1. Peacocks
2. Hens
3. Pheasants
For Mother’s Day I ordered: A Lie In. A Cup Of Coffee In Bed. A Long Bath. Lunch at the Peacock Playground. And The Man wading in with Son 1 aged 5y 5m and Son 2 aged 2y 6m. He did all right to begin with; after a shaky start when he couldn’t convince them to go downstairs. I was buzzed by each of them separately, but ignored them, and then heard pattering feet and stage-whispers. “You hide there, and I’ll hide here, and then we’ll thrown the cards and shout ‘Happy Mother’s Day.’” Which is what they did, laughing their little heads off. The Man came up with my coffee. The boys gave me a present. The Sunday Times, fresh off the doormat, wrapped in Little Girl Party Paper from the Card Drawer. And I had a Mother’s Day card from The Man, which is also a Good Thing, as in previous years he’d deeply annoyed me with “Why do I need to get a card for you? You’re not my mother.” There was then a bit of a crisis because Son 1 wouldn’t go away. He wanted us all to watch telly together as a family. I wanted to read the paper. He got upset. I compromised. They watched an ancient Fireman Sam video we’d made from CBeebies when Son 1 was about Son 2’s age… I read.
I was in my bath when The Man dumped Son 1 in his bedroom for hitting. Son 1 escaped, and I let him come and sit still on the chair in the bathroom. I heard male voices downstairs. “Daddy’s got a visitor,” I said. “I’ll go and see,” said Son 1. The back door opened and closed. Son 1 bounded upstairs. “You’ve got to come down, there’s a chicken in the kitchen.” “What sort of a chicken?” “A real live one. With feathers.” “What’s it doing there?” “A man’s come to the door because he’s lost a chicken. And we’ve found it.” All right. I was interested. Of course by the time I got downstairs there was no chicken. ”I hope there was a chicken,” I said, “because I have now officially Got Out Of My Mother’s Day Bath.” Yes, said The Man, there had been a chicken. First, there was a card through the door: LOST CHICKEN! IF YOU FIND A HEN IN YOUR BACK YARD PLEASE PHONE XXXXXXXX” Then a Near Neighbout had knocked. One of their chickens was missing. They had put cards round, and then decided as it was supposed to have clipped wings, it really couldn’t have gone very far. Could he please check our yard? Out they went, and there it was, huddled in the back. I didn’t know the Near Neighbours had chickens. And guess what. Now I really, really want some.
The boys weren’t bad at lunch, considering what they’re capable of. The staff were great and brought their hot dogs instantly – this in a self-service place – and cushions for them to sit on. I was instantly worried about Son 2, but I took him for a wee before we ate and he kept everything dry. We’d also been given a table by the sliding doors that open into the Peacock Garden. A beautiful view, good vegetarian food and magnificent service. Only. Every time the doors opened, which was often, one or both boys tried to escape to chase the peacocks. After lunch we went to the Playground. The Man sat at a table with The Big Pram, and I played Hide and Seek. I lifted Son 2 on and off slides, crawled into tunnels, counted and sought and ran and hid. Both boys loved it, giggling, shrieking, squealing. They both had smoothies, and I wanted a pit stop for Son 2, so we tore them away even though they were having a great time. Son 1 and I went off looking for red feathers – the Peacock Playground keeps Golden Pheasants too. Then The Man hissed. Son 2 had done a poo. I cleaned him up and changed him, and we headed on back. Son 2 got through six pairs of trousers and pants today. This isn’t really potty training, it’s more me moving to washables after all this time.
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