With 3 boys under 6, Buggy Blogger mum to J (5), B (4) and S (2) certainly has her hands full. This week, love is in the air. .

“Mummy” says J apropos of nothing on the way to school. “I know why daddy married you.”

“Do you love? Why’s that then?”

“Because you act nice. And because you don’t smoke.”

Of course; every man’s dream set of credentials.

“And what sort of person do you think *you* want to marry?”

“Someone who acts nice. Who looks nice. And who doesn’t smoke.”

“Oh right” I say secretly affronted by the conspicuous omission when it comes to me. I’m not claiming aspersions to loveliness, but it’s in a 5-year old’s job description to find his mummy unutterably beautiful. Or at the very least “nice”. Must do better on this one, I think. Like withholding Dr Who collection stickers until he flatters me in some satisfactory way. (Match Attax are so last month. Now it’s all about Donna.)

The subject of J’s affairs of the heart has been back on the rise of late. His betrothed-in-the-cradle best friend SB is soon to emigrate to NZ. He’s been dealing with his upset the way any self-respecting lad does. By playing the field, plenty more fish and all that. Previous runners up to the good SB have included M, T and K. But now he has eyes only for Y.

“Mummy. Now that I can’t ‘do’ SB, I think I’ll ‘do’ Y” he confides. “She’s on the same level as SB.”

I ask B what sort of person he’d like to marry. “No one” he declares. J helpfully chips in that he can marry a boy if he likes.

“Well, what sort of person do you love then?”

“No one”.

“Not even mummy and daddy?”

“Maybe L”. Brother of SB, also shortly departing our shores to NZ.

He’s quite a character our B. I love him for his obstreperousness. He’s never going to be one of life’s push-overs. More likely he’ll be the one to knock over, hook in and charm unsuspecting targets with a wink of his big blue eyes and a flash of that cheeky grin.

How could anyone resist? I also love him for his knack of selecting random people in a queue, the swimming pool or on the bus and giving them a running commentary of events as though to say, “you look like you need help from a 4-year-old. Here’s what’s going on”. Some chat gamely back. Others ignore him as though he’s a market research interviewer or, worse, a charity-jacketed student with a clipboard.

I love him for his enduring fascination with robbers. “Mummy. Do robbers live in houses?” “Yes, I should think they do.” “Mummy, do the police know which houses they live in?” Ah, now perhaps that’s where the boys in blue have been going wrong all these years in the face of a rising crime rate. Just look up their addresses on the internet officer!

I love him for the way he nods his head and wrinkles his nose with an incredulous “Really?” when you answer his endless questions on grown-ups. I love the way he points his index finger in the air when he has something of importance to declare. I love the way he makes ingenious dens from the sofa cushions and all sorts of buildings and cars from Lego (probably prisons, robbers’ homes and get-away cars). I love his robotic “I’m playing a character” voice, his sticky-out tongue mad moments, his naked bathtime galumphing and his capacity to eat a banana all in one mouthful. Actually I don’t strictly speaking love the last bit on reflection but it seemed funny, if a bit mushy, at the time.

Aside from the fruity-mouthed B, I love S and his random songs (“Swinkle swinkle” and “Pop goes the Diesel”). I love his keen sense of humour and his Sid James chuckle. I love the way he presses his cheek softly against mine and asks in a sweet and persistent way for the “playdole”. I love his vehement “pleases” when he thinks he’s getting a biscuit, and his economical nods upon suggestion of thank yous when – why bother - the trophy’s already firmly in his fist. I love his two-tone left eye, his gaping-mouthed kisses, his cosmic Lunar Jim impressions and the way he sucks his index finger to get to sleep. I love the smell of his warm scalp when he’s all sleep snoozy. And I LOVE the fact that he’s now out of nappies day and night and so … hurrah … we’ve finished, finito, all done with Huggies after 2161 days. And then some if you count the doubling up.

Let’s not forget J who I love for his puppy-like affection; this boy gives a good hug. I love his amazing memory for places, events and faces: “Mummy’s that’s the baddie from Thunderbirds”. (The ten year-old girl in question did *not* act in the Hollywood blockbuster but she bears a striking resemblance to the, luckily, female baddie). I love his top-of-the-lungs singing, his behind-the-ear birthmark and his keenness to show-and-tell even the teeniest thing of interest found in the street. “Here, class, is a button!”.

I love his appreciation of the finer things in life like cherry blossom, birthday parties and a satisfying slice of cucumber. I love the way he notices things, “mummy, I like your top”, the way he aims to please (the top may or may not have been nice, but he gave every impression it was divine) and the way he creeps into our bed in the small hours for cuddles. And I love his flashes of fervour for every new craze going. First there was Match Attax. Then came Bey Blades. Now there’s Doctor Who.

Which brings us back to his passion for Donna. I wonder how she rates against SB and Y? Would he ‘do’ her too? Not that I’ll be a pushy mother-in-law, but I think it’d be a wise move. As far as I know, she acts nice, looks nice, doesn’t smoke AND earns enough to buy quite a few Bey Blades.

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