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We need to stop agreeing on things Rogers or you might decide you actually like me
Let’s not get ahead of ourselves now
I’ve also tapped the Barnaby’s Babes school dates into our diary. Theatre trip. Sports day. Summer Fayre. A tbc Barnaby’s Babes night out – Joe’ll love that one. I’ve even wondered about a joint birthday party for Sidney and Lila, as their birthdays are less than a week apart, which would be lovely but I don’t want to mention it to Joe just yet. He probably comes out in a rash having to make plans for next week, let alone five months’ time. I remember some other parents doing a joint bash for their children at the start of the school year and it was one of the few parties Lila got invited to. It was at a soft play centre which the kids loved. Admittedly one child puked into the ball pit and the whole floor had to be evacuated while staff did a clear up, but you can’t have it all. I remember the other parents were huddled into groups by the time I arrived with Lila and while she was happy to dive straight into the action, I felt far more reserved about my own interaction. The power mums were already in a clique, discussing which artisan bakery made the best birthday cakes, and I found myself circling around fussing over Lila rather than chatting to them. I wonder why I didn’t go over and start chatting, back then? Was it just nerves? Did I already feel like I wasn’t part of the pack? And was Joe there then? I can’t remember seeing him but the whole thing was a bit of a blur.
The children are wearing high-vis tabards as they file in twos towards the park. Lila’s been paired up with Sidney and they are bickering about how much money the tooth fairy will bring when they lose their first tooth. Sidney thinks he’s getting one thousand pounds and Lila, exasperated, is trying to explain that it’s going to be one million. I do not look forward to that day of reckoning.
Once there, we’re assigned groups to keep an eye on. I’ve been nervous about how I’d keep six kids under control when I can barely keep Lila in check at home but something about being in a school setting seems to have made the children much more compliant. I glance over at Lila’s group and she’s sat obediently in a circle as Celeste talks her huddle through the plans.
Oscar, who’s in my group, shoots a hand up.
‘Can we feed bread to the ducks?’
‘I’m afraid not, Oscar,’ I reply. ‘Bread makes their tummies poorly. Ducks like to eat special seeds.’
‘Did you bring some?’
‘No.’
‘Can we buy some from the shop?’
Persistent little thing.
‘Not today,’ I say firmly. ‘We’re going to look at all the minibeasts we can find and count them up. Who can name a minibeast?’
‘LADYBIRD,’ shouts one enthusiastic child.
‘Very good! Any others?’
Ants, earwigs and slugs are all offered up before Oscar stands up.
‘Humans can eat ants,’ he announces to the group. I remain calm and collected, even though I can see that half the children think this is a thrilling idea and are already looking for some unsuspecting insects to munch.
‘Oh YUMMY,’ cheers Sidney. ‘Can we eat some? Can we? Please?’
‘We can’t, Sid. We won’t be eating any ants today,’ I say loudly.
‘You can eat ants.’ Oscar pouts. ‘We had some in Sweden. In a restaurant.’
‘Oooh!’ chime the kids.
‘Ah, okay. Some places will serve them cooked but we can’t eat ants here today. They haven’t been cooked and they will make our tummies sore, just like if the ducks ate bread.’
‘I’m going to eat one,’ Oscar announces.
‘You can have this one,’ Frankie’s son Jack offers, holding out his left arm, which has an ant crawling up it.
I swoop in to retrieve the insect and set it free.
‘Eating ants is not allowed, Oscar and Jack,’ I say in my most resolute voice.
‘MUMMMEEEEEEEEEEEE,’ Oscar wails suddenly, his cheeks rushing to a vibrant shade of tomato in a millisecond. Celeste abandons her group and hurries over.
‘What is it, chérie?’
Chérie? Note to self: stop using French words in casual conversation with immediate effect.
Oscar’s crying now, the complete shit. ‘Lila’s mummy won’t let me eat ants.’
