Harvey has been invited to a couple of birthday parties since he started pre-school in September, but for various reasons which have now escaped me, we decided it wouldn't be worth him going. I can never understand why some parents decide to throw parties for their kids lasting less than two hours (I'm sure parties always went on all afternoon when I was a child) at weird times in obscure places! Lots of people don't have parties these days due to the hideous expense, but finally Harvey got invited to his friend James' 4th birthday party, at an indoor play centre just down the road, after nursery. Hooray, all convenient for us and it was all systems go! He looked forward to it all week but I had mixed feelings - despite being depressingly familiar with the venue, Krazy Kaves (no, I haven't made a spelling mistake, seriously that's how the dreaded place is spelled!) because Darcie had her 6th and 7th birthday parties there, I was still nervous. From my experience I was aware that most mummies stay at parties with their little angels at this age, and Harvey wanted me there. I have a couple of other nursery mums who I chat to, but the thought of having to make conversation for two solid hours in a chilly and slightly odd-smelling environment didn't excite me.
So the Party Day arrived and I sent my son to pre-school wearing his Party Shirt, bubbling with excitement at the thought of heading to the party as soon as he came out. I disgraced myself by being slightly late picking him up (again) and virtually dragged Harvey to Krazy Kaves, walking fast isn't something my kids do. We were there first, absolute fluke as I'm never, ever first to get anywhere! Harvey gave birthday boy James his pressie, virtually opened it for him, attempted to pop several balloons and then finally disappeared into the jungle of steps, slopes, slides and rope bridges which don't look completely secure but which I would have loved when I was a kid. As the other mums and kids arrived, I found myself wondering why they all looked so cool, calm and confident, surely I couldn't be the only one who had spent the past few days working myself into a frenzy about the party? I was sure that my child would be the one who refused to join in/hurt himself/hurt someone else either accidentally or on purpose/started being naughty and wouldn't stop/refused to eat, etc. etc. etc.......or perhaps even worse, I'd do something embarrassing and my fatal mistake would forever brand me and by association my child, as Strange. The other 7 mums behaved as though they didn't have a care in the world, while I settled myself down (worrying of course that I'd sat either too near or too far away from the others, thus appearing too keen and over-friendly or stand-offish!) feeling sick and praying it would all be over soon.
Of course it had to be bang on lunchtime and I had to be starving, presenting me with an instant dilemma - Krazy Kaves offer a selection of hot food, snacks and drinks in order to extract yet more money from long-suffering parents. By some miracle Harvey hadn't noticed the strategically positioned sweetie machine, but I was quite tempted by it myself. One of the mums produced a carrier bag and proceeded to eat constantly for the next hour, she attracted a few glances but as she's reasonably thin and the stuff she was munching was healthy-ish, she got away with stuffing her face. I tried to stop my stomach rumbling and attempted to prevent myself from gazing longingly at the snack bar, while internally scolding myself - for heavens sake, if you're hungry bloody buy yourself something and stuff what they all think! I told myself, but still wasn't brave enough to venture up there until someone else went first, and came back with a coffee and crisps. That women wasn't skinny and was eating junk, it seemed to go unnoticed so I scuttled up and got myself some coke (normally drink diet/zero/max but rebelled and went for fat coke, safe in the knowledge that nobody would know) and some crisps. No weird looks, no muttered comments, phew! I never imagined that something so simple could become so incredibly complicated.
Anyway I managed to eat the crisps quickly before Harvey saw and stole them, but without scoffing them too quickly and looking greedy. Jo, one of the nicer nursery mums, turned up late and flustered, which immediately made me feel better about myself - I generally feel quite sorry for her anyway as her son Davey looks like a scarecrow, and her daughter Ellie never stops running away. There's only a year between the kids, they go to different nurseries, she's always on the go and I secretly admire her - mainly for freely admitting that she relies heavily on alcohol to get through each day! Jo is always willing to talk to me, even if she is scarily popular with all the other mums, and we had a nice chat. In the end, by some miracle, Harvey wasn't the kid who hurt himself, or moaned for crisps and sweets, nor was he among the ones who refused to eat anything or went into a mood. His only crime was to spill some juice and eat most of a bottle of ketchup, he really enjoyed himself and we congratulated ourselves as we walked home together - quickly as we were both desperate for the toilet!
I told my mum all about the party, and after listening patiently and confirming that I am indeed mother of the year for enduring it for the sake of my son, she asked why I'd been so nervous. I don't actually know why I get so worried about these social occasions, it was a birthday party for four year olds for heavens sake, what's to worry about? It all comes down to confidence, which I feel is one of the most important things to possess. If you think you're wonderful and can do everything, then other people tend to believe and respect you. At the party, one of the mums was sharing stories of how generally perfect she is, how amazing her son Joshua is, how every decision she's ever made has been exactly the right one, etc. etc. I resisted the urge to push her into the ball pool but found myself wondering why exactly I feel inferior to her and to people who are similar to her? I doubt this woman has been to private school and university, I have, but yet I feel like she's better than me. I hate feeling like I'm not as good as people like her simply because I have less confidence, it's something Simon and I often talk about. We have quite a lot of qualifications between us, our kids are reasonably bright and not ugly, so why do we have no confidence? I think we all need to do something to increase our confidence, but what?
Things with Darcie remain the same, some good days and some bad. Having a daughter who is known as being slightly odd and who freely admits she hates me doesn't exactly make me feel great about myself! However, Darcie is definitely doing better at school this term, bribing her to do her reading is proving fairly successful and she's making progress, even if we do have a couple of screaming sessions about it a week. She got full marks in her last spelling test which is fab, spelling is something she finds very difficult and she was rightly proud of herself.
A week or so ago, it was one of Those Evenings when Darcie had a meltdown. She'd moaned and shrieked ever since she got home from school (although bizarrely she likes me collecting her and we have a lovely time walking along chatting usually) it was about 9pm and both kids were still up. Simon and I were tired, the flat was an utter tip and Darcie was refusing to get washed and ready for bed. I had a pile of washing to do and was yelling that I would never get it done, we'd never have any clean clothes unless she shut the hell up and went to bloody bed. Harvey was clinging to me as he often does when Darcie kicks off, and suddenly he said "Mummy, it's okay, you're good at washing.....you're the best. You're the best Mummy ever." Suddenly nothing else mattered, even Darcie didn't argue with what he'd just said. I thought, how on earth can anybody think I'm a good mum? I'm always rushing, there's always tons of washing-up to do, a mountain of washing which I nickname the leaning tower of Pisa, dust everywhere, I have so much housework to do it's incredible, I'm always cross, I never give the kids enough attention and yet he thinks I'm the best mummy ever! Poor little thing, he's clearly mad, but that made me feel so much better. It's funny how sometimes a few words can make everything suddenly seem okay again.
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