1.  Happy Father’s Day

2.  A Family Day Out

3.  The Servant

Man I was wiped out after yesterday, celebrating Nanna’s Grand Old Age from 0830 till gone 11pm. I forgot to say, she loved the cartoon fireman mushroom Son 1 aged 4y 8m chose for her. Kitch. A language shared by the elderly and under-fives.  We really thought we were in for a lie-in, but Son 2 aged 21 m was up and roaring at 6am.  The Man went.  At 0730, when I went down to see them, sitting together on the big chair watching The Wiggles, I said “Happy Father’s Day.”  He’d forgotten. “I’d have made you get up if I’d realised.”  A silent and invisible licked finger wrote a “1″ in the air. 

The Office was at a huge environmental event. Cycle trails, hearty walking,  pond-dipping, willow-weaving, that sort of thing.  I’d said I’d go, and The Man said it was the sort of Family Thing he didn’t mind doing for Father’s Day.  Son 1 packed his golf kit, and wee headed on out. Son 2 fell asleep straightaway, Son 1 hung on until a few minutes before we arrived. We chatted to my colleagues, and went to look around. We got as far as Face Painting And Smoothie Making.  Son 1 was a pirate,. The moustache, caterpillar eyebrow and eyepatch we have seen many times before. But the fake cheek slash was a new touch. Wax-based, red blood running from it, like something off the Casualty set.   We set off round the trail and the boys were murderous.  We split into teams and played “Spot the butterflies.” They came alive. The behaviour switched, instantly. The Man and Son 1 beat me and Son 2 10 - 4.  Ah. Not hungry, tired, or hot, then. Just bored.

There were bees as well as butterflies, and dragonflies, and crickets. Foxgloves, cowslips, a lily pond. All in a scorching day, the sun baking down on the trail.  We took an hour to get to the first mile marker, and an hour back again.  Son 1 spent well over an hour in the Wildlife People’s tent, making a Father’s Day card with a butterfly on it and colouring face marks with felt tip. Son 2 tipped up all the sticker shapes, and I took him away. He had an owl mask. “Owl. Owl.”  Which meant: ” I would like to stand back on that chair and colour my owl like Son 1.”  Eventually I tempted him away with “Would you like some cake?” and we went for ice cream. The Man and Son 1 were a full half hour behind us, because the face mask had to be coloured perfectly. “Didn’t you try to get him away?” “About a thousand times.”  They played golf, and Son 1 had a quick game of pirates with a big boy in the playground.   As we left, Son 1 said “Can I have a servant?” “You’ve got a servant,” I said. “Daddy is your servant, he’s just not very good at it and I keep having to do it instead.”  “No,” insisted Son 1. “A servant. Something we buy. From the shop.”  “You mean a souvenir?”  “Yes.”  “No you can’t. You had too much yesterday.” = 2 Wiggles Activity packs, and a Disney Golf set. Back home I googled the Wiggles.  Bad News.  Liking Anthony is not original.  Good News. I do not need to be concerned about the “Spending Some Quiet Time With Dorothy,” Do-Not-Disturb signs left on the back of the theatre seats.

1.  Father’s Day 

2.  Son 2 at the pool

3.  Son 1 at the pool

The Man says he’ll go to the doctor tomorrow to get signed off for a week because he’s so tired.  He’s too tired to take the boat out, so I say I’ll take the children swimming one at a time.  The Man doesn’t like this idea because it makes him feel guilty, but I want to take Son 2 aged 8m because he hasn’t been for a month… and Son 1 aged 3 and a half is distressed at the thought of not going.  The Man’s Father’s Day present is a sirloin joint, so I know at least he has something to look forward to.

Son 2 loves it at the pool.  Loves sitting on the side and playing humpty dumpty, loves flying along kicking his legs, loves singing songs, loves playing with his duck, loves watching the other children.  He was fab with his eye contact, just really happy the whole time he was there.  Drank milk from his cup and ate a yoghurt after.  The Physio friend and her partner were there with their children.  The partner says he too has had chronic fatigue, and tells me to let The Man know that there is a peer support group meeting at The Pub from 1930 any evening he likes.   

I took Son 2 home, left him having lunch with The Man and took Son 1.  He was a pirate, I was a mermaid.  He was Peter Pan, I was Tiger Lily.  I don’t remember Tiger Lily getting quite as much water splashed in her face when she was rescued.  When the wave machine was on, we were shipwrecked, holding onto broken bits of ship (surfboards) and bobbing up and down in the stormy sea with the other survivors.    Then the Flume opened, and I went up with him for the first time.  All this time I’ve said I can’t go on the Flume with him because I’ve got contact lenses, today I finally remembered goggles.  And as soon as we got up to the top I realised you can’t wear goggles down the flume.  So down we went, pelting,down and round and round and down (Roger Hargreaves again,) screeching, laughing, up the sides of the tube, fast and faster till we splashdowned at the bottom. “Again, again.”  I lost count.  Of the steps up to the top.  Of the amount of times we came down.  It was great.  A fantastic stress buster - you really do have to live in the present.  The last time,  Son 1 was using his hands and his feet to get up the steps.  At the bottom he got up, stepped out, said ”I want to go home now,” and walked off purposefully towards the changing rooms.    

The Man says he can’t take a week off work because he’s too busy.