4 year old - 1st birthday = toddler slide, 2nd birthday = toddler trampoline, 3rd birthday = big slide, 4th birthday = 2 seated swing.

This birthday we are thinking a big trampoline. We were thinking guinea pig but how much fun can you have with a guinea pig compared to a trampoline … and why do I keep wanting to type trumpoline and snigger like a 4 year old?

Luckily, whatever the 4 year old gets for her birthday is bought with the two of them using it together in mind.

How bad is ‘second child with Winter birthday syndrome’ in this house?

Well, let me tell you, my poor poor boy …

3 year old - 1st birthday = can’t remember, 2nd birthday = nope, it escapes me, 3rd birthday = Sportacus dressing up outfit … which I kept back from Christmas.

The 3 year old’s birthday is just over a month after Christmas. It’s around the time we remove batteries from irritating Christmas presents (usually bought by someone with no children) and pretend they don’t work anymore … It’s around the time we stuff things in charity bags to make room for the excess Christmas presents … It’s shared with the husband.

He really doesn’t seem to notice though. He had a party this year and last (see, not such a bad mother) … with cake (not homemade … did you see the muffins?).  But, I do think in a year or two we really need to address the second child winter birthday issue.

Until then he can share in his sister’s ‘first born summer birthday lucky bugger syndrome’.

Thank god we’re not having any more children … what on earth would ‘third child, can’t remember your name let alone your birthday’ get?

“Yes, put a curly ‘c’ in front of the salary?”

As I said it, I knew I had forgotten that I was indeed speaking to a 40+ year old man and not my 4 year old daughter. I hastily ended the conversation and put down the phone. I then had an ‘I carried a watermelon’ moment (Haven’t you seen Dirty Dancing?).

I am starting to notice changes to my body. So far this week I have noticed huge wrinkles around my eyes when I smile to myself in the mirror. Please note I do not spend time smiling at myself in the mirror, it was an accidental find. Nor do I chant ‘Go get them Laura, you are the fabulous!’ three times before I go to work.

Clearly these lines are caused by laughing. I like to laugh. I do not like the wrinkles. Also, nasal hair. After 30 years of just being there out of view it’s suddenly grown. At the grand age of 30 is it time to invest in some anti ageing creams and find some way to stop the nasal hair before I can plait it upwards and into my eyebrows. Not an attractive look.

We have a house, the dream house in fact. Hooray! We move in 4ish weeks. I am particularly excited by the fact that we will have a dishwasher after 3 years without and a normal persons bath. We currently have a corner bath, being tall means this is not remotely comfortable.

I have started de-cluttering the house. A natural hoarder, I have found de-cluttering quite cathartic. I pick on a room armed with a bin liner and get rid of anything that has no use.

The 4 year old is fine, a little wobbly about the new house but she will be fine. “You’ll have a bigger bedroom” I keep saying animatedly with a big smile as if that will make her feel more at ease.

She has said to me on three separate occasions this week that she doesn’t like her dreams, that they are always bad. I have started giving her happy memories to think about when she starts to think about her bad dreams. The latest one was when I was pregnant with her and she kept me and the husband amused of an evening by hiccuping from within. She thinks this is amusing and I have told her it will ward off the bad dreams. Let’s see how long that lasts.

She is still skipping with her rope at every opportunity and lassoing random people in the school playground. She keeps her skipping rope in a powder pink shoe box she got from school … “It’s the skipping ropes house”. Who am I to argue.

The 3 year old is fine and dandy. He seems unfazed by our house move. He has recently added to his people collection (Mickey Mouse and Tramp) and soon will not be able to get into bed for his people. He has his post op (grommets) check on Friday which I’m sure will go fine. I’m paranoid that his hearing has dropped again … it could be selective. If only they could do something about his foghorn voice and his snoring too … Jeez … the snoring. Each snore shakes the house.

He loves pre-school, more so when it doesn’t rain and he can play outside on the bikes, pulling wheelies and handbrake turns, much to the horror of ‘the ladies’ as he affectionately calls them. He thinks it’s OK to burp every time we sit down for a family meal, but it’s alright because he says ‘excuse me’.

The Husband doesn’t burp during family meals or snore, in fact he makes no noise when he sleeps. Occasionally I have to check that he is even breathing. This week he has discovered Twitter, WordPress and that he doesn’t like iced muffins. he is designing a new website (to be unveiled sometime soon) for his freelance work and is about to embark on redesigning my blog. All this rain has accelerated the cabbages, peas and onions in his vegetable patch which he will be unable to transport to the new house. A case of ‘look at what you could have won’.

The Tadpoles worry me and I think we shall be leaving them here. We had 30 tadpoles, stolen from Auntie Kate’s pond. I thought it would be great for the children to see them morph into frogs. They are currently living on the decking in a large box. I feed them, but they much prefer the taste of fresh tadpole. We now have around 12 giant tadpoles.

I can remember a time when a holiday involved a sunbed and a book … not sharing a sunbed with a soggy child whilst trying to get sand out of a swim nappy and shouting across a crowded beach to the husband that child number two needs a poo.

Pre children we packed a bag, got in the car and drove to France. We didn’t book anything, we took a chance. Husband and I spent a leisurely week taking in the sights. We slept in a different hotel in a different town every night … apart from one night when we slept in the car (not through choice). We ate great food, drank excellent wine and it was an adventure.

We went to Barcelona, ate tapas, drank too much, laughed even more and mooched. Perfect.

We went to the Edinburgh Fringe. Took in some street theatre, some comedy shows, more drinking, mooching and some afternoon naps back at the B&B. Aaaah, bliss.

Since having the children we have had a variety of holidays … all lovely but not much relaxing involved. Just because you are sleeping in a different bed at night and smothering yourself in suncream by day does not mean that your children will suddenly need less attention.

If I’m not dreaming that the children are drowning in the swimming pool (is it just me?) then I’m listening to them whine because they are too hot or watching them flick sand in each others eyes.

And, how many times can a headstrong toddler take off their sun hat in the blazing sunshine?

Then there’s the travel. Fly, drive, sail … take your pick. It’s almost guaranteed to give you palpitations at regular intervals.

Don’t get me wrong, there have been some marvellous moments during our holidays, but the stress levels needed to get to that point are, well, high.

I’m sure as they get older it will become easier. For one, when they can both swim I can stop having the drowning in the pool dream, right?

Anyway, I have been given an opportunity. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity for a few reasons;

1. I’m going away without the kids

2. I’m going away without the husband

3. I’m going somewhere that husband would, in his own words, rather gargle with razor blades than visit

All in the name of research

I can’t wait, in a matter of weeks I shall be …

… I can’t say anymore for fear of jinxing my freedom.

In time my pretties, in time.