To be honest I'm kind of sick of thinking & talking about Darcie's problems at the moment. The last week has been fraught with problems; two or three weeks ago Harvey suddenly developed chicken pox and since then life has been pretty stressful. From the second we mentioned his suspicious spots (big mistake, but I guess she'd have noticed them herself eventually) Darcie went into extreme Freak Out Mode; initial gasps of horror quickly escalated into her screeching, threatening to kill poor little Charlie (one of Harv's nursery mates who had chickenpox, he looks exactly like his dad which is not a good thing, take my word for it) as he was the prime suspect for passing the dreaded pox onto Harvey, and then commit suicide herself. Within hours of the confirmed chicken pox diagnosis, Darcie had worked herself up into a complete frenzy as she was convinced she was doomed. Secretly Simon & I agreed that it was almost certain that Darcie would catch it, as she'd stubbornly refused to succumb so far, despite being at nursery/school since she was about 18 months old. Harvey struggled through his week of chickenpox, and we spent a small fortune on calamine lotion, cotton wool pads, allergy medicines, painkillers, bicarbonate of soda and incredible amounts of food in the vague hope that he might eat something. Luckily Harvey recovered sufficiently to return to nursery for the last couple of weeks, he was scabby and in fact still has a few faint spots, but that's it for him, chicken pox all done and dusted. As the days went by, we monitored Darcie very closely for spots, and despite one major false alarm, she remained clear......just as we thought we were home free and wondered if she could be immune, WHAM. Last Friday morning saw her behaving slightly more oddly than usual, and as she got ready for school we spied some tell-tale red blisters on her tummy. With a sinking feeling we realised that our luck had run out, with exactly one week of the term left, and her school disco scheduled for that evening, Darcie had chickenpox. Much cursing followed and traditional screaming from our daughter, who declared that she was killing herself if we didn't let her go to school. Not wanting to lose my child benefit if she carried out her threat, I agreed that as the spots weren't yet very noticeable and she'd definitely be off school for the last week of term, she could enjoy one last day with her friends. That was the day of Harvey's nursery trip (more about that soon) so Simon & I enjoyed what we knew would be our last day of freedom for 7 long weeks.
Not many more spots appeared on the Friday, and Darcie was even able to attend the disco, although she refused point blank to wear the new top and leggings my mum had bought her for the occasion, as the spots were visible. Instead she went in black trousers and a long-sleeved black top, she must have been boiling but at least nobody suspected that chicken pox spots were multiplying by the second! I know, I'm a terrible person for sending her and letting her potentially infect loads of other kids, and even worse for not particularly caring if she did!
So we've muddled through the past week, with me alternately feeling genuinely very sorry for Darcie and wanting to attack her with various sharp implements as she's been soooo stroppy. Of course the whole chicken pox thing is absolutely my fault, which in a weird way it kind of is - if I'd never given birth to Harvey then he couldn't have given the dreaded pox to his sister! Simon & I simply can't believe that fate could be so cruel to us - we were already facing 6 long weeks with the worlds most impossible child, obviously some greater being decided that wasn't quite long enough and a nice extra week of her before the holidays officially started would be a lovely treat for us!
Already I've spent a long time talking about Darcie, when this post was supposed to be about Harvey. Today was a huge day for him, he went to nursery for the very last time. I can remember so clearly the first time Harvey ever went to a nursery, it was the beginning of January 2009, straight after the Christmas holidays. He hadn't been 3 for long and he started at Bunnywarren, where Darcie went right up until she started infant school. It's in a community centre not far from us, and I had my reservations when Darcie started there, but was convinced by Simon to give it a go. She started when she was 3 and about 4 months, we'd moved a few months previously and she'd left her old nursery - we didn't really know the area very well and someone told us about Bunnywarren. It was meant to be a stop-gap but Darcie loved it there and did really well, so she ended up staying until the end of the summer term before she started school. I thought it would be cool to send Harvey to the same nursery, but it was a complete disaster - he'd never really been away from us before and the memory of that first morning will stay with me forever. My poor little boy rapidly became hysterical when we tried to leave him, and attached himself to me while a no-nonsense member of staff attempted to detach him from my coat. Of course I know now, and I knew then, that being cruel to be kind is best - quick hug goodbye and straight out of the door without looking back is the way to play it. Most kids stop wailing within minutes of their doting parents vanishing, but there's a crucial flaw in this method - what do you do if you genuinely can't stand up as your hysterical child has you in a vice-like grip? I realised at that moment how strong Harvey is, no way in hell he was releasing me - tears and snot cascaded down his little face as he breathlessly pleaded with me to stay. It was truly one of the most heartbreaking moments of my life, all I wanted to do was scoop my son up and run far, far away -- kids don't actually need to go to nursery, anyway, a little voice in my head was saying. Simon was standing impatiently next to me, while the no-nonsense member of staff continued her battle to remove Harvey from me, while clearly thinking that I was a silly, overprotective mother who had produced a little brat. Her smile turned into a grimace and finally, at long last I was free - my coat was soaked with sweat, tears and bogey, but I was able to stand up while she desperately tried to prevent a still sobbing and begging Harvey from re-attaching himself to me. Simon literally dragged me out of the room and I promptly dissolved into tears which continued all the way home - nothing he said made me feel better. I'd let my baby boy down in the worst way possible, I'd betrayed him and he'd never forgive me. I'd wrongly assumed that as Darcie had been fine at Bunnywarren Harvey would be as well; she'd run in happily every time and left me in no doubt that my presence was not required. He was clearly a different kettle of fish though; we struggled through the horrendous early days and he eventually stopped wailing every time we took him but he never liked it there. I resorted to bribery - as many crisps as he could eat if he went willingly and at least pretended to enjoy himself, thus preventing me from feeling too guilty.
Last September Darcie moved to a new school as she started juniors. The infant school next door had a pre-school which we'd heard good things about, so we decided to remove Harvey from the dreaded Bunnywarren and enrol him in Fledglings pre-school instead. Our reasoning behind this was twofold; Bunnywarren is in completely the opposite direction to Darcie's junior school which would have made dropping off and collecting the kids hard work. Having them in adjacent buildings would be fantastic, and the second reason was that Harvey might get on better at Fledglings. I can honestly say it's one of the best decisions we've ever made, we had no tears on the first day (just a quiet "stay with me mummy" which I was able to ignore, not even one attempt to attach himself to me) we'd taken him on a visit which I think helped, but Harvey basically loved it from day one. It was amazing, he quickly settled in to going every morning 9-11.30am and we've had no major problems at all. The great thing is that Harvey was always happy to spend weekends and holidays at home with no fuss, but looked forward to nursery again, which is just as it should be in my opinion.
I felt sad today as I walked the familiar route to the nursery, for the last time - of course I'll go next year to collect them both from school, but I won't ever pick Harvey up at 11.30am from nursery again. It's the end of an era, and I thought about that little boy who broke his heart the first time I left him at nursery, not that long ago really. I no longer have pre-school children, well I guess I do until September, but.......I have such mixed feelings about my boy starting school. Harvey will start Reception at Devonshire, the infant school Fledglings is attached to, right next door to Darcie's school which is Fernhurst Juniors. Again it will be a new experience for us - Darcie never went to a pre-school attached to a school, and she attended a different infants.
Anyway the mixed feelings - it's all so weird. Darcie was absolutely ready for school, being born in September (tip from me - avoid sexual encounters around the festive season, NYE sealed our fate!) meant she was about three weeks away from her 5th birthday when she started school. Despite loving nursery, Darcie was desperate to go to school, and it seemed to take forever to get her there. Harvey isn't as mature as she was, yet ironically it's definitely come around for him much quicker. I hoped Darcie would be okay, but basically couldn't wait for her to start school, it was exciting and quite a thrill to have a school age child. Admittedly I am excited about Harvey starting too, I'm enjoying getting his uniform sorted (despite the expense!) and I know there are lots of fun things in store for him. But......I seem to have a permanent lump in my throat. The last 4 + years have just shot by, I've really enjoyed Harvey being little and in many ways I guess I'm just not ready to lose him to school yet. Of course some days have been beyond tedious but hes been my little friend for all these years, my relationship with him is a million times better than the one I have with Darcie. I feel guilty pretty much constantly about that, but he's a mummy's boy and he calls himself my hero. I know it's stupid because we all always need our mums, but a little bit of me is worried that Harvey won't need me when he starts school. He'll have that bit more independence and perhaps he'll drift away from me, perhaps he won't be my hero any more. I know it's just because he's my baby and this is the end of an era, everything is changing - when Darcie started school I still had a 10-month old to look after.
Sometimes I feel giddy with excitement about all the freedom I'll have next year, and I know I'll truly enjoy having more time during the day, it'll be wonderful. I've always maintained I want to have a career, and I really, really do, but what shall I do with myself? I suppose I'm scared of ending up doing nothing all day every day, just killing time until I go and collect the kids. As I've mentioned before, I lack confidence, as I reckon lots of people do, and it's going to take me a tremendous amount of courage to actually do something with my life. I want to earn decent money mainly so I can make things better for my kids, but this is going to be so hard.
I keep thinking that I'll miss Harvey so much next year. It probably won't be as heartbreaking as I'm imagining, but a while ago when we were shopping together in Asda he suddenly said "what are you going to do without me when I'm at school mummy?" I almost dissolved into tears right there by the yoghurts, and thought I don't know what I'll do without you, I'll really miss you.
The big thing for Harvey & I recently has been the nursery trip. The letter came out weeks ago, a trip to a farm, going on a coach, all day. They asked for some mums to go and help out, but typically all that was sorted during the week Harvey was off with chicken pox so I missed my opportunity to volunteer. I signed the form and sent the money back, just so he had a place even though we weren't sure if he was going to go. Harvey decided he wanted to right from the start (tractors, animals and lots of mud being like a dream come true for him!) but wanted me there, when I explained this wasn't possible, he wobbled a bit but still said he'd go. I worried and worried and worried about this trip, the main issue being toilets. Harv has never been to the nursery toilets, he has a bizarre phobia about them (even Darcie never went through this) he started Fledglings in pull-ups and then progressed to pants which was fantastic. To his credit, my boy has never wet himself while at nursery, but we've had a few accidents on the way home and spent weeks making mad dashes to the local park so he could wee behind a wall. Basically he's absolutely bursting by 11.30am, the accidents on the way home don't happen now and he's got very brave - he now goes behind a green electricity box and against various lamp-posts. How this is better than using toilets at nursery I don't know!
I'm worried about what Harvey will do when he starts school as he can't possibly wait all day (it's the same toilets, the nursery share them with the infant school) but that's beside the point. Obviously I thought well if he won't go to the toilet at nursery then he probably won't go while they're at the farm, resulting in disaster. I also worried about Harvey feeling sick on the coach (he was travel sick sometimes when he was younger, not so much these days though) being tired, being picked on, not being able to carry his rucksack containing his lunch, not eating his lunch, losing his bag, being attacked by random animals, it went on and on. Finally I had to be firm with myself, and realised that he's 4, he's not a baby, he'll have to cope on his own all day at school, it's a shame for him to miss out, what's the worst that can happen?
So my little boy set off with a small rucksack as instructed by the staff, containing a small lunch. I kept busy all day, but horrendous thoughts kept popping into my head which confirmed my suspicions that I'm one of those horrific over-protective mothers. Promptly at 3pm I was anxiously waiting in the playground, utterly exhausted from weeks of continuous worrying about this trip. I'd taken my mum's suggestion of packing very light jogging bottoms, pants and socks in his bag, just in case of accidents - I knew the staff were taking spare clothes (3 and 4 year olds are prone to wetting themselves and getting filthy) but I suspected Harvey would get upset at the thought of wearing unfamiliar clothes, even though they would probably be ironed unlike his own!
The coach was late. I was beside myself, just about holding it together and hoping I was behaving in a vaguely normal way. Finally the exhausted nursery staff staggered across the playground bringing the equally exhausted children with them. Cheryl (mum to Charlie who probably gave Harvey chicken pox and definitely one of the most annoying women in the world) had gone on the trip (of course, the bloody woman is literally everywhere) and had Harvey in her group. As soon as I saw my precious son holding her hand, I dashed over and could barely conceal my total joy that he was alive. And he was wearing the same trousers he'd set off in! Either he'd developed a super strong bladder or he'd actually been to the toilet with the others, I was bursting with maternal pride and could hardly control myself. Then the evil Cheryl informed me that she had to take Harvey into the nursery and I couldn't "have" him just yet. Excuse me? She may not be the brightest woman in the world, but the glare I gave her and the hatred oozing out of my pores made her recoil. I just about managed to prevent myself from punching Cheryl to the ground and running off with my precious hero boy (I think I might have actually called him that in front of his friends) Fortunately the nursery manager June realised she was taking her role as "parent helper" a little too seriously and officially gave me permission to take my son home.
Unfortunately my reunion with Harvey was not too good - he'd apparently fallen asleep on the coach coming home (I suspect someone drugged the kids) and was extremely ratty. I'd also only given him one drink as I didn't want to make his rucksack too heavy, and he started screaming for drink - I didn't have any fluid on me, terrible mother alert. After screaming all the way home, Harvey calmed down, but still didn't respond to my interrogation about what he'd done at the farm. At his age Darcie would have happily relayed the entire days events from the minute the coach left until the minute it returned, including details such as what clothes everyone was wearing and how many times they visited the toilet. However, Harv is a typical man and is sparing with details - I'm slowly working out what he did, but its taken a week so far. The main thing is that he survived a whole day without us, I'm so proud of my boy.
Anyway I really should be in bed, so I can wake up refreshed and enthusiastic to face the first day of the holidays. I think this blog will be my lifeline this summer, I'm going to try and write something most days - even if I only moan about my kids. Now Darcie's on Facebook I feel mean about moaning about her on there - the kid can read more than I think she can!
