Raindrops keep falling on my head

This week has been lousy weather-wise, which is always the way when I have stuff planned. If I have a week with nothing really on, you can guarantee it will be glorious, perfect weather for getting out and about. As I said previously, Tuesday was Harvey's 5th birthday, and my parents offered/threatened to come over for the day - cue lots of rushing around in a mad panic hiding things and trying to create the impression that we occasionally do housework. Now, I love my parents in that deep unconditional way that most people do, because they put me on the planet and have suffered at my hands for all these years. However, the older they get the more trying they become, not always but sometimes.....obviously they're ageing but I reckon I've got a few years before I have to start spooning soup into their helpless mouths and reminding them what my name is. My mum always insists that when she loses the plot completely I have to put a plastic bag over her head and end her misery as she wouldn't want to live like that, so I have one ready, not quite sure what to do with my dad - am currently trying to find an old peoples home which supplies endless strong beer in order that he can end his days in complete bliss.

So, last weekend was spent running around like a headless chicken in preparation for Tuesday, while also entertaining the kids and preventing them from creating more mess. We realised the the hall remained in the same half-painted state as the last time my mum visited, so Simon slapped some more paint on while I was taking the kids to school on Monday; our initial enthusiasm for decorating the flat has disappeared and we desperately need to get it back. I assured my mum on Monday night that we were ready for them, whilst creating a mental list of things which still needed to be done and feeling my blood pressure soar. Simon and fell asleep, woke at 2am the following morning in a mad panic as Harv's birthday presents still weren't wrapped - found the paper and wrapped them half asleep, do other parents do things like this?

We woke on Tuesday to find the rain which had started overnight was still continuing, it was chucking down, pitch black and tremendously windy. Harvey had slept late-ish for once, so we were left with an hour and a half from when we staggered out of bed to when we had to leave for school. Of course he wanted to open all of his presents right then, and we did battle with the Postman Pat train set which was determined not to be freed from it's crazy amount of packaging. Everything had to be opened and assembled, while time ticked by and Darcie worked herself into a frenzy because her brother was getting to go to school on his birthday while hers had fallen on a Sunday - apparently the most unfair, cruel thing ever to happen to her. The flat quickly turned back into a tip and I was painfully aware that there was a hell of a lot of tidying to be done before my parents arrived.

We slung some breakfast at the kids and attempted to assemble packed lunches; it was at this point that I realised we had no cartons of drink for Harvey. Of course my children don't like the same drinks and both refuse to have flasks of squash in their lunch boxes for some unknown reason. I spent a small fortune on various cartons, mini bottles, etc. of drink for their lunches - yes I know I should give them squash in flasks and if they refuse to drink it then it's tough, but I'm weak. We had a single carton of blackcurrant for Darcie but a thorough desperate search in the fridge proved fruitless and we were forced to accept that Harvey had no drinks. This hardly ever happens and seeing my desperation Simon generously offered to come with us on his crutches and escort the kids to school while I made a mad dash to Lidl which is just near the schools for some cartons of apple juice. Finally, ten minutes behind schedule we all staggered out into the rain.

It was much worse than we anticipated; the pavements were under water and massive puddles had collected in the gutters of the busy main road. Driving rain and fierce wind made walking very tough and breathing was a struggle; it was one of those mornings when all you want to do is turn around, go home, climb into bed and pull the covers over your head. Simon suggested this but Darcie screeched at the mere suggestion of being at home rather than playing with her friends, so we ploughed on. The fifteen minute walk was endless - desperate attempts to phone a taxi failed as the line was engaged, I assumed hundreds of other people had the same idea that morning. Too late we realised we should have made the kids put wellies on - I cursed myself for being such a useless mother as my poor innocent children trudged along in the torrential rain, their feet and legs getting wetter by the second. I walked through a puddle and felt water seep into my shoes, a suitable but miserable punishment for not thinking about the wellies. Simon struggled along on his crutches and then bravely dragged the kids onto school while I veered off in the direction of Lidl. My coat has no hood so I was battling to keep a flimsy umbrella up, Harv's hood kept slipping down so I made the ultimate sacrifice and donated my umbrella to him while I dashed off to get the drinks. Simon later said that the wind caught the umbrella and nearly carried our son off Mary Poppins style, a moment of amusement in an otherwise bleak morning.

By the time I'd run across Lidl's car park and entered the store I was drenched, hair plastered to my head, glasses steamed up, squelching in wet shoes. I knew I only had a few minutes to locate the cartons of apple juice, purchase them, get to school and put one in Harvey's lunch bag, so time was of the essence. I grabbed some milk and hot chocolate in my half-blind state (someone needs to invent windscreen wipers for glasses) and promised myself a nice hot drink if I ever got home. As I was paying for the stuff someone loomed up to me and started chatting, because I couldn't really see through my steamed up glasses, I genuinely wasn't sure who it was for a few seconds. Thankfully I identified the person as Harvey's friend Cameron's mum, who wanted to confirm that her son could come to our party - her timing could have been better but I managed to have a quick conversation with her whilst marvelling at how cool, calm and collected she was while I definitely resembled a drowned rat.

Another mad dash in the rain later, and I met up with Simon and Harvey - Darcie had already disappeared into school. We staggered into his classroom, put the drink into his lunchbox, checked that he wasn't too soaked - I made a feeble attempt to dry his hair with the sleeve of my coat, totally pointless but at least it made me look like a caring mother. Harvey's normal teacher, the formidable Mrs Morgan (she does Mondays, Tuesdays and half of Wednesdays before the lovely Miss Cumming takes over) wasn't there, and another teacher was in her place, who had no idea it was my precious sons birthday. I left her clutching the tin of chocolates we'd taken for Harvey to share with the class, and waved goodbye to my soggy little boy who looked on the verge of tears.

Typically the rain had eased slightly although it was still definitely chucking it down. Simon & I staggered back home and were faced with chaos, while we were drying off we put the radio on and listened to reports of flash floods in the Portsmouth area. It also mentioned roads being closed due to flooding near Chichester, which is very close to where my parents are based. Being an ever dutiful daughter, I got on the phone and informed them of this, warning them that if they did set off in our direction then they may get stuck. They have a half hour bus ride into Chichester then another half hour-ish train journey, and my mum said straight away that she suspected the roads near them would be closed, in which case the buses wouldn't be able to run. She phoned the bus company then called me back; due to the weather the buses were extremely delayed and she'd been strongly advised not to travel. After lots more deliberation, my parents decided not to come on Tuesday, apologising profusely for not seeing their grandson on his birthday. We agreed that they'd come on Saturday instead; it was a pity but I hung up feeling secretly fairly relieved - we'd been granted a reprieve and could laze around drinking hot chocolate rather than tidying up!

Of course Harvey sulked and Darcie started her screeching, accusations and death threats when their loving Granny wasn't there to greet them after school - they were instead faced with their poor mum who is apparently "boring, annoying and horrible." I'm not disagreeing with this, but still the truth hurts. Fortunately the rain had finally given up and the sun was battling to peek through the grey clouds as I dragged my whining children home - clearly my mum makes the journey fun, interesting and mind-blowingly fantastic. I resisted the strong urge to shove them both into the main road and leave them to take their chances among the traffic and instead dutifully led them safely home. As planned, my mother phoned at 4pm and in a soothing, gentle tone convinced her hysterical granddaughter that it wasn't necessary to commit suicide just yet as they were planning on visiting on Saturday instead.

Simon and I provided a special "party tea" for the kids; we'd dashed to Asda during the afternoon and spent a small fortune on food which we hoped and prayed Harvey would actually accept. His favourite sausage rolls, dips, pringles, bread sticks, ham, chicken, cheese, cocktail sausages, some pizza for Darcie (Harvey despises pizza, the child is not normal) plus tons of pickle and various other edible things which vaguely classify as party food. Harvey was over the moon and scoffed until we genuinely thought he'd burst, and Darcie managed to smile too which made our efforts worthwhile. My mother had ordered me to spend the afternoon making a birthday cake for my son; obviously now Harvey had to wait until Saturday for the one she'd lovingly prepared for him. I'd ignored her and bought a cake from Asda, I even managed to buy some ready-made icing and decorate it for him. Our cake might not have been home made but it went down extremely well - we sang Happy Birthday ten times which seems to be the minimum Harvey will accept. The mini indoor sparklers I'd impulsively bought were also a huge success, despite my poor little boy very narrowly avoiding setting fire to his mass of curly hair.

As the kids played for a little bit before Harvey's bed time, I watched the rain still cascading out of the dark sky and had yet another trip down memory lane. I remembered the newborn I'd held in hospital half a decade ago, and wondered when that helpless baby had transformed into the little boy I now have. Harvey is such a character - he's awkward, stubborn and I freely admit I've spoilt him, but he truly is such an fantastic little thing. He's full of energy, excitement and happiness and most of the time being with him makes me happy. He's affectionate and kind, bright and funny and infuriating as he is, I defy anyone not to like him. I miss my baby and my toddler, but I'm looking forward to the next 5 years; I hope we stay as close as we are, and I feel truly lucky to be Harvey's mum.

As always, there's that element of sadness. I can't think about how well I get on with Harvey without thinking about how much I struggle with Darcie. Watching the rain suddenly reminded me of something; back when she was still tiny I remember having her all wrapped up and ready to go out, in her pram in the dining room of the house we lived in then. She must have been about six months and it was pouring with rain, I was fed up and desperate to get out but couldn't justify dragging the baby out in torrential rain. I remember wandering around singing "Raindrops keep falling on my head" quietly, praying the sun would suddenly pop out. When I glanced at Darcie she was beaming at me, for a while after that each time I sung that song she smiled. Now my singing voice leaves a hell of a lot to be desired, so something about that song must have appealed to her! I'm glad that I didn't know that day what lay ahead for us, and how my happy baby would turn into a sad, resentful child. I'm pleased I have moments like that to look back on and think yes, Darcie did once like me, however briefly.

Lots more to say but as always I've run out of time and energy!

Half a decade ago.....

Once again it's late and I really should be tucked up in bed, but being the crap mother that I am, I realised about an hour ago that Harvey has neither a white polo shirt nor trousers clean for tomorrow. I know that if I let myself fall asleep with the intention of waking up at some crazy hour and putting them into wash then I'll wake up approximately every half hour throughout the night panicking but yet doing nothing about it, and having weird dreams about my son being forced to go to school in his pyjamas due to his mothers laziness. So I forced myself to put the shirt and trousers (plus some socks as Simon subtly suggested that I wash some of those too, meaning he probably knows Harvey hasn't any clean but doesn't want to blatantly point it out in case I flip) into the machine and am forcing myself to stay conscious until the cycle finishes in roughly an hour. I then intend to shove the clothes on a radiator overnight so they'll at least be slightly dry, and then bung them into the tumble drier first thing. Of course my plan will fail miserably - I'll almost certainly fall asleep on the computer chair, wake up at 2am cold, confused, in agony with neck pains due to having my head at a weird angle, then stumble into bed forgetting about the washing which will be still in the machine and becoming more crumpled up by the minute.

I've been washing (and occasionally ironing, although I assure my mother frequently that I spend most evenings ironing her grandchildrens uniforms) school uniform for over 4 years now, and for one child this is a fairly simple task. Nobody warned me that two school uniforms are an utter and complete nightmare though, seriously it's horrendous. Both kids have white polo shirts; every time I turn around there's another one, I swear the things are multiplying. I think they have about six each (although Darcie has some more in a bag somewhere, I have neither the energy nor the inclination to find it) but it seems like there are hundreds. For every one white polo top I wash, another four seem to end up in the washing mountain, previous years if I was lucky Darcie might wear the same one for two days (sounds a bit skanky but I have it on good authority that other kids do this as well) but no way this year. White is not the best colour for my children, they're proper muck magnets and never seem as clean as other kids somehow. Darcie and Harvey often get through an entire uniform each per day, and it's horrific attempting to ensure they have clean things for the next day - hence the frantic midnight washing and drying, surely other people do this too?!

Anyway, this entry was going to be mainly about my little boy. I'm now the proud (ish) mummy of a 5-year-old, my Harv has been around for half a decade. The days when we just had Darcie (or that glorious time pre-children) seems like a lifetime ago, yet it isn't five minutes since I was sitting in the bathroom looking at the positive pregnancy test and thinking Oh my God! Harvey was more planned than Darcie (in fact he couldn't have been less planned than her) but it still came as a bit of a shock. She was three and about four months when he was conceived; Simon and I had often talked about having Number Two but were always reluctant to actually commit ourselves to trying for another baby. Serious money problems when Darcie was tiny meant we weren't really in a position to have another child, and although like many couples we took the odd chance our hearts weren't really in it and we knew it would be a while, if ever, before we put another person on the planet. I can't remember exactly when, but Simon & I eventually did the old just-wait-and-see-what-happens thing and then suddenly out of the blue something did happen. I'm my mums only child, she was an only child (as is my dad funnily enough) and her mum was apparently an only one too.....I remember seriously thinking several times that maybe the pattern would continue and Darcie would end up as our only child. I firmly believe that there's no right thing to do when it comes to how many kids you have, or what age gaps between them.....there are so many pros and cons. I certainly never hated being raised as an only child; I had privileges and attention which I simply wouldn't have had as one of two or more siblings. I had a happy childhood but wished sometimes I'd had a brother or sister to grow up with, and I wanted that for Darcie.

There's an old saying - "new house, new baby" and I remember Simon & I joking about this as we moved into our current flat on 2nd November 2004 - however we never dreamed that just one year and one week later we'd have that new baby! We chucked away/donated to charity shops tons of baby and toddler things that had once belonged to Darcie in the run up to our move, as thoughts of a possible second child were shoved to the back of our minds. Typically we cursed ourselves later on for this, as barely three months after we moved we hit the jackpot and another Rudd/Balding was created. I'll always remember staggering out of the bathroom to break the news to an anxious Simon, and suddenly our three-year-old daughter innocently strolled into the front room clutching her battered copy of "Topsy and Tim and the New Baby"....she knew nothing about what was going on so it was a very strange coincidence. We still have that book and funnily enough it's one of Harvey's favourites, I often smile when we read it.

The afternoon Harvey was born was glorious, the hospital room we were in was stifling and naturally he wasn't coming out in a hurry. My due date had been 27th October, and after having a completely horrendous labour with Darcie I'd worried for months and was desperate to avoid induction. Due date came and went, Simon & I did our best to persuade Blob (Darcie's nickname for him) to shift but I'd obviously provided him with a very comfortable home which he was reluctant to leave. After lots of stress and tears I finally agreed to be induced on 8th November which was a Tuesday, my mum travelled down from Croydon where they lived at the time, to collect Darcie on the Monday afternoon. It was only the second time she'd ever been to stay with my parents without us, it was over 70 miles away, she was only just 4 and I was panic stricken. We had no other viable options though and in actual fact she had a blast with her grandparents while her poor mother went through hell in the delivery room.

Thankfully this time we weren't ignored, and the staff were generally nicer and more understanding than first time around. I was admitted at 6pm on the Tuesday and gave birth 22 hours later, not bad going for me. It was still a bit of a haul though and not an experience I'd like to repeat. The drip was inserted wrongly which resulted in the stuff designed to speed up my labour simply building up in my hand for about 4 hours before anyone realised - my poor hand suddenly swelled up gigantically and the midwife virtually accused me of doing it deliberately! her name was Leah, she was all "I'm only 26, I'm a fully fledged midwife, aren't I fantastic and I don't need any help or advice from the doctors because I know it all already" at first I thought she was okay but she gradually became more and more annoying as Wednesday progressed. To make matters worse she was newly pregnant with her first baby, all very exciting and she felt the need to share her news with every single nurse/doctor/consultant/cleaner who came near our room. Leah complained about feeling sick, hungry and hot the entire time and I was sorely tempted to suggest I got off the bed so she could have a lay down - I seriously believe she'd have agreed!

Finally, thanks to a scary but thankfully very effective epidural, and a lovely anaesthetist, things looked up and the end was in sight. Final bit of drama when Harvey went into distress and I was on the verge of a caesarean (found out later that they were actually preparing theatre which was all very dramatic) but I proved myself to be fantastic and pushed him out as I was terrified at the thought of being sliced open! All along I'd thought we'd have another girl as my pregnancy was almost identical to first time around, but despite not having my glasses on and being drugged up to the eyeballs, I saw the dangly bits and realised we had a boy. Simon had nearly passed out next to me (poor love, it was all too much for him, I think I was holding him up at one stage) but managed to confirm we did indeed have a son (I needed this confirmation - I'd been convinced all along that Darcie was a boy and embarrassingly thought the cord was a willy when she finally arrived, the evil midwife took great delight in pointing out my mistake) I was thrilled to have correctly identified the sex of my baby second time around, still quite proud of myself for getting it right now!

So at 3.56pm on Wednesday 9th November 2005 our Harvey was born. I still can't quite believe that I have two children sometimes, especially the boy/girl combo lots of people seem to crave - it's cool to have one of each although we honestly wouldn't have minded two of the same. I didn't feel any differently towards Harvey when he was first born than with Darcie - all this "I gazed at my beautiful baby bathed in the golden sunlight and felt complete love run through me like a river" stuff is a bit of a fantasy in my opinion, I felt happy but mainly terrifically relieved that I'd survived labour, a bit shell shocked and totally exhausted!

With Harvey, things have been different though. Somehow I clicked with him much more easily than I ever have with Darcie, in theory it shouldn't be like this as I have more in common with her in many ways. Harvey has always, always wanted me, he's never pushed me away like Darcie does and I reckon that's the main difference between them. It's rare than he doesn't want to go out with me, or do something with me, or have a cuddle and I suppose he was a bit of a Mummy's boy when he was tiny and perhaps still is. Harvey's open and loving towards me, Darcie's resentful and angry, sometimes she doesn't even seem to grasp why I'm living with her. It's like she doesn't see me as her mother, I'm not sure why though.

It's hard to remember Harvey's baby days now, which makes me sad - Darcie seemed to be a baby for a long time, and I can still vividly remember little things about when she was tiny. I think maybe it's a first baby thing; with Harvey I had less time to enjoy him sadly as I obviously had a four-year-old who needed me too. We definitely have a bond though and a fairly normal relationship which I can't achieve with Darcie. I know she adores him, but she was absolutely desperate for a sister, something she reminds me of frequently. I feel guilty pretty much constantly anyway, but I do feel especially guilty sometimes that she didn't get her little sister - would things be any different if Harvey had been a girl? Deep down I don't think so, but she might be happier, she might like me more if I'd had a girl, or even if we hadn't had another child. I wanted Darcie to have a sibling, someone to grow up with, to have something I never had, but was this the wrong decision? Are some kids just meant to be only children? I know all this stuff with her isn't simply about Harvey, it's so much more complicated than that, but did we make a mistake? Personally I know having my little boy isn't something I will ever regret, he's my baby and I'm so glad that I've got two children. But was it the right thing for her, we'll never know I suppose. Occasionally I wonder if we should have a third baby, hopefully it would be the sister she longs for (although my gut instinct is that we'd get another boy) and this would make her like me. It's sad though, and definitely not a reason to bring another child into the world.

I keep looking at Harvey and wondering where my baby and then my little boy have gone. He's still so little but suddenly seems so big at the same time if that makes any sense. All along I've dreaded him copying Darcie and hating me too, recently he's started telling me to go away occasionally which hurts so much. I know he wants me to leave the room because then Darcie won't start screaming, but it's awful, even though he follows this with "I still love you" which makes it slightly better. My poor little boy is clearly torn between his sister and his mum, it's like we're in two different camps and he has to keep running between them, not sure where his loyalties should lie. I try my best to assure Harvey that it's okay if he wants to be with her and not me, and that he can love both of us, but sometimes I get angry and hate myself for it. It's bad enough that Darcie hates me, but it feels like she's trying to destroy my relationship with Harvey too and turn him against me, although she probably isn't doing this consciously. She lashes out at me regularly (her current thing is to thump and slap my arm, she's a strong girl and my right arm is covered in bruises and really hurts at the moment) and now Harvey has started pushing me and kicking me, not often but sometimes. Of course he's probably copying people at school and at the moment he's utterly exhausted and overwhelmed with it all which makes him ratty, but......I have these moments of sadness when I wonder if he'll turn out just like her. Logically I know he won't, Harvey reacts very differently to me most of the time and little boys often have violent tendencies but sometimes I hate Darcie for doing things which he copies.

I keep meaning to write about Harvey & school plus the art therapy and counselling which is now happening but get sidetracked every time! It's now pushing 1am and the noises from the washing machine seem to have subsided.....better go and rescue the uniform as I can feel my eyes slowly closing.........zzzzzzzzzzz

Halloween Happenings

Just taking a break from my online searches for adoption agencies......I typed "desperate for someone to adopt my children" into Google and it threw up some interesting sites!

What I really need tonight is alcohol and lots of it, but stupidly I resisted buying a bottle of wine while I was in Tesco this afternoon. These days I'm not a big drinker (truthfully) but I could easily sink a bottle of dry white right now. This might actually be a good idea - my precious son insists on sleeping next to me in bed, and by around 5am is wide awake and ready to start the day. Simon usually staggers into the front room and collapses on the sofa at some point during the night, worryingly he often doesn't have any recollection of his journey from our bed to sofa, and therefore wakes up in a confused and disorientated state. Harvey starts the process of waking me up by peeling my eyelids back and asking random questions until I finally surrender and stop my feeble attempts to hold him in a horizontal position on the bed. If I drink myself into a stupor and therefore cannot be roused by Harvey at the crack of dawn, then my theory is that he'll simply be forced to stay in bed - he isn't brave enough to walk the dozen or so footsteps from his comatose mother to his snoring father on the sofa alone in the semi-darkness. Simon will be happy not to be disturbed by his son and heir demanding to play Lego Batman on the wii before 5am - I have made a mental note to stock up on alcohol for tomorrow night. I remember knocking back 7 pints of cider and still functioning in my student days, now I'm under the table after two glasses of wine so at least my plan will be a cheap one.

So yesterday was Halloween and a milestone for my oldest child. Darcie went to her friend Evelyn's house and stayed overnight - with the exception of the (reasonably successful) school sleep over recently, and frequent trips to my parents house, she has never slept away from home before. Last school year, Darcie got locked into a strange friendship with a boy called Kamil (have no idea how to spell his name, but I'm guessing that's fairly accurate) who admitted he didn't like her because she isn't a Muslim, didn't want to touch her and considered her to be generally stupid and ridiculous. Despite this, Darcie and Kamil were "best friends" throughout the entire school year to the virtual exclusion of anyone else. Darcie initially ignored warnings from us and my parents that this friendship was doomed, but for some reason eventually decided over the summer holidays that she should find some friends who actually like her. Thankfully Kamil seems to have disappeared into the sunset and Darcie now has a little group of three or four female friends - this is more normal but sadly involves endless drama. They bicker and fall out constantly and at least once a week Darcie dissolves into tears at home because one of them isn't her friend any more. Stressful as this all is, it seems a much more normal set-up than being isolated with a peculiar Muslim boy (just going to state here that I have absolutely no objection to my children being friends with Muslims, etc. I had several friends from other cultures as I was growing up) who quotes random religious things and refuses to touch her in case he's contaminated with Christian germs.

Several weeks ago, Darcie introduced us to one of the members of her over-dramatic group of friends, Evelyn, whilst we were in the park one Saturday. Evelyn seemed normal; very toothy and gangly but showed no outward signs of insanity and was polite when we generously gave her a mini bottle of Pepsi Max. We also met her slightly rough around the edges Nan, who was angrily pushing Evelyn's baby sister in a buggy. A week or so ago, Darcie mentioned that Evelyn had invited her over for Halloween and that her Nan was going to approach me in the playground. I was stupidly nervous about this looming encounter, and spent days worrying - I ensured I appeared friendly and approachable in the playground in preparation. Sure enough one afternoon the slightly fierce Nan asked if Darcie could go over on Halloween and stay overnight. Her daughter, Evelyn's mum (also called Claire, I often find myself getting angry and defensive when I come across someone else with my name, it's wrong somehow - unfortunately my supremely unimaginative parents ensured that I will spend my entire life surrounded by people who share my first name) apparently works "all the time" a fact which obviously cannot be completely true as nobody can work all the time, but I wisely didn't quibble with that statement. Nan is left doing all the school runs plus caring for the baby, which seems slightly unfair and explains her scruffy appearance and defeated, slightly angry attitude. Anyway phone numbers were exchanged and I managed to swallow my nerves and respond in a suitably grateful and enthusiastic manner which for once put me in my daughters good books.

After several text messages to and from the elusive Evelyn's Mum, I'd managed to work out what road she lives on, and she'd offered to collect Darcie at 2pm on Sunday 31st, feed her, take her trick-or-treating, put her up overnight and deposit her at school the following morning. I pointed out that Darcie would have her Halloween costume, clothes from Sunday and night things with her which I would need to retrieve. As I was due to take Harvey into infant school, right next door to the girls junior school, it seemed logical that I would meet Darcie in the playground before school to collect her things. All sorted out and we were left with one very excited child who was desperate to escape from the hell which is her own home and into the safe haven which is Evelyn's house.

Fast forward to Sunday, and as predicted it was a day full of tension. I was feeling apprehensive about the whole sleep-over deal, and acutely aware that something usually goes horribly wrong in these situations. I had to pack countless things for Darcie to take, and was expecting an explosion at some point during the day. She just about held it together all morning, but the explosion came when I asked her to help me pack her things. Now, to me this isn't at all unreasonable - she's 9 year old, and it wasn't like I was asking her to organise her stuff alone. Simon & I have recently agreed that Darcie needs to start taking more responsibility for herself, and I politely asked her to come with me into her room and help sort out what she needed/wanted to take to Evelyn's. I realised the process was going to involve several bags, and also wanted Darcie to know where I was putting everything.

This honestly didn't strike me as unreasonable, but my request triggered the screaming session which had been brewing all day. Darcie swung between flat refusal to stand up and walk into the bedroom and wild accusations that I was plotting to kill her. I got seriously, seriously annoyed and said some horrible things as at the moment I'm feeling like her servant. I've run around after her for 9 years and I'm getting sick of it, she isn't a baby and she needs to learn to think for herself sometimes. Darcie won't even walk into the kitchen and get herself a drink; I have to go into the front room, ask what she wants, go into the kitchen, make it and carry it to her. Okay this is fine sometimes, but all the time? I feel like an unpaid waitress.

So, of course I had to get angry and lose the plot, which just made everything worse. Harvey got upset, Simon got upset and angry, and the whole thing just escalated. It was so silly, all because Darcie just won't ever do as I ask. I finally gave in and chucked her uniform for Monday into her school bag, night things into another bag and her Halloween costume (witch outfit courtesy of my mum) into a carrier bag. I couldn't bring myself to not pack something vital, although I was sorely tempted to. The nasty side of me considered deliberately not packing the costume, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it.

We virtually threw a roll at Darcie for her lunch, and I darted off to get changed before Evelyn's mum arrived. The row had subsided but I was still angry; typically while I was in the bathroom they turned up early and whisked Darcie off with them. I didn't even really say goodbye; this was 2pm on Sunday and I was suddenly aware of just how long it was until 8.30-ish on Monday morning when I'd next see my daughter. All afternoon I felt sad; the half eaten roll she left behind, the half drunk drink all reminding me of what a crap mother I am. My little girl had been so excited, and I felt I'd spoiled things, I shouldn't have asked her to help me pack. All I'd wanted was for us to get her stuff ready together, to chat about all the things she'd be doing with Evelyn and have a bit of fun. I'd wanted to give her a hug and a kiss and wave her off, telling her to have a fantastic time, maybe she might even have a few wobbly moments and confess to being nervous. I'd have been nervous at her age, going off to a house I'd never been to before, not really knowing my friends family, and realising I'd be there all night. I'd have wanted my mum to reassure me, but as always Darcie didn't want me. All she wanted was to get away from me.

As well as feeling sad all afternoon, I also felt guilty. Guilty about the argument, sure, but also guilty because things at home are easier without Darcie. Harvey misses her like crazy and can be a pain as he wants someone to muck around with, but in many ways he's happier when she's not here. There's no real tension, we can relax and not worry about another row erupting. Of course it isn't all Darcie's fault, but she causes so many problems, she makes Simon & I feel physically ill. She upsets Harvey, and I honestly feel he's torn between loving her and hating her sometimes. At one point on Sunday afternoon, Darcie was almost purple with rage, screaming "please, please...." over and over again. I grabbed hold of her and shouted "what the hell is it that you want?" I looked into her eyes which are so much like my own (the only way she vaguely resembles me physically, she's a complete Rudd clone) and tried to get through to her, but there was nothing there, I may as well have been shouting at a brick wall.

Despite all this, I missed her. I hoped that I'd packed everything, thought about her while we were baking Bat cookies with Harvey before tea, and hoped she was okay. I didn't have the confidence to get on the phone to Evelyn's mum and check everything was okay, I chickened out and sent a text instead, around tea time. No response. I cursed myself for not giving in and providing Darcie with the fantastic super doper mobile she's always begging for, true we'd be bankrupt as she'd phone and text random people constantly, but at least she could have let us know she was okay. We chucked Harv in the bath and got him to bed, still no response from Evelyn's mum, A.K.A. The Other Claire. I ate my tea imagining newspaper headlines "Tragic 9-year-old chopped into pieces and microwaved by schoolfriends Mum", "Appalling mother heard shouting abuse at daughter; just five hours later innocent Darcie was raped and murdered" just as I was deciding what to wear for the TV appeal and getting vaguely excited about appearing on Crimewatch, a text came through. It was from Evelyn's mum; all was fine, Darcie was being good and the girls were just heading to bed. Relief washed over me, the poor woman hadn't replied earlier as she'd been distracted with the cooking. Of course I realised a text meant nothing; in theory Darcie could be buried under their patio Fred West style (yes I'm a huge crime fan, I read too many crime books and fantasise about studying Criminology) but all I could do was assume my little girl was having a fantastic time.

I drew the curtains in Darcie's room, and tried to ignore her empty bed, tried not to think about all the nights she lies there sobbing for no apparent reason. Too late I realised that her beloved Leopard soft toy that she's had since she was at nursery was still on her pillow, useless mummy had forgotten to pack it. I didn't sleep that well, and woke up to find a note from our neighbour asking us to take her mental son into school for her (he's in Darcie's year and is a less than pleasant little boy at times, putting it politely) the poor woman had just got too drunk and was too hungover to take her child to school, understandable really.

Harvey had been awake since around 4.30am and was weary before we ever left home, with Lloyd from opposite in tow. He entertained me with tales of how his mum lets him watch 18-rated films and justifies this by covering his eyes up when the really scary/rude bits come on! Just as we approached school, a car horn honked and I looked up to see Evelyn's Nan grimacing behind the wheel of a large silver car while Darcie waved like mad from the back seat. Once again relief washed over me, and for a few seconds all I could think was "she's OK." of course, logically, I knew she'd be absolutely fine, and I hadn't expected to feel so relieved. We caught up with Nan, Darcie and Evelyn just as they were clambering out of the car, leaving Evelyn's baby sister Lily wailing pitifully from her car seat. Darcie was in her uniform, hair looking vaguely like it had been brushed, but with green Halloween make-up still all over her face. I didn't have time to fuss though, I thanked Nan profusely who assured me that Darcie had been really good, and then we dashed across the road to school. Surprisingly all my darling daughter wanted to do was get away from me, I cursed myself for not bringing some baby wipes for her face and resisted spitting on my fingers and wiping the makeup off as that seemed a bit cruel in front of her mate. She handed me her bags, I gave her her lunch box and then she was gone.

Lloyd had vanished (hopefully) in the general direction of his classroom so all I had to do was deposit Harvey at his school and then walk home, suddenly feeling very alone. As I trudged back lugging my daughters things, I marvelled at how the little baby I'd once pushed in a buggy, and who had been so dependant on me for everything, could survive perfectly well without me. Recently I've reassured myself several times that my kids will always need their mum, but the truth is that one day Darcie won't need me at all. The scary bit is that I don't reckon that day is very far away.

I often think that this is all a dream, any minute I'll wake up and realise that I haven't really got two children, that all the responsibility and hard work has slipped away, it was never real. I ask myself how I'd feel if I woke up and realised that Darcie never existed, that she was just part of a dream. I'm sad to say that I'd feel relieved, glad that I don't have to battle with her any more, glad that my life isn't really like this. But also, I'd feel devastated. I look at my daughter sometimes and feel so proud of her; I grew this child, she wouldn't be here without me, we keep her alive and her good qualities are probably because of us. I look at her during the good times and think how beautiful she is, how kind and what a fantastic sister she is, Harvey is truly lucky to have her as his sibling. I wouldn't want not to be her mum, for this to be a dream, but I want it to be better.

Simon & I were saying just today that things can't go on as they are, we need to change the way we deal with Darcie and how we function as a family. There's a scene in one of my all time favourite films, "Riding in cars with boys" (or riding in cars with centipedes Simon calls it, he loathes the film) where the main character Drew Barrymore talks about her son. She says something along the lines of "I don't know if I REALLY love him, or if I've got to love him." I often think that applies to my relationship with Darcie, horrible as it sounds. Sometimes though, like when I saw her face in the back of Evelyn's nan's car and I knew she was okay, I realised that I REALLY love her.

Christ now it's getting late, Harvey fell asleep before 7pm tonight after wailing, sobbing and screaming through sheer exhaustion and refusing point blank to eat a bite of food so I'd better get some sleep before he starts peeling my eyelids back at 4am and asking if burglars have teeth and other random questions!

I'll be back.........

Storybook Love

For me, some songs have always triggered memories, and I'm instantly transported to another time and place when I hear them. Abba's "I have a dream" for some reason always reminds me of being at Infant school, and Chris De Burghs songs make me almost smell my mums roast dinners as she used to play an album of his some Sundays while she cooked. I realise I'm totally showing my age now, yes I grew up in the 80s/90s, yes Kylie & Jason will always have a special place in my heart and no, I'm not ashamed of that!

The song that affects me the most and never fails to create a huge lump in my throat is "Storybook Love". Theoretically I shouldn't know this song exists as it's never played on radio stations which I tune into, and the film which it's from, "The Princess Bride" isn't one I'd normally watch. However, that's one of Simon's all-time favourite films (I've seen it a couple of times and despite insisting it's not my thing, I suddenly have a strange urge to watch it) and he's had the soundtrack forever (well for the duration of our relationship which is practically forever)

I've recently added "Storybook Love" to my list on Spotify and when I feel like torturing myself I listen to it. The song itself isn't torture, but the memories it sparks kind of are. That song always transports me back to being in our bedroom of our first official home together so many years ago now, September 2001. As I said in my very first post here, that month was the climax of a very tough time, and I still remember how surreal it all was. When I look back I realise just how young and scared Simon & I were, and how we were doing our very best to be brave, and also how flipping proud we were to have secured ourselves a home. It had been a real struggle but thanks to Simon getting a job at the eleventh hour after being let down by several people (he started work on 17th September which was a Monday, six days before our baby was due) and a substantial loan from Mr Barclays Bank which was a godsend at the time but later proved to be a millstone around our necks, we had a house. We'd done it, and the house initially was very impressive - to us, anyway; it was just a fairly standard three-bedroom terraced job - and so exciting. I still remember the letting agent handing the keys over, wishing us good luck and disappearing, leaving us standing uncertainly in the hall of our very first home.

So anyway, the song - our room was fairly big, the biggest bedroom I've ever had actually, and Simon's parents ordered us a double bed. While Darcie was still just about a bump, we did lots of shopping (courtesy of said loan, the bank actually froze Simon's card as we were spending so much they were convinced it had been stolen and someone was going mad in Argos with it!) one of the things we bought, the reason for this escapes me now, was a single bed from a cheap shop - in all honestly I think we were so shell-shocked we ran around buying things randomly! I also had way too much fun chosing a king size duvet and covers for our new bed. However, when the new bed arrived, rather than a double mattress the bloody store messed up and only provided a single one. So we had a double bed frame with single mattress, a wobbly and slightly dubious single bed, and a cool yellow and green sofa bed which didn't go with anything but had been a real bargain! As often happens, sending something back to be replaced with the correct item is an unbelievable nightmare; after lots of threatening phone calls Simons mum finally convinced the store that two people normally sleep on a double bed and unless they're both anorexic a single mattress will not suffice. While we were enduring the seemingly endless wait for our replacement mattress, we had to sort out alternate sleeping arrangements - Simon drew the short straw and crashed on the single mattress on the double bed frame while I got the wobbly single bed. If only we'd been forced to sleep in separate beds 9 months previously then our lives would have been much simpler, a fact we were suddenly grimly aware of!

Darcie arrived just a few days later, and the bed situation remained the same. She slept in her Moses basket near the window (we quickly realised single glazing equals one hell of a draught, if she'd been less sturdy then she'd have caught pneumonia) while I remained on the single bed, next to the radiator. My prize for surviving labour was the rights to the king-size duvet, I have no idea if Simon even had a duvet but I clearly remember him cursing every time he rolled off his single mattress island onto the cold, hard metal bed frame! We had yet to figure out the ageing central heating system which at that stage came on and off randomly, in fact it remained temperamental for the entire three years we would live in that house. I clearly remember waking up cocooned in the kingsize duvet, pouring with sweat as the radiator next to me had suddenly come on full blast, to the sound of a strange noise. It must have taken me a full ten minutes to identify the alien sound while attempting to extricate myself from the duvet prison - with a jolt of horror I realised it was my newborn baby sobbing hysterically for milk while her useless mother slept on! It was that dead time of night, about 2-3am, ages since bedtime and ages until morning, and Simon and I fought with the screaming pink blob while every single other person in the entire world was happily fast asleep.

For the first few weeks of her life, Darcie hated the bedroom light being turned off, clearly being used to always having her own personal lamp in my womb. We eventually invested in a lava lamp which she loved, but initially we left the main light on - even then it was easier to give in than argue with her. It was during one of these endless nights that Simon put the soundtrack to "The Princess Bride" on the stereo, either to drown out the desperate cries of the infant or in a vain attempt to comfort her. The song "Storybook Love" will forever remind me of those early chaotic days of motherhood, when it was all so new, so surreal and so terrifying. That song transports me back to that shaky single bed, the smell of the new duvet wrapped around me, and our mutual silent prayers "please stay asleep, please stay asleep, please don't wake up yet" as Simon and I listened to our baby thrashing around in her Moses basket.

The thing is with life, sometimes the hardest things are better in your memories. I often wish we could be in that place again, to feel what it was like then. I'm sure some nights Simon & I lay there having whispered conversations about what kind of child Darcie would grow into, and how fabulous it would be when she was old enough to do her own thing, and be a companion for us. I know those early months and then years would prove to be the biggest challenge of our lives, and we'd be stretched emotionally more than we could ever have imagined, but they were wonderful days. Looking back now, I realise just how young I was, but also how well I did - with Simon at work, Darcie and I spent 10 hours a day together, and we both survived. Sure sometimes I wanted to throw her out of the window but that's normal, any parent who says they've never felt like that is lying. Having a child means endless sacrifice; putting someone else's needs before your own constantly is indescribably hard. Simon & I had made our choice and I'm proud of how well we coped in those days, apart from the occasional visit to my parents, we literally never had a break. We had no friends or family nearby to really help us out, and we realised we'd have to cope just the two of us. We didn't spend a single night away from Darcie until she was almost 4; we struggled and we had our problems but I honestly believe we did our best for that baby.

Every time I listen to "Storybook Love" I find myself choking up, and asking the same old question: what went wrong? I wish with all my heart sometimes that I could have my baby girl again and get it right this time. Darcie is so unhappy, she's lonely and sad most of the time which is heartbreaking as I never imagined any child of mine would be miserable. Over the past few weeks she's developed a habit of screaming "GO AWAY, just GO AWAY!" at me; it's amazing how hurtful two words can be. I'll walk into her bedroom, or the front room, or even sometimes my own room if she's in there, and I'll be yelled at to leave, like some animal. It makes me so angry as Darcie has absolutely no right to order me around, I truly resent being told where I can and can't be in my own flat by a 9 year old! Underneath the anger there's an underlying sadness though, why doesn't she want me near her? This is the child who I've given up so much for, looked after for nine years and yet she can't abide me. I often lose my temper with Darcie, I defy anyone not to, but I'm not the most patient person in the world. I've said to her that I wish I'd put her into nursery at three months and got a full time job rather than staying at home, I bet she wouldn't resent me like she does if I'd chosen to do that. Some kids hardly ever see their parents; Darcie has two parents who spend so much time with her, and have changed their entire lives for her. I could have had a good job by now, we could have had a nice house, car, holidays abroad, etc. with a bit of luck. But no, I opted to stay at home with Darcie (and later Harvey) so she didn't feel unwanted and resent me - not expecting her to be grateful but blind hatred in return seems a bit unfair!

I have dark moments when I honestly wonder if Darcie would be better off without me. I don't make her happy, perhaps if I wasn't around then she might behave and feel differently. A couple of weeks ago she screamed at me to go away for hours, finally I flipped and walked out of the flat. I stood outside the front door (having no shoes on, no coat and no money meant I couldn't go far, if I ever leave I'll have to think it through properly!) listening to Harvey screaming hysterically for me, devastated that I'd gone. Darcie quite clearly just did not care, she showed no remorse or worry. I came back in after a few minutes as my little boy was heartbroken (I suspect that he was panicking that with me gone his daddy might make him sleep in his own bed) but all I received from my daughter was vague annoyance that I'd come back in. Does Darcie realise that I'd never really leave her and that's why she wasn't bothered? Or was it that she simply wouldn't care if I disappeared?

I think I mentioned that Darcie was on a list for Art Therapy previously, after being stuck in the system for months we finally have an appointment for her on Friday. The building we'll go to is on the sprawling grounds of St James, a hospital for people with mental health problems. Funnily enough it's very near to the university campus where Simon & I lived many moons ago; there used to be a phone box near the driveway where I often called my parents from - this was 1997/8, pre-mobile phone days! I think that phone box is gone now, but I remember all the hours I stood in it listening to my mother rattling on about Eating Proper Meals, Keeping Warm and Shopping Economically whilst silently praying that she'd shut up and send me some cash! (this was also before the days of transferring money online which must be a godsend for poor students now) I never, ever imagined that I'd be taking my daughter to St James Hospital for what is essentially mental health treatment. I'd like to state here that I don't think mental health issues are anything to be ashamed of, but I doubt any parent wants their child to be placed in that category.

As far as I know, Darcie's Art Therapy will be every Friday morning, which means she won't be in school until lunchtime (ironically she's furious at the thought of missing art!) Will it be worth risking the wrath of the headmistress and affecting my child's attendance record? I hope so. I have my doubts but I hope this therapy helps Darcie to express and deal with some of her anger, resentment and jealousy. While she's having it, Simon & I will be attending a counselling session in the same building - we kind of resent having to do this as most professionals treat us like idiots and assume that we're in this situation because of our incompetence. (very nearly wrote impotence then which would bring a whole new dimension to this!) I expect we'll be spoken to in a patronising way and asked questions like "now, when Darcie gets angry is it best to pour boiling water all over her or walk away calmly?" We'll give the counselling a go though, it might help in some way.

Something new is happening on Friday (it's a big day for us - the therapy/counselling then Simon has a diabetes appointment in the afternoon, can life get any more exciting I ask myself?) Darcie will be spending the night away from home, and won't be with her grandparents! Her school has organised a giant sleepover for kids in Year 4, so she'll be sleeping on the assembly hall floor. I must be getting old as I'd be very unwilling to sacrifice my warm soft bed (even if the covers are unironed and I'm forced to sleep with a wriggly four year old who talks in his sleep and randomly demands drinks throughout the night) for a cold stone floor. We initially refused point blank to sign the slip and pay the £10 (the school are being very vague about what this money is being used for, "enhancing school experience in the future" was the weak explanation offered I think; I reckon the unlucky members of staff picked to sleep in school overnight will pocket the money themselves which I can't blame them for in some ways. Or maybe the money gathered will be put towards a face transplant for the headmistress, not being unkind but she has to be one of the ugliest women on the planet. Yep, I'm being unkind.) Darcie screamed and moaned at us for weeks, declaring Simon & I to be the cruellest parents in the world, something I take great pride in. Apparently every single person in her year is going to this sleep over thing, Darcie is also the only child in the entire school not to have an iphone, we're expecting a call from Social Services any day now regarding our deprived daughter.

Finally, Darcie convinced my mum to persuade me to let her go; my mum offered to buy her beloved granddaughter the sleeping bag she needed, plus camping mat to make her more comfortable. All Simon & I had to do was pay the £10, buy Darcie some new warm pyjamas, find her a torch and take her to school. We finally caved and paid up, admittedly the thought of a Darcie-free evening swung it for me! My parents ordered the sleeping bags (one for Harvey too, this is completely unnecessary but my mum felt it was unfair for Darcie to have one and not him, apparently she's going to keep the sleeping bags at her house and has some complicated plan for them) and paid for a fast delivery - they were meant to arrive today but now delivery has been delayed until tomorrow. I will be complaining to Argos which will hopefully result in a grovelling apology letter and some vouchers which will be useful for Christmas. I think we're entitled to complain though - my parents paid for 24 hour delivery, were told it could be any time between 7am-7pm then Argos phoned at 2pm saying we'll have to wait in the following day instead!

Just hope the bloody sleeping bags arrive tomorrow, or I'll be heading into town to buy one personally. Darcie has to be at school by 6.30pm on Friday, there's going to be some kind of spooky game in the playground with torches which sounds frankly terrifying, then they're watching a film, then it will be bedtime. My mind is full of worries - will she be cold? will she brush her teeth? will she be frightened? should I send her with a drink? (the letter included a list as long as my arm of things which will be confiscated if the children take them, there was no mention of drinks being forbidden but will she get into trouble if she takes one?) will she like the "free" snack of squash and crackers? will someone pick on her? will she lose something vital like her pyjamas or sleeping bag? how many pairs of knickers should I pack? does she need a fresh set of clothes for Saturday morning or are all the kids just going to put the things from the previous evening back on? This is alien territory and I'm 99% certain that something will go very wrong. We have to collect her at 8.30/9am on Saturday morning - my child will be the one wearing filthy crumpled clothes, with unbrushed hair, hungry, tired and angry. I will miss her on Friday night though, it's going to be very odd.

On Tuesday some kind of bug hit the Balding-Rudd household, in fact Harvey said he felt sick over the weekend so it might have started then. He often says he feels sick so being the terrible mother I am, I basically ignored his cries and hoped he'd stop moaning. He hasn't been sick, but is off his food, not unusual at all as the slightest thing makes Harvey completely stop eating. Darcie has been pale and off-colour for a day or two, she never admits to being ill so it's a mystery as to how she's feeling - she isn't eating much either which is highly unusual for her. I'm praying that whatever she's got disappears by Friday, knowing our luck she'll be sick that morning meaning the sleepover will be a no-no and our lives will be hell for at least a month.

I started feeling sick and generally awful on Tuesday evening, and Simon woke up feeling rough too. Neither of us have eaten a thing all day (except some Heroes chocolates mid afternoon, we need to keep our strength up) and I've basically lazed around as I have zero energy. Painkillers help although there is no specific pain apart from a vague tummy ache; we've just felt utterly sick and generally crappy. Slept for two hours this afternoon - I was so grateful that both kids were at school all day and I didn't have to drag myself to nursery at 11.30am for Harvey and then keep him happy all afternoon. Felt better in the evening but fell asleep at 9pm after Darcie went to bed, and woke at midnight in a total frenzy as I hadn't got the uniforms ready for tomorrow. I'm really struggling with washing and organising two sets of uniform - one was fairly simple but two seems impossible! Realised at midnight that Harvey has no jumper clean (just didn't have the energy for laundry today, then again I'm always behind with it) so have washed one ready for tumble drying in the morning. It's now 3am and I need to go back to bed, feel tired but reluctant to lie down as my stomach is making worrying gurgling noises and I'm not quite sure what that means. Realised that apart from the chocolates we haven't eaten anything since Tuesday lunchtime, by teatime the sickness had suddenly arrived and I couldn't face my pizza which was vile anyway. Strangely I don't even feel hungry really, half hoping I carry on like this as I'm going to lose serious amounts of weight!

Suppose I'd better finish this now, grab a drink and lie down - Harvey was exhausted tonight and wailed virtually continuously from when I collected him at 3pm until 7.15pm when he fell asleep, he refused point blank to eat any tea apart from 3 heroes chocolates. I'd better get some sleep as I'm sure he'll be awake in about three hours......bye for now.

Losing the plot

Just popping on here for a quick update and vent as usual!

It's 1pm on Sunday, and this weekend ranks as one of the toughest in my parenting history. Darcie has been in full blown psycho mode all yesterday and all today, I realise that most people secretly suspect we exaggerate when we talk about her behaviour, but honestly she is demented. I'm not going to rant on and on, as to be honest I feel shattered physically and mentally (despite spending ten hours in bed last night) and haven't got the strength. Darcie was OK on Friday night, mainly because we didn't come straight home from school, instead going to the park with my friend Jo and her two kids. The more time she spends outside the better she is, although this rule doesn't always apply and the moods often happen when we're out too.

Yesterday morning Darcie kicked off big time, and she hasn't stopped since. I've been screamed at, slapped, hit, accused of random things and told I can't go in various rooms. A good example of how peculiar Darcie is and frankly how disturbing her behaviour is - a few days ago, Simon had the audacity to go out by himself, a crime punishable by death. Being left with her mother is apparently such a cruel, unfair and torturous thing that Darcie saw red and started screeching. I was using the computer, attempting to do what Simon repeatedly instructs me to do and which I often fail at - ignoring her. She asked me where daddy was, I told her calmly several times, receiving the usual "why has he gone to Asda? I know, it's because he hates me and wants me to die." response, duly ignored. Suddenly Darcie said the following "OK, come on, where have you hidden the body this time? I know you've murdered him. You murder people, hide the bodies and then the police turn up. You lie and say you don't know where the bodies are. You're always doing this, you're evil. Pure evil." For once, I was genuinely too stunned to speak.

Now, I would like to categorically state here that I have never murdered anyone, hidden the body and then lied to the police. Sure, I have a list of people who I would love to murder but I'm not that horrible and anyway, I'm not clever enough to hide the body and then successfully lie to the police and convince them I'm innocent. I was genuinely disturbed by Darcie's accusations, what the hell goes through her mind? Does she honestly think I do this? Oh and then she went on to accuse me of being the person who killed (if she was killed) Madeleine McCann. Now the thought of a child free holiday in Portugal sounds fantastic, but as I pointed out to Darcie, I would have found better things to do there than murder an innocent child!

This isn't the first time Darcie has accused me of being a killer, just the other day she stated that I am a murdering robot, and I'm regularly accused of slaughtering her father who miraculously comes back to life. (maybe he's actually Jesus in disguise, thinking about it they have similar hair styles, hmmm......) The kid has a death fixation, granted it's a confusing yet fascinating subject for most people, and incredibly hard for children to understand, but......I resent being accused of being a serial killer. A few months ago, Darcie randomly accused me of hating twins in her school, who I genuinely didn't realised existed. She said that I'm secretly planning on killing one of them, and that nobody would know because they're apparently identical and one would still be there. I kind of follow her logic in an abstract way, but she's wrong of course - people would realise that only one twin was at school, and I assume their parents would notice that rather than having two children, they only had one. We reckon that Darcie fantasises about killing people, and then accuses me of wanting to do it, such a frightening thought. Hopefully eventually she'll mature and stop these crazy thoughts, but if she thinks these things as a 9 year old, what the hell impulses will she feel as an adult? Is she going to lose the plot one day and end up killing someone? Is she going to go to the police and say I've murdered someone and hidden the body? Honestly, it's both ridiculous and terrifying.

Yesterday Darcie screeched at me to "go away forever, just die!" fair enough we all say things in temper, but sometimes the truth comes out when we're angry. She's obsessed with screaming "go away! go away!" at the moment whenever I walk into a room she's in, and things like "you've lived here long enough, now go!" whilst pointing to the door. I wasn't an angel child, but never in a million years would I have spoken to either of my parents like that. I remember being maybe five or six and my mum struggling to get my shoes on before we went out for a meal. I was obviously in an awkward mood and she snapped and said "I've had enough of you today." I clearly recall saying "I've had enough of you too." and the silence which followed, the kind of silence which makes you hold your breath as you know you've gone too far and something bad is going to happen. My mum chucked my shoes (black patent, all the rage in about 1985) on the floor and stalked out of the room. I dissolved into tears as I knew I'd done wrong, and was regretting it. Mum promptly told my dad who lost his temper and informed me that the meal was cancelled and we'd have beans on toast for lunch instead! Of course we did go but that event stuck in my mind forever, I realised that I'd been rude, and although I wasn't the perfect child, I apologised and promised not to say that again. To my credit, I have never, ever told my mum I've had enough of her since then, although I admit to sometimes thinking it!

Darcie will probably never remember an incident like that though, because she behaves like that to me pretty much constantly. That would be mild for her, and we wouldn't think much of it because she's rude and nasty to us most of the time. I would never have dreamed of telling my mum to leave, or accusing her of being a serial killer, but that's what I get hurled at me most days. Gradually Simon & I have come to the conclusion that Darcie resents me because, quite simply, she wants to be me. She wants to drive me away so that she can be Mummy, which is crazy - I've never come across a child so insanely resentful and competitive towards their own mother.

I'm afraid that I haven't dealt with Darcie well at all this weekend. I lost the plot majorly when she locked herself in the bathroom yesterday lunchtime and refused to open the door, apparently she is going to report my wicked behaviour to my own mum so that I can be duly reprimanded. I've said some awful things to Darcie this weekend, things my mum never said to me and things which I never imagined saying to my own child. In my defence though, being blindly hated by a child you've brought into the world and sacrificed a lot for is incredibly hurtful. I often think that nobody on this planet is capable of hurting me as much as Darcie is, and realise that she's fully aware of this.

This was meant to be about my little boy Harvey and his adventures (or rather mis adventures) now he's a big school boy. I have concerns and worries which I will write about, also a decision (well half decision really at the moment) which I've made but now isn't really the time. Darcie wants her lunch, I'm reluctant to feed her but suppose I can't let her go hungry! Then we're off to the park, where she'll stomp around, glare at me, accuse me of cruelty because I won't fork out for ice creams, and then refuse to leave, informing me as she did last week that I can go away and she'll only go home in her own time. Oh, how tempted I was to leave her behind last Sunday, the only thing which prevented me for doing so was the little voice somewhere deep down that reminded me that despite everything, I really do love her.

Freedom

It's 2am and normal people are fast asleep.......which is okay as I'm not normal! I really should be tucked up in bed, unfortunately I fell asleep with Mr-there's-no-way-I'm-going-to-sleep-in-my-own-bed at about 8/9pm tonight and woke up at 1am feeling confused and angry. The only way to get Harvey to sleep in the evening is to lie down on our bed with him, naturally lying down towards the end of the day makes me go all dopey and I often doze off. For a while I manage to fight the urge to sleep but it's been a knackering week and of course tonight was one of those bloody nights when my body just decided to zonk out. Waking up thirsty, confused and fully clothed with the lights still on reminds me so much of my student days, the only difference these days is I have a sleeping 4 year old next to me dressed in Mr Strong PJ's rather than a cold stinking burger and an empty bottle of wine!

So......the Hellidays are officially over and I've been very lazy with this blog. Free time isn't something I've had much of recently, Simon's family made their annual pilgrimage down to Portsmouth last Saturday & we spent most of the week either with them or running around like headless chickens getting ready to meet up with them. On Sunday we went to Bognor which was fun, haven't been there since I was about 2 so had no memories of the place, but oddly it seemed familiar. Harvey had a terrific time playing and talking to himself on the "wet mud" which was actually sand, our beaches in Portsmouth are pebbly so sand always utterly thrills him. Darcie did the whole "I'm too cool for this" thing and hung out with her grandparents while Simon & I took photos of Harvey which will really embarrass him in ten years and attempted to lure him away from the sea and sand. Bognor is definitely on my mental list of places to visit next summer, the Isle of Wight has also made it onto that list, we went there on Tuesday. Darcie had the day off school & we all went on the steam railway and then onto Shanklin for more sand! We don't go to the IOW very often, but each time we go I remember how lovely it is there & how much I like it. The old London tube trains are very cool and remind me of home, and I also get flashes back to my childhood as I went to the IOW with my parents a few times as a kid. These days we only go over there in the summer and of course it'll be bleak and miserable during the winter like anywhere, but it's a very cool place. We're hoping to have a little holiday in the Isle of Wight next August, hope it works out as it should be fun.

Harvey's first day of school was Thursday, which actually worked out well as we were so busy with his parents that when the big day arrived I didn't have much opportunity to stress. Harvey only went in the morning & finished at midday; we'd then arranged to head straight up to Gun Wharf and go up the famous Spinnaker Tower, before all heading back to out flat for a meal. It felt like we'd been waiting forever for Harvey's first day of school, but somehow I still hadn't got the uniform completely organised, despite plenty of help/random nagging from my mother! After a restless night involving bizarre dreams, I was woken up by Harv at 6.30am and then promptly realised that I'd forgotten to clean the bathroom up from the kids baths the previous evening. I dashed to the bathroom and began desperately tidying up, cursing myself for a) allowing my kids to make such a huge mess b) buying a bath bomb containing massive amounts of glitter which had welded itself to the bath overnight c) being so lazy and incompetent. I ranted to myself as I worked, but by about 7.15am the bathroom was tidy and I'd also had a shower which was fairly impressive really.

As always we were running late (I tell myself that one day I won't be rushing, but that's a load of crap, that day will never come) but by about 8.30am we had both kids dressed in the correct uniforms, Darcie's lunch made and bag packed (I'm hopeful that by her seventeenth birthday she might have reached the stage of considering organising her own stuff) and after the usual nagging/threats from Simon (freakily fast at getting dressed) we were out of the door, leaving chaos similar to that caused by a moderate hurricane behind us.

Harvey looked so incredibly smart and handsome in his school uniform that I fully expected strangers to stop us in the street and ask to take his photo, as he was truly the best looking school child of all time. His amazing good looks mean that he can't walk overly fast though, so I was forced to half drag him as usual, admit cursing from Simon and desperate pleas to hurry up. It's always Simon & Darcie in the lead when we go anywhere, while Harvey and I get left behind, talking to various inanimate objects and hoping that the next toilet isn't too far away. He drinks insane amounts of orange squash and has a hygienic yet annoying obsession with washing his hands, therefore requiring many, many toilet dashes on trips out - I simply have a much weaker bladder than I used to have, and am slowly turning into my mother who needs the toilet approximately every ten minutes whenever she leaves the house.

Darcie disappeared into her playground without even saying goodbye on Thursday morning, annoying really as I was hoping to thoroughly embarrass her with a huge public display of maternal affection. Simon & I found Harvey's classroom and were informed that rather than the usual starting time of 8.40am (yeah right, never going to be there at that time) he in fact wasn't meant to be there until 9am that day, making us early by default for one of the first times in my life as a mum. We hung around in the hall outside his Rabbit classroom (the other one is Field mice, having a pathological fear of mice and rats I was utterly relieved when we discovered that he's a bunny) before his teachers took pity on us and said we could go in and wait. Harvey's main teacher is Miss Cummings who seems really nice (I met her at his induction afternoon at the end of last term, typically I forgot about it and we were late but she doesn't seem to hold that against me) she actually spoke to us which is more than some of Darcie's teachers have done in the past. A tiny little girl called Lily was there too, obviously having been abandoned by her parents - either they had to dash off to get to work or simply couldn't stand being with their daughter for another minute after the endless holidays! Harvey went all shy as expected and made sounds rather than constructing sentences, we played with chalkboards and magnetic letters with him and desperately attempted to get him to communicate using words. Finally his friend from nursery, Cameron, turned up with his mum (not the most maternal woman in the world and went for the kiss-and-run method which I failed miserably at) I honestly felt love for Cameron when he held Harvey's hand and declared that they were best friends, suddenly Harvey perked up and allowed himself to be led away from us. The time had come to leave, the boys were settled on a mini-sofa thing with their backs to the door, perfect opportunity to sneak off. I fought the urge to stay with my precious son all morning, and tried to impress Miss Cummings and her worried looking sidekick Mrs Morgan (who doesn't look old enough to be a teacher, let alone a Mrs) by saying in a wobbly yet determined voice "OK then darling, Mummy's going now, having a wonderful time." hugged my little boy who I'm sure was only crawling around last month, and headed out of the door. Harvey turned around to look at me as I left, I blew him a kiss and to my delight he blew one back before returning to chatting to Cameron. As a mum there are certain images and moments which stay with you forever, and I know that I'll have that picture of my little curly haired boy blowing me a kiss on his very first day of school in my memory for the rest of my life. I'll look at him when he's a great strapping 35 year old and remember that moment.

I'm always glad to have Simon with me on these occasions as he encourages me to leave/ physically drags me away, assuring me that Harv is fine, which he was. Even so, there was a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes as I walked down the road as a mother of two school age children.

Fortunately as I said, I was too busy to let the tears flow, we dashed straight to Lidl and bought stuff to make the lasagne the in-laws had requested ( I strongly suspect that they think I'm incapable of making anything complicated, last years roast was a bit of a disaster) We then ran home and spent the next two and a half hours madly tidying up, and preparing the dreaded lasagne. Midday saw us at school once again, and after an agonising wait Miss Cummings appeared holding Harvey's hand.....I did my best to play it cool but I was so happy to see him and so relieved that he'd been okay. He was delighted with the giant tube of smarties I'd bought him as a bravery present, and even more delighted that he'd received the coveted "Miss Cummings Special Award" despite not fully understanding what he'd done to achieve it. I strongly suspect that every child may have receive this award, but repeatedly praised my clever boy and informed him that in the history of the world no child has ever been as brilliant on their first day of school.

We jumped in a taxi and joined the in-laws at Gun Wharf, spent the afternoon up the Spinnaker Tower - granted it's just a view but I've been up it 3 times and each time Harv has spoiled it for me by being a total pest. I spent a small fortune on ice lollies and toys for him in a desperate attempt to placate him, but tiredness and the fact it was boiling hot made him as ratty as hell. Finally we headed off to collect Darcie and then back to our flat for tea, the lasagne turned out okay and the in-laws smiled bravely whilst eating it. I reckon they headed straight to Macdonalds afterwards, but at least we made the effort!

Simons family have gone home today (well yesterday actually as now it's officially Sunday) and we probably won't see them for another year. The kids enjoyed seeing them and it's nice to remind Darcie & Harvey that they do in fact have two sets of grandparents! I never really had grandparents as a kid, and I honestly think it's wonderful that my children have two complete sets who love (or tolerate in my dads case) them. I love that our parents get so much pleasure from the children, and that it's thanks to us!

I'm nervous about the coming week. Friday is Harvey's first day of full-time school and it's going to be weird. I swing between feeling tearful as it really will be the end of an era, he won't generally be at home with me during the day ever again, which is sad as I've loved him being little despite all the hard work. Harv's my mate, and I'll truly be lost without him. I am really looking forward to the freedom though, and feel dizzy at the thought of whole days to myself, just to get on with stuff. In actual fact it's not a long time though, as he finishes school at 2.55pm so by about 2.30pm every day I'll have to be getting ready to leave. I realise the days will fly by, but people keep saying "wow, all that free time, what are you going to do?" and I feel worried as I still don't know. I'm thinking about doing a course, but have no idea what in - I'm conscious that I can't muck around now, if I'm going to do a course it has to lead to a job. I don't want to get stuck doing some pointless course, I'm 31, I need to have a career now. I hate the fact I don't know what to do with my life, it's awful. Nobody seems to really understand, but I guess it's something I'll have to work out for myself, haven't a clue where to start though :o(

Just realised it's 3.30am, bloody hell! I'll be back very soon with more on the job/course thing, but for now I think I'm going to have to go and get some sleep.........

Putting the Hell in Helliday

Not an official Helliday update, planning on doing a proper entry later.....just sneaking on here as I need to vent! As the title suggests, my kids are truly putting the Hell in Helliday today, god I just want to stand in the middle of a field and SCREAM! Yes I am insane, but they've made me this way!

It was going okay-ish, the end is in sight, nobody has been serious injured either accidentally or otherwise.....but suddenly I've lost the plot. Just over a week to go which isn't too bad, but it honestly feels like these holidays are never going to end. Harvey has been bugging me since 5.45am today, normally it takes a lot for me to get annoyed with him but he's stressing me out. He simply will not leave me alone, I can't get anything done and it's so frustrating. I feel so incredibly guilty about snapping at him as I absolutely adore my little boy, he's so sweet, so loving and best of all he willingly spends time with me! All I get is blind hatred from Darcie and it's wonderful that Harvey and I have such a good relationship. He's fantastic but Jesus is he wearing me out at the moment. I know he's bored, worried about school, and upset by the constant battles with Darcie, but........as I said I hate myself for getting cross with him and making him sad, but I just wish he'd leave me alone for a little while. I keep thinking that when he's at full time school I'll miss him so much and that I should make the most of now, but it's just so hard.

As always Darcie is the main problem. There is just no let up from her moods at the moment, it's like a nightmare. Today I could honestly flush her down the toilet, she's just soooooo impossible. She enjoys staring at me until I look at her, then yelling "what are you staring at?" just an attention thing I know, but so rude. I'm constantly accused of plotting to murder her, suffocating her, strangling her, hating her, it goes on and on. She's so unpleasant it's unreal. I'm screamed at almost every time I walk into my own front room, and she stamps her feet constantly like a bloody demented toddler.

And I'm meant to buy her an X box - NO WAY IN HELL CHILD!!!! And no, you're not getting an iPad for your birthday either, in fact it's increasingly unlikely that you'll survive until your birthday.

Simon has cooked cheese on toast for me so I'll say bye for now, but I'll be back with more ranting soon.........on the positive side I do feel a bit better now.

Hellidays Part 5

Good girls go to heaven, bad girls go to London......I noticed an oriental woman wearing a t-shirt with that slogan in Asda a few days ago, and think it's fantastic. I spent the rest of my shopping trip chuckling to myself and got some very odd looks!

WEDNESDAY 11TH AUGUST 2010 - EYE DAY

I mentioned in my previous post that my mum & I were taking the kids up to London for the day, so we could go on the Eye. Harvey was bursting with excitement about this planned event, and I was rudely awoken early on Wednesday morning by him literally jumping all over me and shouting that "Eye day" was here at last - he made it sound like he was due to have a horrific eye operation but fortunately it was a slightly more pleasant experience.

My darling mother had planned the outing with military precision and I was as always in awe of her organisational skills. Despite being very wary of the internet (she points out regularly that when I innocently use thetrainline.com to find out train times, etc. I might actually be chatting to a raging serial killer intent on hunting me down, slicing me open from top to bottom and boiling my vital organs up in a pan for his lunch, to give her credit I don't know for certain that the site in question wasn't created by a serial killer. The mere mention of Facebook makes my mother visibly shudder, I'm too frightened to tell her I've lied about my daughters age in order to create an account for her.) Mum managed to arm herself with a home made information sheet outlining various times and prices for our journey, all the info was acquired using those ancient methods of telephone and speaking to breathing people face to face.

After several phone conversations and heated discussion, mum and I had settled on a day and time for our trip. When she came over last Saturday we booked the tickets (in a real life ticket office, how retro) and had the day planned in minute detail, her determination and fierce expression left me too scared to confess that I was already exhausted despite Eye day still being 4 days away.

Tuesday evening saw me & my mum engaged in a final discussion phone call, she assured me that she had everything organised and so all I had to do was board the 10.20am train to London Victoria with my children in tow on Wednesday morning. Mum instructed me to position myself in the second carriage down (she never travels in the first or last carriages because apparently if you're in one of those and the train crashes then you're more likely to die, I suspect that her career as a teacher was a lie and she secretly devoted her entire working life to proving this fact) phone her on her mobile and confirm that everything was going to plan, then welcome her on board the train twenty minutes later at Chichester. She'd made herself a special bag especially for the occasion, and had food, drink, entertainment, first aid equipment and everything we would possibly need already packed. My mum finally hung up and spent the rest of her evening happily watching telly and drinking wine before curling up in her bed complete with ironed duvet covers (who the hell irons duvet covers?) and sleeping soundly. I however, spent the evening frantically rushing around tidying my tip of a flat and packing the bag that I had repeatedly assured my mum was already packed.

So, Harvey woke up full of beans on Eye day, in our bed as usual (I've given up even attempting to put him in his own bed, let's face it the kid will still be sleeping next to me when he's 13) Just as I was enjoying a few minutes with my book, I heard the devastated cries of my daughter coming from her bedroom, complete with wretched sobbing "I feeeel siiiiiick!" the words struck terror into my heart. It was like a nightmare, after developing chickenpox a week before the summer holidays started, Darcie had woken up on the one day I'd arranged something which couldn't easily be altered, ill. The little boy who lives opposite us, Lloyd, came over for tea on Sunday and promptly announced he was ill and had been sick the previous day, we were annoyed with his mum for letting him come around when he was poorly to be honest. I had a hunch he'd share his germs with our two, and it looked like my hunch was right.

It was one of those frequent times when I simply didn't know what to do. Simon desperately spooned calpol into Darcie's mouth while she sobbed, thrashed around and made suicide threats, once Harvey realise Eye day was jepordised he dissolved into tears and clung to me in sheer desperation. It wasn't much past 7am and we were faced with two sobbing children. Darcie informed me that my mum had set her alarm for 7.30am and I suspected she was already awake, but still felt it was just too early to phone (my dad isn't a morning person, a trait I've inherited along with his surprisingly short arms) Darcie looked awful and I was torn between being sympathetic and cursing her for being ill. Finally it got passed 8am and I phoned my parents, predictably my dad was groggy and less than helpful, doing what he always does in a crisis and letting my mum deal with it. Mum struggled to hide the irritation in her voice but did seem genuinely sympathetic and concerned, easier over the phone than in person I suppose. She advised waiting an hour and then seeing how Darcie was, if she wasn't fit to go then either I'd just take the sobbing red blob that was Harvey or we'd cancel completely. An endless hour later Darcie had perked up although she had a meltdown when Simon made her plain toast in an attempt to calm her stomach - plain toast is apparently more lethal than poison, cheaper too so I'm left wondering why more people don't use it to knock off their victims. She managed a couple of slices of cheese and wanted to come with us, after plenty of deliberation, screaming and insult hurling we decided to take our chances and let her go. I rapidly packed a full change of clothes for Darcie though (ha ha mother, see I can be organised!) just in case.

10.20am saw me on the correct train, in the correct carriage with the kids, feeling utterly exhausted. They ignored the expensive magazines I'd bought them for the journey, the toys on the front did keep them occupied for nearly 5 minutes though which wasn't too bad (£5 for 2 kids magazines, I remember the days when a family of four could buy a years grocery shopping for that and have a fortnights holiday in Spain with the change) Mother duly boarded the train at Chichester and all was well. Darcie had recovered well enough to scoff a packet of bacon crisps and half a packet of love hearts, Harvey refused to eat anything which is about right for him. The journey went okay, it's one I've made hundreds of times, first as student then as a mother. It took me back to my carefree student days; going home to Croydon for the holidays with a holdall stuffed full of dirty washing and a gigantic hangover, excited at the prospect of proper food and a clean bed and desperately trying to remember who I'd snogged the previous night. Ah, happy days....I'm certain they're happier in my memory than they were at the time though!

Darcie and Harvey went for several walks up and down the train and at long last we were in London. Going through East Croydon was weird, all the times I got off there, all the memories that will always be contained in that place. It was a bit like opening a memory box and then closing it again quickly, very odd. Right from being little I've always been completely fascinated with Battersea Power Station, it's so powerful (literally, being a power station) and imposing, there's something incredible about the place. It hasn't been functional in god knows how long, but I still love it - when I was a kid my mum would always be attempting to get me to look at the Thames or the bridges but I'd just stare at Battersea Power Station. Disappointingly, neither Darcie or Harvey shared my love for it, although they were very animated when they spotted an Asda out of the window.

I haven't been to Victoria train station in almost a decade, but it hasn't really changed. It was like slipping into an old coat or something, so familiar and comforting. Harvey was overjoyed to spot a Lush shop on the concourse and after paying 30p each to use the loo (next time the kids are going on the train, I don't care how disgusting the toilets are or how hard Harvey finds it to wee standing up while the train is at full speed) we headed upstairs to Macdonalds. It was heaving but we managed to somehow acquire some grub which was welcomed by my grumbling stomach (of course I didn't have the time to eat breakfast, I can't eat and get out of the flat at a reasonable time, it's impossible) My mum has a Thing about escalators going down, she refuses to use them because her eyes go weird - tedious but understandable I guess. I didn't want to be responsible for her falling and fracturing another bone, so we searched in vain for a lift, wasting valuable time. Finally a random person agreed to take mum down in a staff lift hidden behind a door while I took the kids on the escalator. After waiting for my mum for an eternity in the agreed meeting place, she appeared from a totally different direction to the one I was looking in and off we went.

Harvey was amazed to see pigeons walking around on the concourse, this is something so normal to me, they've always done that, and I didn't find it weird. He couldn't get over it though and it really tickled him, I think he genuinely believes that pigeons travel by train now, bless him. We trailed after my mum as she boarded a bus which was heading in the general direction of the Eye, and after an worryingly easy journey we were there. As we walked towards the Eye, past St Thomas' hospital (I think that's the one anyway, if you've got to be ill it must be the best hospital to be stuck in, fantastic views) the reality of just how busy London is hit me. I grew up very close to London, I was always used to being there, but I've never been anywhere as intense. I live in a fairly hectic city now, but Portsmouth is nothing in comparison. It's just indescribably frantic and everyone and everything is constantly moving. You can't stand still, it's scary and you feel kind of helpless, but at the same time it's incredible. As we admired the buses, the taxis, the proper phone boxes, the houses of parliament and Big Ben, I realised just what a fantastic place London is. Literally everywhere you look there's something else to see, and I was so excited to be showing my kids. You have to keep moving quickly though, Darcie and I frantically snapped pictures while my mum and Harvey disappeared into the distance - for once she was totally fine with me and we enjoyed taking photos of Big Ben.

I expected the area near the Eye to be packed, I've been there before, but it was tremendously busy. We fought our way to the booking hall, certain that one of the kids would end up getting lost, but miraculously the four of us all made it. Queues were snaking everywhere and time was ticking, after a mild panic my mum and I realised that the queues were in fact moving fast (of course, everything moves fast in London) and within twenty minutes or so we were £50 worse off and had four tickets in our hot little hands. My mum shunned the idea of pretending Harvey was 3 as kids under 4 go free, not sure we could have got away with it but I thought it would be worth a shot (more proof that I am indeed my fathers daughter)

More queues awaited us, and suddenly all was not well with Darcie. She went all flushed and moody (well more moody than usual) and Harvey also started flagging, mid-afternoon being his usual down time. The waiting was endless, the sun was beating down and the kids alternately whined and sulked. I tried to persuade Darcie to have some calpol but she refused point blank (mum, stop it, you are sooooo embarrassing! is she 8 or in fact a hormonal teenager?) my mum paid hideous amounts of money for bottles of coke hoping that would cool Darcie down, despite me instructing her not to as my precious daughter had refused the juice we had with us, thus demonstrating that she couldn't truly be thirsty) even that treat didn't produce happiness, only more sulking and accusations. Sensing imminent disaster I turned my attention to my tired little boy who immediately announced that he needed the toilet. We were fast approaching the end of the line, gearing up to get into our pod where we would be suspended in mid-air for at least 30 minutes with no toilet facilities. I was faced with a dilemma; wander off in search of the toilets and risk not being able to locate my mum and Darcie again, or ignore Harvey's pleas and risk him wetting himself in the pod in front of total strangers. My mum remained unusually silent so I made the decision myself, I dashed off with Harvey in search of a bush. Usually he's willing to having a wee behind or against anything (in fact he prefers going against a green electricity box than in the nursery toilets) but there were too many people around, he was too hot, weary and ratty to help me out. I ended up tearing back to the booking hall, dashing down a long flight of stairs to the ladies loos, where I suspect I bypassed the queue. I refused to even let him wash his hands (don't worry, usually I insist on the kids washing their hands, skipping it once won't kill anyone, hopefully not anyway) and instead dragged him back towards the line, ignoring desperate cries for an ice lolly. My mum had meanwhile accosted a lovely young man and explained the situation, he'd let her and Darcie step out of the queue while they awaited our return, without actually losing our place forever. Within minutes we were in our pod and I had the beginnings of a headache that would persist for the rest of the afternoon.

To be honest, the kids didn't enjoy the Eye experience as much as I'd hoped. Harvey had been utterly convinced it was some kind of fairground ride, despite us showing him photos online. Darcie was still rejecting medicine and neither child was in a particularly pleasant mood. I made up for their lack of enthusiasm by listening intently to my mums commentary and making appropriate comments, secretly wishing I was at home with an enormous bottle of wine. It was stifling in the pod and eventually the kids settled near the lone ineffective fan with a little girl they'd befriended. I enjoyed the experience and noticed that they were actually peering out of the window and taking something in, despite Harvey being initially convinced he'd plummet to his death. My mum found some unfortunate tourists to chat to, so I admired the greatest city in the world while enjoying a few minutes peace.

When we disembarked from our pod I felt a mixture of relief but disappointment that Darcie and Harvey hadn't been overly thrilled. My mum convinced Darcie to take some calpol, and then we headed to the little park a few steps away that Harvey had been desperate to go to. I treated everyone to ice lollies (well everyone except Darcie who refused one, confirming my suspicions that she felt terrible) the park was really too crowded but Harvey was satisfied with a blue sword constructed out of modelling balloons which my mum bought him. He had a terrific time attacking pigeons with the sword while eating his lolly - as soon as it started melting though he hurled it into the Thames. The kids had money burning holes in their pockets, so we went into a little gift shop, selling traditionally tacky souvenirs. Darcie made a beeline for a teddy wearing some kind of pink cape, costing £14. I immediately informed her that ill or not, there was absolutely no way I was coughing up that amount of money for a souvenir. I at once became Meanest Mum ever known to man, while my own mum desperately searched for an alternative in order to placate her precious granddaughter. The alternative smaller bear dressed in an "I love London" jumper was a mere £6, Darcie enraged me by hurling it back on the shelf in a spoilt temper tantrum. I told her off while my mum bought the bear for me and Simon as a souvenir, angering Darcie further - she was rapidly escorted out of the shop and my blood boiled with rage.

Somehow my daughter made it back to Victoria train station alive, and we realised we had a mere 15 minutes before our train home departed. Both children ended up in floods of tears at the thought of no souvenirs, and in a mad moment of kindness I remembered the over-priced souvenir shop we'd walked past earlier at the top of the escalator. My mum hurled some extra cash at her grandchildren and waited with the bags, desperate to escape them for a few minutes I suspected. We had 10 minutes to chose and purchase something and be on the train. The indian man running the shop watched with amusement as I desperately tried to persuade my kids to pick something appropriate, cheap and long lasting in about two minutes. It was clearly an impossible task; Harvey ended up with a red london bus and taxi set costing £4.50 and Darcie got a fan (which is actually really nice) costing £6. Absolute rip off of course (I bought Harv a very similar red bus for £1 recently) but they'll hopefully keep the things they chose and they won't fall apart. Mad dash down the escalator, sprint to the barriers and then disaster struck. Put out by not having his own ticket, Harvey begged to put mine through the automatic barrier, wearily I agreed, he pushed it in and the little doors opened. He went through slowly, I tried to push through with him and the barrier closed on me. It must have been amusing but it was very painful for me - my side and bag got trapped and in a fit of anger and embarrassment I wrenched myself free, resulting in yet more pain. My mum & Darcie stiffled their giggles as I held back the tears, the only person who showed me any concern was Harvey, probably feeling guilty as he was the cause of the whole thing. He did smile gingerly at me as we boarded the train and said "beautiful you" in a typically male attempt to placate me. It worked.

The train was heaving, a final insult after a stressful day. Despite being slightly before the main rush hour, it was full of commuters, fortunately Harvey and I found two seats together when a couple of blokes got off at Clapham Junction. My mum and Darcie were sitting across the aisle in a set of six seats, squashed with four strangers, all of them suited and years younger than me. My mother proceeded to produce food, lovingly arranged in an assortment of old ice-cream tubs and tupperware boxes. The commuters glanced up from their iphones in vague amusement as mum dished out sausage rolls, crisps, ham, cheese and quiche to Darcie, motioning to the poor child to pass it across to Harvey and I. My attempts to ignore her failed, and I smiled weakly at the other passengers who returned sympathetic glances. The young bloke who had the misfortune to be sitting next to my mum mentioned that the food was making him hungry, for a horrible moment I seriously thought she was going to hand him a napkin and pile picnic food into his hands. He was the kind of guy I'd have seriously fancied a decade ago, but found myself thinking what on earth have you done to your hair? It doesn't look like it's seen a brush for a week! He was friendly enough though and happily chatted to my mum and Darcie until he escaped at East Croydon.

Harvey innocently scoffed the middle of sausage rolls and savoury eggs, and was thrilled at the tiny pot of branston pickle his granny had lovingly packed and carried around with her all day. He also gulped back my coke, and then screamed that he felt sick for a good half hour, thankfully by then most people had got off the train - for some reason our carriage was particularly empty. Darcie dozed and clearly didn't feel well, I had a burst of happiness when city turned slowly into countryside and I realised that it was nearly over, I'd survived! We left mum at Chichester, after stuffing the remaining picnic food into my bag so we'd have something to eat later on (there are times when I seriously think she believes the kids only eat when she's around) and playing a strange game in the ladies waiting room with Harvey, which I'll point out was all his idea although I suspect she enjoyed herself, she loaded us onto our train. I swear relief poured off her as we disappeared and I reckon she headed straight for the nearest off licence.

So that was London. One day when my strength has finally returned, I'll take them back, but I suspect I'll wait until they're both adults.