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.
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