40 winks, anyone?

...and yes, it's STILL the Easter weekend.

I never really thought about it before, how this holiday just goes on and on. In a secular world I suppose it's something of a triumph for Christianity that the least believable part of the gospel story (and before you start foaming at the mouth at my heretic-talk, I am a 'practicing' Catholic. Some day I hope to get good at it...boom boom!) is the one that has the most impact on everyone's lives in the UK, namely by allowing us all 2 bank holidays whether we sign up to the whole resurrection thing or not.

But anyway. Enough religion. Here I am. Still on holiday. Still in Somerset. Still struggling with my parent's blasted apple Mac.

The only thing that has changed is the fact that I have put on about 10 stone over the last couple of days, what with the marathon of eating and drinking that always - but always - ensues when my family find themselves together in one place. Surprisingly - and I know you may find this hard to believe - not a chocolate egg has passed my lips. That, however, is more due to the cooked breakfasts, hot cross buns, Easter biscuits (you don't know them? Oh, you should...), pre-lunch snacks, lunch, afternoon cake, pre-dinner snacks, and 3 course dinners that I've been consuming. Quite simply, I don't have space for any eggs.

And if I'm honest, my chocolate cravings have been more than sated by the puddings my mother has concocted. Which may have included chocolate. And eggs. And, on more than one occasion, chocolate eggs. But I haven't actually unwrapped a chocolate easter egg for myself - so I think that's OK...

We're heading home later. We could stay until tomorrow but Boy 2 has started waking abnormally early.

Now, I used to be one of those smug parents who listen to other mothers and fathers bemoaning their lot when then their kids get up with the sun, thinking, why don't they just ignore them? Leave them in bed? I mean, it can't be that difficult, surely?

Aha.

Now I know.

That will teach me.

It can be that difficult. Especially if Boy 1 is sharing a room with Boy 2 and is also woken up. My sons couldn't be more different, in so many ways, and one of those is the fact that whilst Boy 2 is a little ray of sunshine when rising from his bed, his older brother will often be grumpy and uncooperative. (Yep, I just can't wait 'till he's a teenager).

Their styles of waking in the morning go roughly as follows:

Boy 1 wakes when we go into his room if it's before 7.30am. If it's a good day, he smiles. If not... I'll leave you to imagine. If we leave it until 7.30am (i.e. once in a blue moon), we usually hear him shouting "I need a poo! I need a poo! Somebody? I need a POO!" at the top of his voice. (It appears that, aged 4 years old, he still hasn't worked out he can climb out of his bed unaccompanied. Shame. Like I'm going to challenge that...)

Boy 2, on the other hand, wakes by himself, usually around 6.45am. He lies there, chatting to himself for a while. This builds to a gradual crescendo at around 7.15am, by which time either Husband or I have dragged ourselves, blinking and stumbling, to the kitchen, to sort out his milk. He then greets us with a cheery smile and a big hug when we go into his room. Bless.

But now, it's getting lighter. And it seems that Husband and I are - to put it politely - screwed. We not only have Boy 2 to entertain at 6.00am when he's been awake for half an hour and has finally lost his temper because his cute cooing and singing has gone unrewarded with a mug of warm milk and cuddle time with mum and dad, but we have Boy 1 inconsolable and on the warpath.

Separate rooms - at home - is the only way.

And tomorrow I will be investigating blackout blinds for my younger cherub's room.

The fun never stops with this parenting lark, does it?