Downstairs, handover and through the leaves.

1. Our friend in the shoe shop checks Alec's shoes downstairs so I don't have to drag my tired person and recalcitrant toddler up to the children's department. Her thoughtfulness is very much appreciated. I remember her helping me try on boots when I was heavily pregnant with Alec: "I'll help you in any way I can," she said, anxiously watching me bend to fasten them.

2. When I drop him off at nursery Alec is howling for bubby and saying that he doesn't want a nap. I know he wants to sleep because he has a tired face, but there is no way I'm going to nurse him off to sleep at nursery. "Bubby later," I say vaguely.
A staff member comes out and says "Hallo Alec!"
I actually feel him relax in my arms. "Bubby?" he says again, but this time with less toddler-rage.
"We'll get some milk in a cup for you," she says taking him from me. "And then you can have a lie-down." He seems quite happy with that.

3. While Alec pokes things with a stick in the shrubbery I look up at the bluest sky through the spring green leaves of the Grove's famous Turkey oak.

PS: Tunbridge Wells people, Manna on the High Street is offering suspended coffees.

Reading corner, thanks and show me.

1. I really need to crack on with lunch -- but Alec wants me to read to him. I set him up a comfy reading corner by the kitchen door with his sheepskin and couple of cushions and tell him to ask me any questions. He sits down with an enormous Dorling Kindersley train book across his knees. Every so often he enquires about the name of a particular engine, but apart from that I am free to cook.

2. As our holiday relief cleaner leaves (it's her last week) Alec calls to her: "Thank you for cleaning my sitting room."

2a. In the rain and after the grass has been cut the Grove looks and smells and is green.

3. We run into our neighbour in the park. Alec calls her over to a sign: "Look, Linda, a dog! It's doing a poo!"

Wake up, watching snails and new cushions.

1. I am woken by the words "How about me having some bubby?" I have no idea where he picks up this sort of phrasing, and I'm amazed at his ability to adapt it to his own needs.

2. When I get back from the midwife the mother tells me that she and Alec have spent the afternoon watching snails in the garden.

3. New seat cushions with an interesting library print. They make the kitchen chairs ten times more comfortable and a lot smarter.

Donation, end of the party and bowing.

1. A mother friend mentions that she is preparing to donate part of her liver to her son. She brings it up almost casually, like it's no big deal. Of course it is: it's major surgery, with all sorts of risks. But I realise that I would do the same for Alec. The bond of blood and love between us would make the choice for me.*

2. The tulips at Tonbridge Castle have blown themselves out into gorgeous blousey ragged red cups. They remind me of elderly bon vivants hanging around at the end of a party.

3. A tourist seems to be bowing Japanese-style -- but when I look properly he is trying to shade the sun off his camera screen so he can examine his pictures.

* If you're in the UK and would like to be on the NHS organ donor register it takes about 45 seconds to sign up.

Deciphered, resting and a tin of biscuits.

1. I think I might have deciphered the snack-time tantrums. For the last few weeks he has come downstairs after his nap, asked for a snack and then had a melt-down when I gave him something. I thought I was giving the wrong snack, so offered a choice. Then I thought that the choice must be too much to handle so offered a limited choice. Then I resorted to "This is the snack and if you don't want it you're not hungry." This seems mean and he still has a shout about it, but at least the snack doesn't get thrown across the room.
Today I put his biscuit on the corner of the table and sat down (trying to rest as much as possible, see below).
He flung himself down on the floor, opened his mouth for a howl and then stopped. "Snack on your knee?"
He came up and ate his biscuit happy as you like. Was that really it? Perhaps it's not about the snack at all, he just wants a cuddle and a chance to re-connect.

2. I've been coming over all faint -- normal during pregnancy -- and the only relief comes from lying on my side for half an hour. Luckily my e-book can access BBC i-Player, so I've been catching up on a bit of TV while I wait.

3. The recipe makes 24 biscuits, which makes for a very full tin.

Timings, tunes and earwax.

1. Nick and Alec come back from the butchers very proud that they remembered to ask about timings for cooking the joint.

2. Alec is not happy about waiting for his lunch, but it's marvellous the way a bit of music calms and distracts him. I have a playlist for him -- a non-sweary round-up from my own favourites list, some songs that I sing to him and a few children's tunes that don't set our teeth on edge. Today he is particularly curious about and delighted by 'What a Wonderful World'. "What dis, Daddy?"

3. Alec informs me that his earwax tastes good. He makes a great show of digging in his ears, offering me some and then licking his fingers. His face when he actually gets a taste tells a very different story.

Still asleep, for the weekend and going to sleep.

1. To get a bit of a lie-in beside a gently breathing Alec while Nick moves in and out of the room.

2. I don't have much shopping to carry home so I can get a few treats for the weekend -- biscuits for tea and some Italian salami for supper.

3. While I am settling Alec off to sleep we accidentally bash heads in the dark. I come off worst: tears spring to my eyes and my lip swells up. He says "Come here, Mummy, and have a cuddle." The last thing he says before he falls asleep is "I love you."

Handover, gale treasures and working together.

1. I start to apologise for handing over a howling Alec (he is ready for his nap but not prepared to admit it) but the nursery staff tell me not to worry and carry him off for a cup of milk and a cuddle.

2. The wind has torn down some leafy twigs from the copper beech in the park. I pick one up and carry it home for the flower vase. Alec has found himself a sprig of bubblegum pink cherry blossom and looks very pleased with it.

3. I love the evenings when Nick and I get Alec ready for bed together. He basks on the bed all pink and white and warm and wriggly while we pull on his nappy and his pyjamas.

Space ship, a gift and cure.

1. Alec scrambles up the climbing frame and announces that it's a space ship.

2. Nick brings home a book I've been hankering after (it's the next Railway Detective novel).

3. A hot bath with a lot of drops of cold remedy added.

Meadow flowers, getting down to it and the games master.

1. "You should have seen the dandelions before I cut it," says my father of his lawn. He has left a drift of blue speedwell and a rogue clump of primroses.

2. The opportunity to put my head down and work.

3. The Tuesday Knights gather -- I missed the last session, the first of a new campaign, because I was ill. The party gallops enthusiastically through the adventure Meredith has set for us. Judging from the muttering behind her screen during combat rounds she has a competitive side that I didn't suspect before. It definitely adds to the fun.

Chasing, warning and be loved.

1. Alec hoots and shrieks with laughter as he runs his odd shuffly toddler run, chasing Nick through the park.

2. As I am pulling jasmine tendrils off the wall our neighbour shouts a helpful warning about a tangled cable.

3. Alec has a meltdown about his snack. Too much choice? Too little choice? Wrong options? Who knows: not me, and I don't think he does either. The moment when he reaches up and asks me for comfort.

Shopping, getting it done and reading in bed.

1. Nick and Alec come back from town with some cleverly selected books -- one combines Alec's interests in dinosaurs and farming; the other meets his needs for stickers (do all two-year-olds love stickers?) and trains.

2. We're all a bit sleepy and grumpy after our naps, but we've vowed to change the beds. We encourage one another -- when I flag, Nick picks up the task. When Nick gets distracted by Alec hiding in the duvet cover, I get us back on track.

3. To get into a clean bed with a comforting book.

Sharing, knowledge and just passing.

1. The grandmother and little boy sitting across from us on the train share their rice cakes with Alec. And for me she has some wise words about caring for a toddler and newborn. I didn't quite dare glance across the aisle at her daughter-in-law in case she was rolling her eyes.

2. "And that" Nick tells Alec pointing to a statue on a column off to our right, "is the Grand of Duke of York." This is the sort of thing that makes me enjoy wandering round London with Nick.

3. We happen to be passing just as the bird keeper comes out with a tray of fish for the pelicans.

Baby in a basket, holding hands and scampering.

1. The baby grins fatly (and wetly) from the clothes basket in the shade. He looks very pleased to be out in the garden with a few toys and some toddlers to watch.

2. Alec and B run across the kitchen holding hands.

3. On the way home from nursery on a sunny evening, to let Alec out of his pushchair for a scamper across the park. He runs into the bushes and tells me not to look.

Bones, the student and it's coming.

1. Alec turns up his nose at chicken casserole, baked potato and creamed corn. He asks for the bone, which I lovingly removed when I was shredding the meat for him. He chews it until it splinters and then sucks at the marrow inside. This is one my own less appealing habits, but I swear I've never done it in front of him.

2. My chiropractor has a tall and beautiful blonde German student sitting in on her appointments today. The patient after me is a lanky teenage boy and I can't help but think "Tee hee hee" as I pass.

3. The fuzz of palest green in the lime trees outside the town hall.

Cleaner, child seat and dry earth.

1. Our relief cleaner produces from her bag a bar of raspberry chocolate for Alec. She has also built an impressive cushion edifice on Nick's bed.

2. I thought Alec might like the hairdressers' special child seat -- but I hadn't anticipated quite how much. It has a steering wheel that (along with the digger in the street outside) keeps him enthralled for the entire cut.

3. Alec is playing in some dry earth. He squats down and stirs it up with a stick. "Steam!" he says.
"It's dust," I tell him.
"I think it steam."
"Well I think it's dust."
"It steam."

Front garden, flowers and sleepy boy.

1. We have a weeping tree, about waist high and something like a goat willow, in our front garden. At this time of year it is particularly charming and I feel very pleased every time I pass it. I cleared out the dead wood a couple of weeks ago and now the glossy branches are studded with tender green leaves.

2. I come home to find a daffodil head floating in a ramekin of water on the kitchen table. The Mother says that a little girl in the park picked it for Alec.

3. While I am reading to him poor tired Alec falls asleep leaning against my bump.

Footsteps, chasing and in the pot.

1. Alec stops crying when he hears Nick's footsteps at a little before 5am. I am glad to hear them, too.

2. Rosey comes swimming with us -- she does great work chasing the runaway Alec round the changing rooms (he locks himself in one of the gents' cubicles and shouts at us to get away from his train carriage) and then around Tonbridge Castle. It is very pleasant to watch him ranging and exploring without needing to run after him.

3. I introduce Alec to reading on the loo. We run though Pirate Pete's Potty twice, and as we start a second book (one with lots of dripping) he announces that he has done "a big widdle in the pot".

New leaves, whistling and detail.

1. Bright green leaves on a hawthorn hedge.

2. As we come through the front door, the sound of Grandad whistling.

3. It dawns on me that the 'chips' Alec is complaining about are the tiny snips of chive on his potatoes. I pick both of them out and he digs in.

Pineapple, resting and relief.

1. Alec doesn't like pineapple, so I snaffle it the last pieces.

2. To lie in bed and let my mind wander.

3. A few sips of milk for a case of heartburn.

Dinosaurs at home, details and grape hyacinths.

1. While we're waiting to see the photos of Alec's afternoon at nursery he shows me two plastic dinosaurs, both long-necked herbivores. "Mummy dinosaur and baby dinosaur. Oh no, baby dinosaur fall down. Mummy dinosaur pick him up." He twines their necks and then lays them down side by side, saying "Have some dinosaur bub." I open my mouth to explain the crucial difference between mammals and reptiles, and then I shut my mouth.

3. I love the little details that she picks out about Alec's afternoon: "I asked him about his holiday and he said 'Steam train!'" and "I was painting some letters for our springtime display and he came over and asked to help."

3. Among the artwork on the wall are some very effective grape hyacinths -- a long stroke of green paint and then little blue fingerprints for the petals.

Train, in the garden and saying no.

1. I can hear Alec and Godfather Timothy in the front room playing with Alec's Bumpity Train (it's his scooter with his toddling cart full of bricks tied to the back as a tender full of coal). Alec is telling Tim to get into the carriage (the two little chairs) and Tim is saying that he is too big. I was confronted by the same request yesterday.

2. There is suddenly enough mint in the garden that I can pick some for the potatoes. Chives, too.

3. "They didn't do that blowing in your eye thing did they? I hate that more than anything," says a horrified Nick when I tell him about my eye test (they'd used a puffing thing to test the pressure of the fluid in my eyeballs). He continues anxiously, "I thought they'd got a new machine so they didn't have to do that any more."
I say "Next time just say no. You don't have to let them do anything you don't want."

Our time, cleaning out the cupboard and cuddles.

1. We wake up and have a cuddle -- and no-one tells us: "It not kissing time, it bre'fas' time. Put your glasses on and go downstairs."

2. Our bedroom cupboard (fondly known as Narnia because it goes back far further than it should) is a mess and has been a mess for a long time. There is no floor space. The rails are clogged with empty hangers and out-of-season clothes. If you go in for bed linen towels fall on your head. The Christmas decorations are always in front of the thing you want. There's an unbagged duvet somewhere on the floor, and I know the iron is in there... but I haven't seen it for months. I pull everything out, then dust and vacuum. I cull a few things that have been kept I know not why and bag a few things up that shouldn't be loose. Then I put everything left back, this time in a rational way. I end up with floor space and an empty shelf. I could not have been more pleased if Aslan had padded out with a couple of fauns riding on his back.

3. My mother brings Alec back after lunch. For the rest of the day, whatever we're doing, he keeps giving me spontaneous cuddles. I've missed him too.

New babies, watching for Granny and a walk in the evening.

1. There are several tiny babies at playgroup this morning. They are lolling on people's shoulders and looking woozily around. I suddenly feel a satisfying longing for my own tiny person: up until now I've felt only apprehension when I think beyond the birth.

2. Granny rings to say she is just leaving. Alec climbs up on the arm of the sofa so he can watch for her -- I do try to explain that she'll be about half an hour, but he doesn't seem to care. She's taking him away with her for the night to give Nick and me a break.

3. We go out for tapas and when we've finished, Nick says "I want to go for a walk and show you off." We only go a little way, though: we're looking forward to having the big bed all to ourselves.

Finishing the porridge, tulips and found keys.

1. Alec never finishes his bowl of porridge at breakfast. I always clear the table and leave his bowl by the sink meaning to deal with it later. Then I park him in front of CBeebies while I go upstairs to dress. When I come down he has retrieved the bowl and is sitting guiltily on the rug (eating in the front room is frowned upon) spooning up cold porridge as fast as he can.

2. All the beds at Tunbridge Castle are planted up with row upon row of tulips tight closed like green fists. A passing grandmother tells her granddaughter that "They need some sun on them before they'll open."

3. To find my lost keys (they were in Nick's jacket pocket: he'd found them in his study but got distracted while bringing them downstairs. I thought they'd be in one of his pockets, but didn't quite like to search before he got home).

Apple, out on the line and nearby.

1. I hand Alec two pieces of apple and he says: "One for Daddy".

2. I open the washing machine expecting to find a load of wet laundry... but it's already out on the line.

3. To work while Nick and Alec play with the farm on the floor next to me.

Before the leaves, our guest and Nick is there.

1. To catch the woods on a sunny day before the leaves are out.

2. Of course we love Alec's company, but it is lovely when he goes down for an afternoon nap and we get our guest to ourselves for a while.

3. One of those crises that keeps escalating. Nick is there to clear up while I calm Alec down.

4. To keep Alec focussed on his supper I tell him that the paper parcels all contain elephant poo. When we open them he exclaims: "Oh my goodness, cake!"

A good boy, no change and remembering.

Here are some sketches from life that my cousin Laura did of Alec a couple of weeks ago. I think she was very brave to follow him round with her sketchbook: she much prefers to have the time and space to get every part of her incredibly detailed work exactly right.

1. The B&B owners say how well-behaved Alec was; the taxi driver who took us to the station let him sit in the driver's seat while we were packing the book; and the London cabbie said he is "a smashing talker" (they'd had a bit of a chat about whether London Bridge was going to fall down as we were driving over it).

2. The little clump of violets by the back door seems to have doubled in size while we were away (apart from that the house is exactly as we left it).

3. I settle the over-wrought Alec down for an afternoon nap and then Nick and I go through our photos and talk about our best bits of the trip.

Donkey, spider monkeys and out of the wind.

We visited Banham Zoo today and found ourselves amazed and astonished and charmed by turns.

1. Douglas the Poitou donkey. He is as tall as a good-sized horse and covered in long shaggy fur. He looks like something out of a cave painting. He makes me think of extinct giant Ice Age versions of animals -- woolly mammoths, aurochs and deer with vast antlers.

2. The spider monkeys curl up their long limbs and somersault around their enclosure. Suddenly they spring open for a quick tussle among the rocks and then leap up the mesh walls, climbing higher and faster than seems wise or possible.

3. On a day when the biting East Anglian wind is racing across the fields to warm up in the new tropical house.

4. When they ask for volunteers I nudge Nick hard. He asked to hold aloft a cup of nectar. Two lorikeets in paintbox colours thrum across from the stage and perch on his hands for drink.

Chickens, derelict and lungwort.

1. "It's certainly the most unusual view I've ever had from a B&B window," says Nick. Our room looks out over a small paddock containing the family's half dozen chickens and geese. They are endlessly fascinating -- we watch them squeezing nonchalantly under the gate if they fancy a wander round the garden or a raid on the horse's dropped food. And once the cockerel with his glossy plumes flying rushes a goose who is bullying one of his hens. I like them best when the wind is behind them so their tail feathers are blown forwards.

2. We go to visit the gardens and steam museum at Bressingham. Everyone apologises because the Nursery Line, which used to run through a working nursery ablaze with colour now runs through a derelict wasteland of abandoned polytunnels. I rather like it though -- it's an unusual landscape, post-apocalyptic. I comment on the vast glass house now full of lusty goat willow that is flowering well ahead of the trees outside. The guard smiles wryly. "You don't want to be up there when the wind is high. Glass panes flying everywhere."

3. The gardens are rather bare and earthy just now (except the winter garden, right) -- but the new mulch smells delicious. There are a few things out -- the sheer variety of pulmonarias astonish me. In our garden it's a thuggish creature with flopping smothering unhealthy-looking spotted leaves and flowers like the reds and blues in a dirty paintbox. Here there are dozens of genteel cultivars with neat, shapely leaves and flowers in astonishing intense sapphire and crimson; or shell-like pinks and blues. I want them all.

4. Peering through the window of a one-time royal train and seeing that it has a bath.