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.........