1. Futility
2. Fantasy
3. Prophesy
Son 1 aged 5y 3m got into the Big Bed in the night; The Man got out and went downstairs. In early darkness Son 1 woke. He eyebrowed. He fidgeted. He tried talking. I ignored everything. He said: “I think I’ll go and see if Daddy’s all right.” I growled “Justdon’t.wake.Son2.Iwannasleep “ He vanished. From downstairs came an atomic wailing. Son 1 trooped back upstairs and climbed back in. He didn’t say anything. We both lay, still. Son 2 aged 2y 4m’s distress calls got louder. Son 1 started thumping his leg up and down on the mattress. I lost it and sprang out of bed: “You! Go down to Daddy! I told you I wanted to sleep! I told you not to wake Son 2! I’m not speaking to you all day!” I stomped downstairs and scooped up Son 2 from his cot. I plopped him down in the Big Bed. “I wanna ge’ up.” “No. I’m going back to sleep.” “NO! Mummy no’ sleep!” From downstairs, Son 1, crying theatrically: “Mummy’s not going to talk to me all day!” “Why Son Son sad?” asked Son 2. Gone were all signs of his own hysterics. “Why Mummy no’ torking Son Son?” I lay still. “I wanna ge’ up!” I didn’t answer. “I wan’ my Daddy!”
i recorded Nanny McPhee yesterday so Son 1 would have something to watch while I Nitty Gritty-d his hair. No, to my knowledge he hasn’t got them this time, but I am now spending one of the precious few hours I have with my children each week conditioning and combing in case. Why can’t someone invent something decent that just gets rid of them? Son 1’s skin is now reacting to Johnson’s baby conditioner, so if it could be something incredibly hypoallergenic that would also help. And while you’re there, can you also come up with something that cleans their bloody teeth twice a day too. Son 1 and Son 2 were glued to Nanny McPhee. “What happened to their Mummy?” I might have to change my usual answer to this one: “She did too much work and never got any sleep and collapsed and died,” because it has recently started reducing Son 1 to tears: “I hate it when you say that! It makes me very unhappy!” Shame. It used to make me larf.
After lunch The Man went off on a Business Trip, and Son 1 started doing the hyperactive-giggling-rushing-about- thing which we have finally realised means he’s upset. We all went back upstairs so I could watch the end of the film with them. “I’ve seen a family with seven children,” said Son 1. Son 2 was sitting on my lap, being very cuddly. “Mummy! I said I know a family with seven children! And there’s a lady who works in a place where they sing carols. And when she was late for work she ran up a hill and sang a song.” “I know that family too,” I said. “it’s a film. Where have you seen it?” “School.” We watched a bit of the Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. “Where lion?” asked animal-mad Son 2, over and over. And then we went to Church. The theme was Epiphany, so there were crowns and stars to be painted and candles to be lit. We sang We Three Kings, which I thought was a bit odd, but they’re the experts. Son 1 loves crowns and being a King, and his hand shot up to volunteer to pose as royalty at the front. The reading got onto Herod, and I started to fret. Son 1 and I haven’t done Slaughter Of The First Born. Herod was just hearing about the New King who was a baby, when Son 1, sitting on my lap, eyes shining, hissed gleefully into my ear: “He kills them!” I predict this will not be the first time I try and protect my son from things he already knows.
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