With 3 boys under 5, there’s never a dull moment. Certainly never a quiet one… Buggy Blogger mum to J (4), B (2) and S (1!) reflects on what makes for happiness.

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens maybe. But birthday boys all tied up with string definitely don't rate as one of my favourite things. The highlight of S turning one has been … predictably … the packaging and gift-wrap. So this week has been an orgy of scrunching and crunching up Hallmark's finest. And S has been sitting happily in the middle of the chaos trussed up with ribbon bandages / reins / leads / instruments of strangulation (delete as appropriate).

In fact, he never seems to be happier than when at the centre of mess, noise, destruction or danger. He loves bopping to the sound of tinny audio toys set of course at top volume. He's discovered the shelf housing our Yellow Pages and is currently shredding his way through the Plumbing section. He loves hurling toys down the stairs and hovering precariously at the top step ready to make hot pursuit. And he's in his element when sabotaging the big boys' train set with the result that he's now known in our household as The Wrecker.

J in comparison is in that happy limbo where destruction is briefly not top of the pops. No longer demolishing towers of wooden blocks and not yet into the horrors of war games (ugh) he's currently happiest in more moderate pursuits. He's discovered the joys of colouring-in. He's enthusiastically learning his letters and more often than not has his head in a book. He's a sucker for sitting down and writing his party invitation list (notwithstanding the fact his birthday's still a good 6 months away). In short, he's as happy as a pig in the smelly stuff with a pen and paper and a bit of peace and quiet. What a scholar. What a chip off the old block…

B, less highbrow, is a boy of simple pleasures. Happiness is a plateful of ketchuppy sausages and a juice from the coveted 'lellow beaker. Things don't get much better than a good quiet thumb-sucking sesh. Though a bit of TV and/or pulling on his favourite gaudy character pyjamas come close. In short, he's well on the path to becoming a bloke. The way to his heart is a full stomach, a drink, some comfort slouch clothing, a bit of telly and time alone with his … ahem … favourite anatomical friend.

And as for yours truly, what makes mummy happy? Well … gush … they do of course. But then again, I also rather like packing them off to bed, safely tucked up out of sight. There's only so much noise and destruction one can take of a day before gush turns into 'enough!'

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