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… who disappear for months then only post to say “sorry, I’ll be back soon”…

*eyes own blog and grimaces*

But.

It’s that time of year again – and I have no doubt the writing therapy will be needed. This morning I was reading a blog, and was suddenly drowned in a wave of sadness. And jealousy.

It was a simple thing – a couple of posts with pictures of the blogger with her Mum and Dad, being normal and doing family stuff over Christmas. Giggling and being silly and comfortable and warm and NORMAL.

This year I refuse to get lost in it. I will NOT. Willnotwillnotwillnotwillnot.

But I will catch up on the last 6 months. Honest…

and I, of course, expected to feel nostalgic and wistful for that golden summer when my three tow-headed boys looked like this, and needed nothing more than each other. I saw my No. 1, bright, sparkle-eyed, fit and just bursting with beautiful health. Boy was dancing, jumping, running, fizzing with his endless energy and enthusiasm and saucy fun. Jolly was just so very hugely enormously solidly gigglingly wonderfully JOLLY.

What I did not expect was the reaction of the boys. How at the tender ages of 8 and 9 they could be so wistfully nostalgic for those golden days of their ‘childhood’. How they miss the old toys we have gradually decluttered over the years. How they had already forgotten the way they played, their utter absorption in each other, the way they were three brothers, and yet one body of boys.

I did not expect to see No.1 slowly sadden and quieten as he compared his current slow and cumbersome self to that bright shining boy on the screen. The one he still is in his head.

I saw Boy watch, amazed and joy-filled as his small 3yr old self leaped about the floor with his daddy, playing, dancing, kissing and laughing together. Somehow, in the telling of his horrible anti-daddy 18mths stories, he came to believe he was a bad and hateful boy – one hour of home movies showed him this was not the case, and I watched a weight we hadn’t known was there be lifted from his small shoulders.

Jolly watched, amazed, as he fell down, giggled throatily, and got back up again. Over and over again. I quietly whispered in his ear, pointing out that the new moody tantrum-screech-cry he issues forth whenever he thinks he *might* be hurt isn’t the way he always was. That he wasn’t always so quick to fury, so fast to take offence. And as his family coo-ed and laughed and smiled and doted on the happy-shaped chunky bundle on the screen small pennies began dropping into place.

I love my big bold wonderful boys with every thing I have. But I miss my golden trio too.

Scrambled eggs for breakfast – perfectly cooked by no.1 Jolly offered me a cup of tea – and then whispered loudly to No.1 “will you show me how to make Mummy a cup of tea?”.

Sofa time with my small people, with the most magnificent cards and gifts any mother got. Sorry, I know your love yours, but quite clearly – mine were Best.

An afternoon exploring and running and jumping on a hill fort – and the obligatory game of Block. Which Blue was particularly bad at, giving away every hiders position one after another with smug irrespressibly bouncy glee, no matter how often we hissed at her to go away.

Home for movie night, and the boys ‘treating’ me – to  their very favourite burger-and-chips-from-the-pizza-shop. *eyeroll*. But hey, I didn’t cook.

From Pink - a hand-flower, and a picture of me. Yes my feet are that big and red.

Jollys card - get that Roman mosaic.

And from Boy - an acrostic poem:

M is for making me Happy

O is for Outstanding Mothering

T is for treating me sweets and chocolate

H is for Having you around

E is for Everything you have done for me

R is for being ready to help me.

And from No.1 - an origami card, plus (accidentally) my favourite quote from my hero Winnie the Pooh "If you live to be 100, I hope I live to be 100 minus one day so I never have to live without you"

And No.1 also made me this most beautiful of sculptures in Art.

Five on a hill

Always the same - the boys explore

... and Pink tries very hard to keep up

It’s just 15 minutes from home – and yet we’ve never walked there before. Bonkers. It’s beautiful. And goes on and on and on and on…

Another Perfect Sunday spent meandering, breathing, chattering, running, climbing, exploring, absorbing… and Being Us.

Pink saw The Tree first. It made her very happy, and she just knew what it was perfect for.

And so she went right on up it.

All credit to her judgement - it was possibly the Most Perfect Climbing Tree Ever.

Jolly on sniper patrol. Of course.

Blue looking beeyootiful as always

and there MAY have been a ninja-photographer catching the Family Skip which-made-Mummys-jeans-fall-down-and-ended-in-a-breathless-tumbling-heap.

Us.

I just cheated a bit for LittleStuff’s Blog Hop – created a new post, but plopped it waa-a-ay back into 2005, where it needed to be (Yes, I’m still that shonky at back-filling the past. I’ll get there one day, honest).
But if you wanted to go take a look at what The Three looked like back in 2005, it’s here.

It really was the most precious of times. The 3yr old Boy had been…horrible. For months. Honestly. He was awkward, angry and utterly unbendable. And mostly at C. At some point, somewhere, C had committed some cardinal error. We never did find out what it was that he had done. And Boy went from hero-worshipping his Daddy to outright resenting his presence in the house.
But if Boy wanted Juice, daddy was not allowed to get it. If Boy was walking along the road, he would rather step in front of a tractor than hold C’s hand. If he was wet and freezing on a beach in February, he’d rather get hypothermia than let daddy carry him.
It was so bloody HARD. For so long. I tried to stay out of it, thinking Boy would have to relent eventually. It was the worst feeling just watching C try so very hard to make things right – and never getting through. And every single rejection slicing him like a knife.
I dealt with Boys tantrums and rages and general hideous toddler-ness. But never the implacable coldness that C got.
It wasn’t all miserable – there were lots and lots of fun happy times too. Honest. But every single day was marred by anger and fury.
And so little spontaneous affection from him. I have one oh-so-precious memory of a voluntary, out of the blue “I Love You” from a 3yr old Boy. Just one.
But slowly, in 2005, he began to thaw. C kept up his stealth campaign of unrelenting love and gentle affection. And gradually we watched our mixed up Boy gradually unfurl the beautiful, gentle, sensitive inside he’d kept so tightly hidden for so long.
Then, in the August, we went away to Pembrokeshire. And suddenly, there we were. No work, no pressure, no requirements on our days. Just we five.
And Boy finally realised that here, in this mountain of a man, was a soul mate. A man who loved him passionately. A man who protected him fiercely. A man who made him laugh all day long. A man to carry him when he was tired. To cuddle him when he was hurt. To buy him ChipShopChips for the third night running just because its what he likes best in the world. And Boy finally fell in love with his Daddy again.
They’ve not really been parted since.

The picture still hangs on our wall. And still makes us smile.