“Mum!” yells My Boy from somewhere in the living room. “You've got mice!”
Dear reader, I am sure
you will excuse me for feeling, shall we say, hard done by. What with the car that wouldn't start and the boiling hot radiators (of which more in a future Blog) I really don't need yet another Domestic Disaster. “Why me, Lord?” I can be heard protesting,
With dread, I join my son in our apparently mice-infested living room - to find him holding a minuscule toy mouse in his outstretched palm.
We've been looking for that mouse - or “Rat” as granddaughters Katie and Eleanor named it, many moons ago - for days. It went missing from a board game called “A Bird in the Hand” which I bought from the Samaritans charity shop. Whoever
donated the game had realised that one of the coloured markers was missing and substituted the rat. Playing this game when my granddaughters came to stay, both girls always wanted to be the rat. Many’s the time I had to call a halt to sisterly warfare
by being the rat myself. You can tell it's No Ordinary Rat.
I manage - just - not to clobber my son for giving me serious
palpitations. He is, after all, preparing to leave after a wonderful few days with Mr B and me so I am prepared to forgive him. I haven't blogged for several days - did anybody miss me? - because I have been entertaining, and being entertained by, my three
(Not So Very Little) Welsh Boys. There's such a thing as Priorities, don't you know.
Every morning, at what my Middle Daughter would call Stupid O’Clock,
the Duracell Bunny aka Young Morgan who slept on a put-u-up bed in my room, would start coughing as a signal that he was awake. As soon as he was sure I, too, was awake, he would be there at my bedside, arms full of cuddly toys (or “these guys”
as he was wont to call them), ready to clamber in beside me to start our Morning Conversation. These chats - one of the loveliest parts of every day - would last until interrupted by the arrival of one or both the older boys at which point everything would
descend into chaos as I demonstrated my complete inability to bring them all to order.
What a fine time we had! Starting with the Annual Beach Day, which you will
hear all about in tomorrow's Daily Blog, we embarked upon four days of Family Fun, a combination of traditional and brand new activities. Here are the boys showing off their climbing skills at the Clip ‘n’ Climb. Even five year old Morgan can make
it to the top of almost every exciting climbing wall. Towards the end of the hour long session: “Who's up for the Leap of Faith?!” asks one of the instructors. I notice that Sam is first in the queue to climb the steep steps up to a small platform
from which each leaper must launch him or herself in the direction of a kind of pulley. It was, he tells me later, “kind of scary” and he is keen to point out that a fully grown man took far longer than he did to summon up the courage to leap.
Brother James, not to be outdone, makes his own leap, his beaming face afterwards testament to his pride in not being outdone by his older brother. I, who cannot bring myself even to jump off the side of a swimming pool, tell them I am very, very proud of
Here we are, in drizzly rain, posing in the sandpit in the centre of Worthing beside a giant deck chair which bears the legend “I ❤️Sunny Worthing.”
Here are the boys sipping rainbow slush puppies on the pier (their father and I stick to coffee - you know it makes sense.) Here I am, trying to look angelic by standing in front of a beautiful pair of angel’s wings cleverly painted on a white wall at
the end of the Pier. Here we are spending our two pence pieces in the Amusement Arcade. Here we are enjoying Family Film Nights together, usually with at least one boy on my lap.
“Will you never stop loving me?” the Duracell Bunny asks me, solemnly, one bedtime. We have been reading the story of the Prodigal Son in The Children’s Bible which, for some unfathomable reason, is his Book of Choice
this holiday. Never, ever, I say, fervently. Young Morgan considers my answer, then states emphatically: “And I will never, ever stop loving you…”
It's not the least bit sentimental. Morgan doesn't “do” sentimentality. It is simply a statement of fact.
And all the sweeter for that.