With 3 boys under 6, Buggy Blogger mum to J (5), B (4) and S (2) certainly has her hands full. This week our Blogger hits the Bermuda Triangle.

“Mummy” intones J with exaggerated nonchalance “what’s'that on the ceiling?” Mummy looks up for possibly the 12th time since breakfast. “Made you look, made you stare, made you lose your underwear!” Ah, it's the old ones that're the best eh?

But aside from regularly mislaying my undies, it's suddenly dawned on me that there's an awful lot of other stuff going AWOL round here these days. Loss is constantly on my lips (though sadly not where it matters; on my hips …)

There are those everyday little losses that you'll all be familiar with. I'm thinking of the hideous skull-adorned sword gleefully won at last summer's fun fair, the beyond-repair roofless, door-less, 3-wheeled jeep and the party bag tat that seems to accumulate and multiply. All these things have … mysteriously … gone amiss. This week it was the turn of the plastic cup of cress sown enthusiastically by B's fair hand but which was soon forgotten and frazzled up dejectedly on the windowsill. This too was also inexplicably lost into the bin before its sad demise could be noticed and cause a major meltdown. These I like to think of as Frenetically Engineered losses; carried out swiftly and without mercy when the boys are safely tucked up in bed.

Then there are the quiet disappearances that only a parent spots or cares about. You muddle happily along with barely a care in the world and then suddenly … sharp intake of breath … you realise there’s a gap where once there was something you loved. J at the grand old age of 5½ is a prime culprit. Gone is his baby blond hair, forfeited in favour of mouse. Gone is his endearing habit of tugging thoughtfully at his forelock when tired. Gone are the cute baby words we knew were wrong but encouraged nonetheless because, well, you just do don’t you? Words like “nee nah, nee nah”, “snignal box” and “codjecar” which for reasons unknown is one of those drag-along suitcases on wheels. (Well it’s less offensive than trolley-dolly case at least.) J not only no longer uses these words, he … gulp … corrects us if we foolishly try to revive them. This sort of stuff I think of as Missing Presumed All Said and Done type losses.

J of course notices none of this and breezes merrily on in spite of his mother snivelling feebly under camouflage of the “bio” turned up loud (pronounced BO = radio). He’s more concerned with stuff like the loss of his place at the top of the pecking order when B April-fooled him, of his pocket money bet when his horse failed to win the Grand National (“all the other ones cheated!”) and the loss of his prized Fabregas Match Attax card having promised it at school in exchange for some other much hyped player. (Until he changed his mind and went with said new player and cap in hand to the exchangee and begged it back. Good call, I would've held onto Fabregas any day given the choice.)

But Fabregas Schmabregas (try saying that after a drink), the meaning of loss is coming much more sharply into focus round here. It's not all vanishing toys, cress and endearing little habits. Sometimes we lose people too (cue Twilight Zone theme tune …). There was last weekend’s snowman who eventually melted away after … ooh, minutes of hard supervising while daddy hard-grafted on it. And the Lollipop man who retired suddenly and was never to be seen with his fluorescent coat and over-sized pole again. Or the garrulous Italian shopkeeper who sold fresh anchovies that … blimey … J adored but who was sadly taken from us. J’s gone off anchovies a bit since then. These all belong in the category of Lord LuCan-You-Believe-they’ve-disappeared-without-a-trace type losses.

And now we’re facing the impending loss of J’s best-friend and hitherto future wife SB who will soon be (reaches for the Kleenex box) emigrating to New Zealand. They've very maturely been discussing the need to revise their marriage plans given the change in circumstances. I wonder how he really will deal with it when she goes though. Will he pine over her photo, get whizzy with email in order to reach across the miles, or will he just forget her and move quickly on to bestow his attentions on the shortlist of replacements that he’s already drawn up: “M first, if not her then T. Then if not T then I suppose K”. Obviously not too cut up at the forthcoming departure of the love of his life then.

Perhaps he's too busy moping over bidding goodbye to his adored class teacher Miss L who’s returning to her family in the north. This is a tragedy. The kids loved her fun but firm approach, her willingness to try new ideas and the way she said poo(r)-ly which made them all snigger. I don't know if they understand they won't see her again – and the message may have been muddied by her giving them each a plastic boomerang as a parting gift – but she'll have zoomed back up the M1 by now and will be busily getting on with her life elsewhere. She was given a good send off however; a shower of home-made cards, the biggest bunch of flowers you've ever seen and lengthy enthusiastic hugs from a knot of fiercely demonstrative 5-year-olds. Some of whom may or may not have had nits. Hmm, nice eh? You get itchy feet, hand in your notice and head off with an itchy scalp.

But while she starts … ahem … from scratch in her new post, J will of course gain a new teacher along with the new term. The beginning of a new a glorious relationship I wonder? Maybe. Just so long as he doesn't try kicking off by suggesting she’s lost her drawers that is.

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