Summer Hellidays Part 1!

I came up with the "Hellidays" rather than "Holidays" bit all on my own, doesn't quite work but I'm pathetically proud of myself as it's so true!

So......the dreaded summer holidays (or hellidays) are here. I'm feeling very odd about it all this year, it seems almost surreal.....I know that one day I'll wake up and the true horror will hit me, but until then I reckon I'll remain slightly in denial!

Last summer I took a photo of the kids (nearly) every day and put them up on Facebook as a kind of project, something to help me see the endless days gradually disappearing I think! Simon did his brilliant Beard Project; shaving right at the start of the holidays and taking a pic every day, proving to the world that his facial hair does grow freakishly slowly! My dad shaved every other day when I was a kid, and still does I think; despite having hardly any hair on his head it obviously appears rapidly on his face. I'm still stunned that Simon can go literally weeks without shaving and still not develop a full beard, look out for him in the Guinness Book of records as the man with the slowest growing facial hair! Seriously, I easily get through more razors than he does, it might be best not to discuss my shaving habits here though.....

So, as Simon has embarked on The Beard Project Year 2, I thought I should do something myself.....not wanting to bore everyone on Facebook with daily photos of my kids again, I thought about keeping a sort of summer diary within this blog. It'll be a place for me to vent, and maybe kind of cool to look back on if I survive the next few weeks! Admittedly I've failed in my task already as Week 1 is already over (thank the good Lord) but I can back date it......so here goes......

SATURDAY 24TH JULY 2010

The kids officially finished yesterday, although as I previously mentioned, Darcie missed the last week of term due to chickenpox and has therefore been delighting us with her presence for a whole week. Loads better but still very spotty, she swings between screaming to go out, and screaming to stay indoors because she's embarrassed about her spots. Eventually we got the kids ready and headed for Victoria Park, a lovely park right in the centre of Portsmouth. It's one of my favourite places to hang out with the kids, loads of space, gorgeous flowers and trees and the whole area is secluded and peaceful somehow, despite being in the town centre and slap bang opposite the main railway station! There's an animal enclosure with various birds, including a stunning peacock and the recent addition of peacock babies which are unbelievably cute. I'm definitely coming back as a peacock in my next life! There are also rabbits and guinea pigs which are constantly surrounded by hoards of grubby kids, all desperately shoving carrots, lettuce and celery at them. My own kids love feeding the animals too, and went to the park via Asda, spending a fortune on "guinea pig food" plus some picnic stuff for ourselves as well.

Several pubs in the centre of Portsmouth display old photos of Victoria Park, which I find fascinating - it's one of those places which has been around forever, and I remember seeing a framed print of women pushing babies around there in the early 1900's. It's weird thinking about all the thousands of children who must have run around there, and how different life is today.

Darcie and Harvey had a great time with the animals, then we had our picnic (well to be accurate three of us ate while Harvey fed his lunch to the goldfish who live in the fountain) they burned off some energy in the play area, which only appeared last summer, previously there were no swings, etc. which is unusual for a park but kind of nice in an odd way. Harvey enjoyed tormenting his sister on the pretend (and very cool) train, while Simon took photos and I generally lazed around eating sweets.

After a couple of hours the kids had had enough so we headed to the shops, much to Darcie's disgust - she only likes shops if she knows for certain she's getting something big and expensive. Things were going well until we entered a shop selling DVD's, wii games, etc. - Simon was browsing and as the kids were hanging around near the stairs I asked if they'd like to have a look downstairs. Darcie was moody already as apparently people were staring at her spots, and it seemed this was the final straw for her; she randomly shrieked something along the lines of "I'm so scared, you're going to throw me down the stairs again!" I was truly stunned as I'd simply asked if she wanted to look downstairs, and have honestly never thrown her down a flight of stairs in her life, although to be honest sometimes its been tempting.

Being a busy Saturday afternoon, and a popular store, the place was packed, and a woman had clearly overheard what my darling daughter had said. The woman stopped dead and looked at me with a mixture of horror and disgust, clearly appalled that I'd previously chucked my child downstairs and was preparing to do it again. I was embarrassed and simply couldn't believe what Darcie had said, we all know kids do strange things sometimes, but it was just so random. I was majorly hacked off and told her so, cue more major moods and plenty of running around generally acting like a two-year-old from my beloved daughter. The scary part though is that I think Darcie genuinely believed I was about to push her down a flight of stairs, and I'd done that previously.

As a slightly odd punishment I then ensured we spent ages in Tescos (supermarkets are apparently the most boring places on earth) and took great delight in refusing point blank to buy Darcie an iCarly microphone (£9 for a piece of complete tat, of course I'd have begged my mum for it too when I was 8) which resulted in me being crowned Meanest Mum of the Century.

SUNDAY 25TH JULY 2010

Still stinging from the previous days accusation, I was extremely reluctant to do much with Darcie - I always think Sundays are weird days for taking kids out. In fact Sundays are pretty weird days anyway, in my opinion.

My announcement that we were going to have a Quiet Day Indoors was met with screams and death threats, so we did eventually venture to a little park (the kids call it the Green Park for some reason, which always reminds me of a London Underground station) It was a long, tedious day and Darcie was in a fool mood for most of it - eventually her immature behaviour angered Simon so much that he found a "I am 2" badge which I think was Harvey's, and made her wear it while we were out. The idea was to embarrass Darcie and make her see how silly she is sometimes, but as usual the plan didn't work and she walked around with her hand clamped over the badge, moaning continuously that it made her hot. Of course a tiny badge can't possibly make someone hot, but as always Darcie was right and we were all unbelievably mean and cruel, victimising her for no reason. Okay so the badge thing might have been slightly horrible, but believe me, she deserved much worse! (like being pushed down a flight of stairs maybe....joke!)

MONDAY 26TH JULY 2010

Our local library had a childrens event on this morning, Alien Creation, which I'd read about a few days previously. Basically a craft session lasting a couple of hours, making aliens, and doing other activities - obviously other kids would be there, and I thought Darcie & Harvey might enjoy it so in an unusual burst of organisation I'd acquired two tickets for the event (although technically Harvey was too young as it was for 5-12 year olds but I ignored that)

After the usual arguments we managed to get to the library for 10.30am, and the kids really enjoyed themselves. Lots of other children were there and it was fairly well organised, I felt desperately sorry for the bloke running it though and was reminded once again why I will never, ever work with children. Darcie and Harvey made some cool aliens and it gave them something to do, signed Darcie up for the summer reading scheme afterwards although I doubt she has any intention of actually reading the books! The lovely woman organising it gave both kids funky bookmarks and stickers though, so they were pleased.

Grabbed some lunch stuff and headed home, much to Darcie's displeasure but I had an absolute ton of housework to do, and stuff to organise in preparation for the next day.....

TUESDAY 27TH JULY 2010

My mum had been offering/threatening for days to come over and collect Darcie so she could spend some time in Selsey with them. Initially we wanted to wait until we'd got a bit further into the holidays, but Darcie was desperate to go and to be honest we felt we'd all benefit from some time apart.

So today was the day, I like seeing my mum of course (just in case she's secretly reading this) but it's such hard work. She isn't overly hard work herself, all she asks for normally is cups of tea and the odd meal, but the preparation is a killer. We dash around desperately cleaning up to create the impression that housework is done regularly, and not just when she's due to come over. I've been known to hide dirty washing as I'm so ashamed of my giant tower of laundry, and random other things get hidden too. Our bedroom is the main place for shoving anything we don't want her to see, i.e. bags of dirty clothes, objects which make the place look even messier, etc. and I do my very best to ensure mum doesn't ever enter our room. The door is kept closed at all times and we often joke that my parents must wonder what on earth we keep in there. I've had to physically block my mum from entering that room and often use distraction techniques whenever I suspect she's thinking about attempting to go in there.

So after working continuously all Monday afternoon, evening, all night and the whole of Tuesday morning (well it damn well felt like that's what we did anyway) the place was just about acceptable, provided my mum didn't look at the walls, floor, windows, under any beds, or open any cupboards. By the time she and Darcie got onto the train around 3pm we were completely exhausted mentally and physically. I like to think that when my kids eventually move into their own places (hopefully sooner rather than later) they'll also spend days preparing for my visit, of course if any rooms are sealed off I'll immediately know why, and make a point of running in there the second their backs are turned!

WEDNESDAY 28TH JULY 2010

Simon, Harvey and I freely admit to thoroughly enjoying the peace whenever Darcie goes away; it's lovely not having the screams and moods although Harvey is fairly high maintenance himself in a different way. It's good knowing that Darcie's happy and enjoying herself, and horrible as it sounds, things are so much more relaxed when she isn't here.

However, I miss her. It's very strange not having my child at home with me, a very odd feeling and not one I really like. She never totally leaves my thoughts, I find myself wondering what she's doing, if she's okay, and then there's the tremendous guilt because as I said, we're happy when she's not here. It shouldn't be like that, but it is. Of course sometimes we're happy when she is at home, and the family isn't complete without her, but things are so much easier when she stays with my parents.

Harvey really, really misses Darcie, and is demanding which is hard to cope with sometimes. Simon suggested taking him to the cinema this afternoon, so we headed up to Gunwharf Quays, home to the famous Spinnaker Tower, one of the main landmarks of Portsmouth which they started building around the time Darcie was born.

We had lunch at our favourite Chinese restaurant and weighed up the pros and cons of taking Harvey to the cinema. He swayed between wanting to go, and not being overly bothered, and we were concerned about paying out a small fortune and then having him moaning that he wanted to leave after ten minutes! Harv doesn't have the concentration span Darcie had when she was his age, so eventually we decided against the cinema. Instead we took the Gosport Ferry to Gosport (obviously) only a ten-minute trip but Harvey's first time on a boat and he thoroughly enjoyed it. We had a mooch around Gosport (haven't been there for years) before jumping back on the ferry and bringing our exhausted little boy home to bed.

THURSDAY 29TH JULY 2010

A fairly quiet day today, had a lovely chat to Darcie on the phone this morning - she always phone us twice a day when she's with my parents and is lovely to talk to. I often think how young Darcie sounds on the phone, and remember that she's just a little girl still really.

Took Harv into town, popped into the library, treated him to a couple of little toys and Macdonalds for tea. He's been quite tired all day, think his first experience of a boat wore him out! He chose a Thomas the tank engine DVD from the library, soooo boring but at least it kept him occupied for a while when we got back!

FRIDAY 30TH JULY 2010

Took Harvey to Southsea on the bus today, as he wanted to see the sea! I used to live around there as a student and it always brings back some happy memories of carefree days. We took a picnic which Harvey again refused to eat, but we had fun feeding the sea with pebbles and seaweed. He's such a sweet little boy, always wanting to do things with me which makes such a change from the blatant hatred which I often get from Darcie.

We checked out the boating lake, the real swans have been replaced with little boats shaped like swans and ducks, for the sum of £6 one can pedal one of these strange contraptions around the boating lake for 5 minutes! I don't like swans but am slightly concerned about where they've gone? Harvey initially wanted a go on a duck boat, but thankfully changed his mind - I found the whole idea of attempting to control it while everyone watched frankly terrifying!

Harv played in the park and we took him in the arcades, he loves the penny machines and has a tendancy to win which infuriates Darcie whenever she's with us. We stuffed ourselves on ice cream and generally had a lovely afternoon by the sea. There's a model village nearby which Darcie is desperate to visit, plus a new splash park which simply consists of sprinklers which kids can dance around wearing swimming costumes (paedophiles dream come true) we'll go back there at some point this summer so the kids can have a go.

SATURDAY 31ST JULY 2010

Darcie came home today, my mum brought her back mid afternoon. I was very happy to see her again, and Harvey was over the moon to have his playmate back! As usual though, Darcie just about held it together while mum was here, but the second she attempted to leave the screaming started. She begged my mum not to go which upset everyone and then screamed herself into oblivion all evening. I was informed that I'm horrible and Darcie hates me and hates living here. This is the child who spent days telling me how much she missed me, and apparently pretended that a photo of me in my parents lounge was in fact a webcam and I could see her. I couldn't calm her down so she ended up screaming herself to sleep. I hate it when that happens, I feel so horrible and realise that I am in many ways a truly useless mother.

SUNDAY 1ST AUGUST 2010

Today was okay, we took the kids to the rec, a large park about 2o minutes away. They played for a bit, then we walked to Krazy Kaves, an indoor play centre which I've mentioned before on here. Harvey bumped into his friend from nursery James, who had his party at Krazy Kaves a few months ago, one of my blog entries was mainly about that party! They had fun, and then once again we headed to Macdonalds for tea. Darcie was kept busy for most of the day, so not much opportunity for screaming although she squeezed a couple of moods in.

Tomorrow is Blood Test day for her, I know she dreads these occasions and I understand why. I'd have hated it too as a kid, and I still don't like things like that. Darcie has to have blood tests and a consultant appointment every six months as she has an under active thyroid, and she's incredibly worked up about tomorrow and the blood test. I really, honestly, sympathise, but she needs to realise that people have it much worse than her, some kids spend months in hospital. Of course not many 8-year olds realise how lucky they are, but I keep trying to explain that her life isn't as bad as she thinks it is.

I hate taking Darcie for her blood test, as much as she winds me up at times, it's horrible watching someone stick needles into your child. I know it'll be over soon, but I wish it was over now.

Holding Out For A Hero

Hello again......well its been a while, kept promising myself I'd do my blog but somehow never get around to it. Having two kids who refuse to go to bed until late and then get up again at the first opportunity, ready for another day of tormenting their poor parents means that I don't get a whole lot of computer time! Some days I feel like I'm constantly on the PC, but it's normally just a few minutes here and there, before yet another battle with my daughter begins.

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!

Bon anniversaire!

The title for this entry was inspired by Darcie's apparent love of French lessons at school, and random announcements that she is going to move to France as soon as she possibly can. I, of course, understand nothing about the country or language; my insistence that I got an A in French GCSE many moons ago is repeatedly ignored, as Darcie is the fountain of all knowledge as always. One of her new goals is to count backwards from 20 in French, this will apparently secure her a wonderful job and idyllic lifestyle. I honestly wish my daughter all the luck in the world with her future career as "artist, doctor, inventor or something else" in France, and am planning on presenting her with a one-way ticket there on her 18th birthday.

So half-term is here, I swear the kids spend more time at home than they do at nursery/school! As always I had plans for this holiday but things have gone pear-shaped......Darcie was supposed to be met after school on Friday by her adoring Granny, who would then whisk her off for a few days of fun in Selsey. I honestly don't know exactly what my mum does while Darcie is staying with them, but I'm led to believe that their house is more fun than Disney World, Hamleys and a chocolate factory rolled together......I'm certain my parents weren't that much fun when I was a kid! Simon & I would have been left with just Harvey to entertain, which I was dreading in a way as he misses playing with/tormenting his big sister when she's here. At least Darcie would have been happy though, but my mum inconsiderately fell and fractured a bone in her arm last Monday. I arrived home with the kids after spending over an hour boiling in the park to find that my dad had phoned, luckily Simon was in to take the call. When I finally dragged my two sweaty, thirsty, moaning kids home, he greeted me with the news that my mum had fallen over and gone to hospital. Men are generally more sparing with information than women; they state the basic key facts whereas most women spin those facts into a long and unnecessary monologue rather than just getting to the point! So, my dad had phoned, mum was hurt and had taken herself to casualty. When I asked Simon which part/s of her body she had injured, he replied that her brain had fallen out. I rightly assumed this was incorrect, a joke intended to lighten the atmosphere I think.

My dad had also been curiously stingy with info, and even after I phoned him he was reluctant to fill in the blanks. Given that my mother is one of the most stubborn creatures on the planet (a characteristic I'm relieved not to have inherited) I was surprised that she had gone to hospital as I can only ever remember her admitting defeat and heading to casualty twice in my whole life. Luckily the next morning she phoned, sounding surprisingly chirpy, to say that she has fractured a bone in her arm and has a huge sling, the damaged arm being both immovable and rather painful. I was relieved that my mum hadn't done more damage, and at once said that there was no way we expected her to have Darcie over half term. I do fully sympathise with my mum; she's the one who has always done every bit of housework, cooking, etc. and my dad is pretty useless in that respect. I offered to go and help her out, but she seems to be managing okay and my dad is apparently being very helpful. He has pegged out washing, hoovered, helped change the beds, followed simple instructions in the kitchen.....I would love to be a fly on the wall as this is the man who thinks he has done well if hes carried his empty beer cans to the recycling bin! I'm glad he's leaning though, perhaps this will make him appreciate my mum a bit more.

So, our respite has been cancelled, and we're facing another 7 days of Darcie. That sounds horrible; we shouldn't dread having our daughter at home, and it makes me sad that we do. As I've said before, there are two separate Darcie's....the one who's calm, great to talk to, absolutely brilliant with Harvey (who is admittedly a pain at times) and very mature. Darcie sometimes shocks me with how grown-up she can be, and how considerate she is. Last week it was sports day for her year, held at another local school - parents from her school couldn't go and watch as there apparently wasn't space, think there's another event soon which we will be invited to. Darcie has always been absolutely useless at sports, as I was and apparently my mum was too! Some people excel at it, which is great for them, but lots dread sports days. Apparently one race involved dressing up in peculiar items of clothing at various stages, sounds completely horrendous and of course Darcie was chosen for this race. She claimed she was doing okay until she noticed her friend Michelle was struggling with some buttons and was almost in tears - rather than ignoring her and carrying on, Darcie stopped and helped. I doubt she'd have won anyway, but she admitted that when she paused and helped Michelle, she realised she had ruined her chance of victory. I thought that was a mature thing to do, and not something lots of kids would even consider, and I was really proud of her. I tried to explain that I was more proud of Darcie for putting her friend first than I would have been if she'd have won, but as always it came out wrong and I don't think she got what I meant at all!

The Other Darcie has been out in full force this weekend; she's furious at missing her holiday with my parents, of course I understand her disappointment but resent being blamed and punished for something beyond my control. She flips so easily, and it's frightening how erratic and uncontrollable her mood swings are. We can see in her eyes that she's lost the plot, there's no reasoning with her and she accuses us of all sorts, from breaking her bones to never wanting her to be born. Darcie constantly accuses me of preferring Harvey, and I know it's horrible but sometimes I do because he doesn't treat me the way she does. Everything that goes wrong in her life is automatically my fault, and she is never to blame for anything. There's always a rude answer, or an excuse, or an argument, and it completely wears us out. I look at Darcie sometimes and wonder how I created something so beautiful, so clever and so considerate, but those moments are rare. I seem to spend most of my life battling with her, she doesn't do anything I say (even little things like going to the bathroom and getting washed) and reacts against me so much of the time. The most hurtful times are when she says things like "I wish I was dead" and the latest, "I'd rather spend 24 hours a day at school working hard than be at home with you." Minutes later, she's drawing me lovely pictures and claiming she loves me. So which is it, does she love me or hate me? Or both?

Wednesday is my birthday, I can't believe I'll be 31, madness! As they say, age is just a number though, and you're only as old as you feel.....sometimes I feel like I'm still 16 and can't possibly be the mother of these children and have all this responsibility. I don't know how I feel about my birthday really, last year I promised myself that my thirties would be the decade that I would change, and do something with my life. I feel like I've let myself down this past year as nothing has changed so far, and the thought of turning 40 and still being in this situation terrifies me. Still, I've got another 9 years of my thirties so all is not lost!

I was thinking about my 21st birthday, ten years ago. I managed to come down with a stinking cold on my actual birthday, but the following weekend Simon & I travelled up to Croydon where my parents were still living at that point. I remember the tram system had just started operating and the London Eye was also new, my parents took us on it for my birthday. They've got a photo of Simon & I on the Eye up in their front room, and when I look at it I often think about how much has changed since that day. We were just a young couple at university back then, and neither of us realised how much things would change following my 21st. Almost exactly 7 months later we'd conceive our first baby, and when my 22nd birthday rolled around I was five months pregnant. My twenty-first birthday was officially my last without Darcie and I can't believe shes been in our lives for nearly a decade. Despite everything, if someone offered me the chance to turn the clock back ten years and not get pregnant with her, then I can say with absolute certainty that I'd refuse.

I wonder how different our lives will be in another ten years? I like to think that on my 41st birthday my daughter will phone me up from some pub where she's busy getting seriously drunk with her university mates. She'll say something like "Happy birthday Mum, God I can't believe how incredibly old you are! Didn't you get the card? I posted it days ago, honestly......no, I swear I didn't forget to send you one! Anyway, we were just talking about when we were all kids and I was telling everyone about how weird I was, how I used to scream endlessly, God I was a nightmare kid - I can't believe how horrible I was to you and Dad....."

and I'll smile to myself and say "No, you weren't."

A matter of life and death

I'm sitting here feeling rather unwell, entirely self-inflicted as I finally caved and bought some strawberries this afternoon. I've fancied them for a couple of weeks, not a massive strawberry fan but the little ones are yummy....and healthy enough on their own but I tried to resist as I just knew I'd end up covering them in sugar and cream! I nipped into Lidl after picking Darcie up from school today to get some toilet paper (I'm sure we use more than any other family in the world) and there they were, big punnets of tasty looking strawberries. It was so hot, a lovely summery afternoon, and strawberries are traditionally summer fruit......before I knew it I was queuing up with my toilet paper, strawberries and a can of squirty cream which I tried to convince myself was really for the kids. The strawberries were delicious, but as always I overdid it, I'm actually having trouble breathing......and the kids didn't get any squirty cream!

Recently I've been thinking about death quite often, hope that isn't an omen and I'm not going to kick the bucket just yet. A couple of weeks ago I was walking up to the library with Harvey and having one of those pre-menstrual why-is-my-life-so-crap afternoons. Everything just seemed so pointless and I could sense a full blown bad mood approaching which is never a good thing for those around me. Just beyond the library is St Mary's church, the scene of a particularly hideous Christmas carol service involving Darcie's school a couple of years ago. It's a big, imposing church with a large graveyard and frightening looking funeral directors strategically positioned opposite. Anyway, I was stomping along muttering to myself, when a hearse drove slowly by, containing the obligatory coffin and a ton of flowers. I always feel a weird sense of guilt when I see a hearse, although I know I'm (hopefully) not responsible for the person's death. I think it's more guilt at the fact that I'm alive and they're not, when in all probability he/she was a better person than me!

The heart-wrenching "Dad" flower arrangement propped up against the coffin was bad enough, but then we realised that there was a little truck trundling after the hearse, covered in yet more flowers and other tributes. It seemed like hundreds of people were pouring into the church ahead of us, and I realised just how loved that man must have been. Hopefully he was an older guy, who had lived a full and happy life, and clearly had many people who cared enough about him to spend a warm Friday afternoon sitting in a cold and spooky church. But still, that mans life was over, and I soon snapped out of my mood when I realised just how lucky I am to be alive.

My dad turned 73 nine days ago, and it's fairly likely that the bloke in the coffin was a similar age or even younger. Of course people can die at any age, but it's generally assumed that the older you are the more likely you are to die, morbid as it sounds! My dad was 42 the month before I was born, so not a very young man even then, but I can clearly remember him going off to work every day, playing table tennis, days out and holidays with him, and sometimes playing tennis in the summer with me and my fury because he rarely let me win! I've never been particularly close to my dad, it was always my mum who did stuff with me on a daily basis when I was a kid, and if it came down to it I'd chose her over him even now. (unless I was being forced to pick one of them to partner me in a chocolate eating competition, then I'd go for my dad every time - my mum has an unnatural aversion to the stuff!) The thing is though, it's suddenly hit me that my dad's officially old, and I've already lost him in a way. I'll probably never go on holiday with him again, or for a proper day out; the dad that did things like that has gone, and there's this old man in his place. Of course he's still the same person, and everyone gets older, but it's an odd feeling. I think for me it's especially hard to watch my parents growing older, because I never really had any grandparents so never saw it happen with them. Of course I realise that I've lost my babies, and my kids have grown, but you expect children to change, somehow parents should be the same forever!

Something else that struck me when I watched that hearse was that very soon it could be my dad, not someone else's. Hopefully he'll live to a hundred, and the horrible thing is that he could in theory outlive my kids, it happens. (sometimes I've seriously thought he will live longer than Darcie, I've come that close to murdering her!) I think many people assume that their parents will be around forever, and the prospect of facing life without them is a scary one. I've lived away from my mum & dad for over 12 years, I don't honestly need them on a daily basis, but I think it's true that we always need our parents. My mum says that I have two homes, mine and theirs, and it's unimaginable that one day they won't be around. I know I'm lucky to have my parents, despite them driving me mad at times - my mum lost her natural mother at the age of 19, and for many years I worried that history would repeat itself. Fortunately it hasn't, and I've had a mother for 12 years longer than my mum had one.

My mum is nearly 10 years younger than my dad, and ten times as active. She was very nearly 30 when they got married, and he was pushing 40, she says the age gap didn't really concern her at the time and I doubt she thought about how things would be thirty-three years down the line. My mum hasn't aged as dramatically as my dad has, and I know he frustrates her because he won't do half the things she wants him to. I know my mum enjoys life, but don't think my dad does really, which is a shame because there are so many things they could enjoy together. There's a line from a song, can't remember which one right now, but it goes something like "I don't want to die, but I'm not keen on living either...." could be Robbie Williams, I'll have to look it up. I often think those words sum up how my dad is. He's a real worry, but what can I do, I guess I just have to hope that he'll still be worrying me in ten years time.

Death is something which I find intensely terrifying, yet strangely fascinating. Simon & I have had various conversations over the years about dying (including how many years we'd have to spend in prison if we murdered the kids, and whether it's worth going for it, currently swaying towards yes) Death is something which constantly surrounds us, it's a part of life and the most frightening thing is that it's inevitable. The truth is that I brought two children into this world, who will eventually have to deal with death, and that worries me. Sometimes I watch Darcie with my parents and realise that one day she'll lose them. As I said, of course they could live longer than her, but it's more likely that someone will have to tell her that the granny she adores is dead, and in all probability that someone will be me. This is all very negative of course, with any luck my mum will be watching her great-grandchildren run around the park in twenty years time. The big thing though, one of my greatest fears, is that I'll outlive my kids - I don't think any parent should attend the funeral of their child, but it happens so often. Yesterday, a girl Simon has known for years was killed in a car-crash. I think she was 26, and presumably had both parents, who have now lost their daughter. Death is all around us constantly, but until it touches our lives we often don't think of it. I didn't know this girl, but still find it unbelievable that a young, healthy, attractive, nice, harmless woman can get into her car one normal morning, have a collision with a lorry and die. She had her whole future ahead of her, and thats been snatched away, the boyfriend who might have become her husband and the father of her children now has to carry on living without her. I always struggle to find the reason for things like this, it's just so senseless. Again though, I think events like this touch our lives to make us realise just how very lucky we are.

I've been aware for a long time that at any moment my life could be snatched away from me, and that I should make the most of every minute. Recent events have made me realise just how fragile and short life is, and I know I shouldn't focus on what I don't have, but instead on what I do have. There are so many opportunities open to me, and I feel I'm wasting precious time in many ways. I believe that life is a game, and sometimes I feel as if I'm standing in a room with closed doors surrounding me, and a clock ticking. I could push open any one of those doors, but have no idea what lies behind them, how my life will change if I walk through a doorway. It's a mixture of excitement and fear, and the whole time that clock is counting down, at any minute the buzzer could go off and then that's it, game over. Do I stay where I am or do I change something, pick a door and open it? All I need is motivation and courage, but I'm not sure I have either, I'm acutely aware that any decision I make could be wrong, and I don't dislike where I am. But things could be much better through a certain door......which one though?

All Darcie wants is to be an adult, she simply can't wait to grow up as in her eyes, being a adult represents everything she could possibly dream of. I wish I could make her understand that she should treasure her childhood,as being an adult is the hardest thing she will ever do.

You're the best

Well, another week has gone by and we survived the dreaded Bank Holiday Weekend! I'm 100% sure that kids these days get longer school holidays, more teacher training days and there are more bank holidays than when I was younger.....also there's the continuing unsolvable mystery of why do 6 hours at the weekend last for an eternity while the same amount of time shoots by when the kids are at school?!

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.

Smile

Well, its been a while, kept meaning to write but finding the time recently has been impossible! Right now it's 7am on Saturday morning, Harvey decided once again that 5.30am was the perfect time to get up and Darcie was up by 6.15am. I'm sure some people have children who actually go to bed early, sleep in their own beds all night and wake up at a reasonable time......! Harvey attempted to engage me in various games but I managed to distract him with some wine gums - yep, I'm a terrible mother for giving my son sweets at this hour, but hell at least it shut him up! Annoying Harvey hates the black and green wine gums like me, I sneakily tried to give him those but he grabbed the red and orange ones, bloody kid. I'm sitting here wondering if 7am is too early for chocolate.....

Anyway, quite a bit has happened over the past few weeks. Just before she finished for Easter, it was Darcie's parents evening (well strictly speaking it was parents afternoon as our appointment was about 3.40pm!) After her less-than-fantastic report, I was feeling quite tense but each set of parents was only allocated 10 minutes with the teacher so I reassured myself that it wouldn't be that horrendous. Darcie's teacher, Mrs Smith, is one of the better ones we've come across, despite being depressingly skinny and having a permanently sad look about her (although that may be because my daughter is in her class!) I've been to quite a few parents evenings already, but this one was by far the worst. Mrs Smith looked at Simon & I, sighed especially sadly and said "I just don't know what to say about Darcie....." I could tell that this was a bad, bad sign and resisted the urge to run far, far away.

So, we officially have a difficult child. Darcie won't go out willingly to play at break/lunch times, preferring instead to tidy the classroom (although she normally refuses point-blank to tidy up at home) and do jobs for Mrs Smith - helpful to a point I guess but the point is that most kids can't wait to escape the classroom and go outside to play. Apparently there's no sign of bullying or anyone being especially nasty to her, which could be a reason why she'd rather be inside with the teacher. Granted Darcie isn't a very active or physical child to say the least, and I reckon running around is just too much effort, but surely she could just sit on a bench or something? We came to the conclusion that she sees herself as one of the staff rather than a pupil, which fits in with her obsession about being a grown-up and inability to understand why she's younger than us! If Darcie is in the classroom helping Mrs Smith rather than playing outside with her peers, then in her mind that makes her a member of staff, on the same level as her teacher.

Her work has plateaued, mainly meaning that she's reached a certain level and then given up. Despite making minimal effort, Darcie remains in the middle groups which says something I think....academically she'd do well if she wasn't so bloody lazy. I'll freely admit that I didn't work to my full potential at school, and so often wish I'd tried harder - the gift of hindsight which comes with being an adult is a marvellous thing! Mrs Smith was exasperated by Darcie's rudeness, apparently she often turns her back on her teachers when something doesn't suit - very rude I know, but in some little way I quite admire her because I'd never have dared! Of course I looked suitably shocked and didn't say "wow, she's brave! I'd have loved to turn my back to plenty of teachers when I was at school!"......

One of the most shocking things is Darcie's inability to sit properly on the mat with the other children. This is clearly crucial to her success at school and development as a person. I know Mrs Smith was simply highlighting this as an example of Darcie's general awkwardness and reluctance to follow instructions, but if that's the worst crime she ever commits in her life then I'll be happy! Yes, she should do as she's told, but she's sitting slightly outside the designated area, not running amok through the school with a loaded gun - I would have thought it was the latter from the deadly serious look on Mrs Smiths face.

The good (in a weird way) bit is that we've finally found someone who agrees there is something wrong with Darcie. Previously, whenever we attempted to discuss her behaviour with her teachers, they brushed it aside making us feel like we were over-exaggerating. Mrs Smith, however, admitted she was relieved that we think there's something not quite right, as she also thinks so. She described Darcie as depressive, in addition to her general awkwardness and odd behaviour. I think I mentioned that we saw a woman from CAMHS (Child and Adult Mental Health Services) who were were due to meet with again coincidentally the day after Parents Evening. When we saw the lady, Mary, the first time, she asked permission to send a form to school for Darcie's class teacher to complete - Mrs Smith explained that she had received the form and duly filled it in. Our 10 minutes were up, and we left the classroom feeling shocked after such a negative meeting, collected our children from the hall where they had waited patiently (ignoring the fact that Harv had been climbing on the apparatus which was forbidden) and walked home in the rain.

We saw Mary the woman from CAMHS) as planned the next day, after school at our place. She informed us that she's 60, and really very nice, with a vaguely amused yet suspicious look about her which means she must have her own kids. As soon as Mary entered the room, Darcie recoiled as if a mad gunman had run in, flashing her an evil look which is normally reserved just for me. We were actually quite pleased as Darcie was demonstrating just how peculiar she can be, but Mary ploughed on, not fazed at all (another indication that she's a mother) Harvey retired to our bedroom to watch telly (and to do some destroying of various objects, taking full advantage of the fact that he was unsupervised) When we met with Mary the first time Darcie was at school, but she'd been very keen to meet her (glutton for punishment).

Mary spoke to Darcie (in fact all of us) veeerrrrryyyy slowly and calmly as if we were ever so slightly mentally defective (which I am) and her soothing voice made me want to doze off. Guessing falling asleep while seeing a counsellor about my daughter's serious problems would undoubtedly place me firmly in the Bad Mother category, I managed to stay concious.

Mary referred to the form she'd sent to Mrs Smith, and read us some of her comments. With the parents evening fresh in our minds, we already knew what Mrs Smith's main concerns were, and what she'd written on the form generally reinforced what she'd said to us. However, Mrs Smith had added that she has never seen Darcie smile. What? How can a child never smile? I was shocked, and clearly Simon was too - suddenly I was wide awake and wondering what on earth is wrong with our child. She loves school, and as I've said before, frequently informs us that she'd much rather be there than at home. So why isn't she happy there? Apparently she didn't even smile or seem happy when her class voted her costume the best on Superhero day, and she won! I can genuinely say that that was one of the saddest moments in my life as a mum, my daughter is so sad that she doesn't smile. I could have cried, but luckily we moved quickly on......that comment has stuck with me though, and probably always will. Simon and I have often said that Darcie doesn't know how to react in certain situations - ever since she was tiny shes been odd about getting presents, etc. there's usually no excitement there. I remember on Darcie's 3rd birthday my parents bought her a doll's pram which she'd been desperate for - we sat her on the sofa and got her to cover her eyes while we wheeled it in, I was so excited thinking she'd be over the moon. She opened her eyes, looked at the dolls pram and said something like "Oh, right." which has always been her reaction to most gifts. I don't reckon she knew how to act when she won the competition at school, she may have been embarrassed by all the fuss as kids are sometimes. The not smiling thing is weird though, I've been watching her like a hawk ever since and she does smile, not nearly as often as she should though.

The conclusion Mary came to is that Darcie isn't going to open up to her or anyone else about why she screams and behaves in the way she does. There's no point in continuing counselling, which I agree with - we've been there, done that, and got nowhere. Darcie has a flair for art and so Mary has referred her for art therapy, not sure exactly what it will consist of, but it's proved very successful for certain children with problems. It will take a few weeks for the art therapy to start, but we're hoping that it helps her and does some good - feeling tentatively optimistic......

Just after Easter we went to stay with my parents; Simon, Harvey and I returned home after our usual 4 nights, leaving Darcie there for a couple of days. It was so good to have a break from home, and Darcie was generally fine there which was refreshing. We actually had a good time as a family, which is a rare thing these days. My mum brought Darcie home on the Saturday before she went back to school, and despite being pleased to see us (she phones us twice a day when she's with my parents and is a joy to talk to, my mum insists she misses me) the screaming resumed when my mum attempted to leave. Darcie lost the plot, clinging onto my mum and begging her not to go, luckily my mum managed to free herself from her granddaughter's vice-like grip and catch her train home with seconds to spare. Then came Darcie's death threats, the claims that we hate her and want her to die, that we're plotting to kill her, she hates living with us......it went on and on, for the rest of Saturday and most of Sunday. Of all the things she says, I find it especially hurtful when Darcie says she hates living at home, with us. Kids should be happy at home, but sometimes it seems like she'd rather be anywhere else but here.

So week one of the new term is over and done with, the dreaded summer holidays are edging ever nearer. Darcie is supposed to do 10 minutes of reading every night, plus practice her spellings for a test every Friday, plus do her homework every week. We struggled endlessly last term (and the one before) with this, but I've realised that I want her to succeed and she WILL make progress this term, even if I die in the process. I bought a reward chart and am paying her to do her school work, not the ideal solution but she loves money and I can't think of a better plan. It went okay-ish this week, Darcie got paid yesterday (we even have special envelopes to put her money in) and has realised that she can earn even more next week if she tries harder. Just hope this works, even though we may well end up broke!

Harvey remains the same, as ever my high maintenance but loving little boy. He drives me completely mad at times, but tells me he loves me every day, at least I have one child who does.

If I could turn back time......

Hello again....its been a while! Well the theme for this month seems to have mainly been illness, in addition to the usual stuff of course. We all had some kind of tummy bug which ranged from dodgy tummy to full on projectile vomiting, which was pretty horrible and resulted in tons of washing and Harvey completely losing his appetite. The latter isn't usual, but of course I had to do what I always vow not to do, and get stressed about it, leading to my blood pressure increasing and everyone else probably wanting to throw me out of the window! We got some tonic and thankfully Harvey's appetite returned and he's now back to munching his favourite weird and wonderful things.

Darcie has been a worry, as she nearly always is, for a while. Yeah, she caught the tummy bug, but it usually takes a lot to put her off her food - her appetite mysteriously vanished and at first we assumed it was thanks to the lurgy. I started to panic a bit when Darcie still refused to eat much days later, she mentioned a sore throat once or twice, but swore it was better and I didn't think much of it to be honest. After not eating much and being generally miserable for days, it all got much worse and last weekend she clearly wasn't well. We realised the root cause was her throat, but despite looking awful she insisted on going to school. Of course I'm thrilled that she likes school and I'd hate battling to send her somewhere she hated every weekday, but seriously, what kid would rather be at school than home, especially when they feel rotten? Darcie had clearly kept quiet about her illness for as long as she could though, just so she wouldn't be kept off school - I find that vaguely amusing, but mainly very sad. Ultimately, my daughter would rather go to school ill to receive virtually no sympathy from strangers and struggle through the day than stay at home in the warm with her mum.

My own throat was weird on Monday, then the bug struck and I had the worst throat I've had for years; I know I'm a moaner but not being able to eat, drink, yawn or even swallow without being in agony isn't pleasant. Tuesday and Wednesday were very nasty but fortunately Thursday saw me feeling a bit better, thank God. I found myself feeling sorry for Darcie who clearly had caught the bug first, and wondering how the hell she could even contemplate going to school feeling so dreadful. Thursday night she had a melt-down and very obviously wasn't well at all, so we informed her we were taking her to the doctors the next morning, no choice - although of course we had to promise her we'd lie to the school about her being ill, so she could go back in afterwards! It turns out she has got tonsillitis, and if her throat was half as sore as mine then I'm very impressed with how she kept on functioning!

Anyway while I was waiting with Darcie at the surgery yesterday a woman came in with a little baby girl. I often think back to my own daughters baby days, and how mainly happy they are in my memory. Of course I've probably mainly erased the bad bits, and time has a habit of making you forget how hard things really were (labour painful? nah, eating watermelon hurts more, I'm sure!) but I know I enjoyed my baby and the little girl she became. There are times we struggled of course, and she used to drive us mad, but she was so bright, happy, bubbly.......I wonder whatever happened to that little girl sometimes. I see her occasionally, but mainly my daughter is a whiny, screaming, miserable, jealous, unhappy thing and that's awful. I so wish I could turn time back and start again with her, but of course I can't.

So we can't go back, there's no rewind button to press, nor is there a fast-forward one - Darcie would love that, one press and she'd be an instant adult! So what we have is now, and the future. Sometimes I think this will all work out, but most of the time I feel like I've made such a huge mess of everything and there isn't a way of fixing it. If I made a list of my biggest fears, things that I would dread to happen to me personally, up there in the top ten would be, without doubt, this - Darcie as an adult turning around to me and saying something like "You wrecked my childhood, I was utterly miserable, and as a result I'm desperately unhappy now. I hate you and I never want to see you again." followed by knowing she meant those words, and turning and disappearing from my life. I don't know what to do with Darcie most of the time, I don't understand her and dare I say it, I sometimes don't even like her, but not having her in my life for ever is something I can't even contemplate. She's a part of me.

Finally, the school report came home yesterday......more worry. I know she's bright, we've been told shes bright, so she has to be, surely. But now Darcie has virtually been branded as non-academic - she shines at art and IT but not at the more "academic" stuff. Sure, I hated maths with a passion and was useless at it, even some science stuff I never grasped but I could do English whereas she can't seem to do much at all. French is apparently the only "academic" thing she's got any real ability in, I found her report very depressing. Darcie isn't officially below average in anything, which is terrific I suppose, but she clearly isn't down as a clever one. I know most parents think their darlings are clever; I've always known Darcie isn't a genius, nor would I want her to be one especially. I thought she was bright, brighter than this - not top of the class but to be put down as "non-academic" which seems to be the general message? I know she's only 8 and has years and years of school ahead of her yet, but I want her to make something of herself. The way she's going, another one of my fears is that she'll be a nothing, pregnant at 17 and dragging three miserable moaning kids around town by the time she's 25. I know lots of teenage mums bring up wonderful children, and there's nothing wrong with having kids young (I did that myself I suppose) but I want my girl to have a career first. I want her to be someone, make a difference, no matter how small, have a house, car, holidays, money in the bank....and then have kids if she likes. I realise to get a good job Darcie will have to be bright, work fairly hard, push herself and have determination, it seems like right now she's not ticking any of those boxes. I know I need to push her, but how on earth do I do that when she won't let me near her physically or emotionally?

It's like Darcie is a building of some kind, and shes built a solid, electric fence around herself. The gate is nearly always open for her dad, he can go in and normally Harv can too. But when I approach that cold metal gate, it clangs too with such force that the ground almost shakes. There's nothing I can do to open it, I can't push it open, guess the code to open the gate - even shaking it makes no difference. I'm not allowed in there, that's final. But the mystery is why not?

This is sounding stupid now, so I'll go!