dica ‘che bel bimbo, è anche tranquillo’. Pazienza per lo scambio di sesso (a nulla servono copertine rosa e vestiti dello stesso colore), e pazienza se i due genitori stremati non rispondono che con un sorriso di convenienza come a dire ‘che ne sai tu di quanto è tranquilla’. Al secondo, terzo, quarto, eccetera passante che fa apprezzamenti nei due genitori inizia un’escalation di desiderio di omicidio e di aumento della bile. Alla fine di tutti questi commenti incontrano l’amico inossidabile, quello che sa capirti, consolarti e insomma esserti amico. Dopo una serie di lamenti – finalmente si possono sfogare – di fronte alla domanda: ‘ma la zampetta dorme la notte?’ i due genitori sconsolati ammettono ’sì’. E allora, cosa volete di più? Di giorno non piange mai e dorme sempre come vedete adesso, di notte dorme… che genitori ingrati! Come fare a spiegare anche all’unica persona che potrebbe capirti, che le cose non vanno esattamente così? E come soffocare l’istinto omicida ormai non più contenibile?

Zampetta, come e ancor più degli altri bimbi, non sta ferma un attimo, sia di giorno che di notte. E si muove talmente che al mattino non la troviamo mai come l’abbiamo lasciata ma tende a girare come le lancette di un orologio.

Ci divertiamo: di quanti gradi si sarà spostata stanotte? La media è 90 ma ci sono state anche clamorose rotazioni di 180 gradi! Questo ovviamente fa si che si scopra durante la notte e magari può prendere freddo.

E allora, per ovviare a questo c’e’ il sacco nanna: una specie di sacco a pelo che contiene il nostro bimbo il quale può scalciare quanto vuole ma almeno rimane nella posizione originaria e sempre al calduccio.

Semplice e grande invenzione!

1.  Who Disturbs My Slumber?

2.  The Little Mermaid

3.  Chicken Run

Tired, tired, tired.  Son 1 aged 5 was trying to get into the Big Bed before midnight last night, so I took him back to his bed, got back in with him, got him back to sleep, woke up in the wee hours and headed off to the Double Bed to try and sleep. “Mummmeee!” called Son 1.  I put him back in his bed, explained I had to sleep alone or I’d be grumpy, and went off again. Not a creature was stirring and everything was still dark when Son 2 aged  2y 1m hollered for me. The Man went in. Son 2 had hysterics in disappointment. “NO! MUMMMEEEE!” The Man brought him in to me. He snugged. Son 1 padded in after. The line-up was Son 2, me, Son 1, The Man. Son 2 span round like a drill bit.  Son 1’s arms snaked out,  insistent fingers seeking my eyebrows. The Man gave up and went back to The Big Bed. In the end, I asked Son 1 to go back to his own bed. And begged Son 2 to go to sleep.  We were wakened well after 9am by the phone. Nanna ringing to find out today’s plans.  The Man and Son 1 were upstairs in the Big Bed watching Sponge Bob.  Son 1 wanted to make a spoon pirate.  “After swimming,” I said. He ignored me, and made one while he was eating his pancake.

We went to the Town Pool. Nanna sat at the side and watched. Teenaged Niece is 18 and a champion swimmer, with a Sharon Davies figure, natural blonde hair, huge baby-blue eyes,  Californian-style braces on gleaming white teeth and an unstoppable laugh.  She was dazzling.   Into the pool, laughing and splashing, came Best Friend and Best Friend’s Little Brother.  Wednesday Mum followed behind. She took one look at Teenaged Niece and said “What did you bring her for?” “Because now I know no-one will be looking at my skanky swimsuit,” I said.  Son 1 and Best Friend were overjoyed to see each other, inseparable, and high with happiness.  Son 1 hasn’t seen Best Friend since his birthday.  The fact that they’re in different schools is a secret source of regret. But they live 200 yards from the Outstanding Village School with the 16-place reception class. And we don’t.   I spent all the time with Son 2… Teenaged Niece played with the older boys, diving in, popping up and swimming under, sleek as a seal. Son 2 is also a natural swimmer, doing two widths – each time because he wanted to go somewhere else.  Plenty of jumping, playing in the bubble baths and splashing in the warm water coming out of the jets.

Back home Nanna, Teenaged Niece and the boys went upstairs to watch telly.  I made cups of tea and started on lunch. After a coffee and a little read of the paper. I went upstairs and announced I was going to sit down for five minutes. Son 2 dropped his frog bottle on the carpet and, because he’d loosened the top, it burst open, spilling what seemed like several gallons of pineapple juice. Oh I wish I’d taken it better. I made dinner, roast chicken, roast potatoes, sweetcorn, spinach, carrots and leeks. The Man came in and made onion gravy. Son 1 came down with Teenaged Niece and made another spoon pirate.  By the time the meal was ready, Son 2 could hardly stand. He managed a bit of food, but just wanted to flop on me.  Son 1 did better. After TN and Nanna had gone we rubbed our latest anti-lice goo – which we think is neat petrol – into the boys’ hair and combed through. When they were asleep  The Man and I put the petrol on our heads and checked each other.  Love is…

1.  Souvenirs

2.  Keepsakes

3.  A Lovesome Thing

Thank Heavens and Stars we didn’t have to get up for school.  Son 1 aged 5 was already in the Double Bed with us, Son 2 aged 2 roared: “I WANT MY MUMMY!” We brought him in with us, and tried to settle them both back to sleep.  “Big Poo.” Ah.  I switched the light on to change him. Son 1 reached over and switched it off again.  I took Son 2 into the bathroom.  I’d picked up two lollies on my Office trip, and had stuffed them in my vanity case.  He found them instantly. “I wan’ lollipop! I wan’ lollipop!” “No,” I said. “You can have one later.” “I wan’ lollipop!” He burst into tears. “Son 1 will go back to sleep if you keep the noise down,” called The Man. I took Son 2 downstairs. 

We had to take Granny back to the Airport, and decided we would stop off in the Big Town. Granny gave Son 1 a ten pound note, and it was smouldering in his pocket.  I needed to take back part of Son 1’s uniform – the shop had given me an aged 8 size instead of aged 5. Son 1 wanted to go to the Early Learning Centre to look at the toys.  The Man and Granny said they’d go and swap the clothes, and I could stay with the boys. “You can all go,” said Son 1. “I will look at toys and  wait for you.” “No,” said The Man. “We need someone with you to supervise.” “I have super eyes!” Son 1said. “I will look at all the toys and make sure I see everyone. I have the best eyes, don’t I Mummy?”  Son 1 chose a PIrates and Baddies spoons set, and Son 2 wanted a little farm.   How do people keep on top of toys?  We have so many we can barely all fit in The House, and The Man and I have Deep and Earnest (= Somewhat  Shouty) conversations about how The House is full of tat.   

We waved Granny off and went to Nanna’s. No-one in. I’d left my mobile at home. We climbed over various plants, spread out the car rug, got out the boys’ tuck box and a ball from the car, and settled down to read the Early Learning Centre catalogue.  Bees buzzed and big Red Admirals settled on the Michaelmas daisies. The sun shone.  The boys played with Son 2’s farm, and Son 1 whined that he wanted to make his pirates.  Son 1 needed a poo.  It was a difficult moment. All we could do was aim him at an open nappy and fold everything up into a nappy bag.  Son 2 announced he’d done a poo. We’d just used the last nappy. We’d waited an hour, but we had to go. Back home there was a message on the mobile.  Nanna and Teenaged Niece had been delayed.  I rang them and we agreed to meet tomorrow. It was good to be back in the Big Bed.

1.   Hoarse

2.   Croaking

3.   Rasping

I’ve got a throat infection from somewhere. Voice has gone, feeling hot and bothered and sleepy. Hey ho. I spent today travelling back after a night away because of an Office Thing yesterday.  I was with three colleagues, so I didn’t have to drive. We spent hundreds of miles talking, eating sherbert lemons and ringing our mates. I was aiming at a 3.15pm appointment at Son 1 aged 5’s School – the replacement appointment for the Parents’ evening I can’t make.  I got to the School in time, and then got stuck in the queue of cars waiting to go in. Another advantage to being  a Working Mother. You have genuinuely no idea what happens at the end of the school day.

Mrs Smiley the Teacher was lovely. Happy with Son 1’s reading, maths, communication, It, arts and crafts and PE.  He is Popular And Has Lots Of Friends. A bit of a discussion about how sometimes he seems dreamy, unresponsive and slow to respond. Not as smiley on some days.  How’s his sleeping? Does he share a room with Son 2?  Ah, I croaked. We have had rather a mad Birthday Fest September.  He could be… er.. knackered. “Well I wouldn’t of course say that…” she said. Subtext: That’s Exactly What I Mean.   Poor old Son 1. And then of course I forgot to mention the midnight bed-hopping. “What is the first thing in your head when you wake up at night?” I asked once, wondering if he was having bad dreams. “I think: ‘I’ll go and find Mummy,’” he said. 

Son 1 was excited because he’s completed his third sticker chart. As we drove back I asked him how he’d  got on that morning with Granny and Daddy when I was away. “Don’t know.”  “Was it brilliant, all right, or Truly Terrible.” “Truly Terrible.” “What about last night?”  “That was Truly Terrible too.” Son 2 aged 2 was delighted to see me, and then wouldn’t let go.  Neither he nor Son 1 like my creature-from-the-black-lagoon voice.  Granny had made them individual cottage pies for tea, and they did all right.    Nanna rang. Teenaged Niece is staying for a College Open Day. Can we see them tomorrow. We are taking Granny back to the Airport, but we will try, I said.

Capita di essere in ferie, di essere a casa e che la mamma debba fare una commissione qualsiasi. 2 ore, non di più. Caso vuole che anche i nonni abbiano un impegno.

Beh, niente paura, si sta con il babbo!

Ciao Mamma, stai tranquilla, siamo una coppia inossidabile!

2 ore possono essere poche o davvero molte e ci si deve ingegnare per tenere a bada una zampetta scatenata che facilmente si annoia e cerca sempre cose da fare.  In questo momento siamo a oltre metà delle due ore ipotizzate e fino ad adesso io e la Zampetta ci siamo lasciati andare a folli balli su musiche di Guccini. La cosa strana che io ho sudato come un cammello e lei si è stancata fino a comunicarmi con i suoi mugugni “Babbo, fammi dormire che soono stanca di ballare”. Io ho eseguito e lei docile come una pecorella ha fatto la nanna.

Che brava Zampetta!

p.s.

Naturalmente il peggio arriva nell’ultima mezz’ora: Zampetta si sveglia affamata, comincia a piangere a squarciagola. Io scaldo il latte tirato dalla mamma per emergenza, arrivo veloce da lei in lacrime, inserisco i biberon nella bocca vorace che disintegra tutto il contenuto in 4 minuti, poi mi guarda con occhi smarriti “Era tutto qui??”, e ricomincia con le lacrime! Mamma, arriva presto….