Giving In

Just popping on here for yet another late night rant, nobody else to talk to as they've all gone and fallen asleep on me! I currently have the worst headache in the history of the world, seriously nobody has ever had a worse one - am waiting for the Nurofen to kick in and desperately doing my best not to think about the Galaxy chocolate which is calmly waiting in the cool stillness of my fridge.

Last time I mentioned Carole the Midget, our therapist/counsellor type person who has been bravely attempting to unravel the Mystery of Darcie. I think I said before that after lots of talking, watching her frantically scribble things down and waiting patiently, Simon and I felt for the first time that we were finally getting somewhere. Carole had contacted Darcie's school who admitted that she has slight oddities, despite being generally normal-ish, this was progress in itself as previously her schools have refused point blank to acknowledge that there's any problem, or back us up in any way, shape or form. Carole seemed to sympathise as much as any professional can, and didn't dismiss us as bad parents or pass us onto someone else. Finally, she said she wanted Darcie to have a full psychological assessment, starting with a Speech and Language assessment, just to check she understands things in the way they're meant. Simon & I duly signed forms for this to go ahead, and then Carole said she would pop over on 17th Jan 9.30am-ish, to have a chat with Darcie in her own environment. We agreed to this, as Carole has only really met her a couple of times and we realised she may want to get to know her a bit better in order to gain a bit of insight into the situation.

So, yesterday was The Day, and Darcie was, predictably, angry and worried about the meeting with Carole. I can see why she was a bit apprehensive, I think I would have been too, but as always Darcie's way of dealing with fear (and any other emotion) is to scream, screech, accuse and insult us, mainly me. I trudged off to school with Harvey in the absolutely torrential rain (actually secretly feeling rather smug at sporting brand new spotty wellies, thus avoiding the soaking-jeans-clinging-to-legs syndrome) deposited him in his classroom and raced back home to dry off a bit and dash around madly doing some last minute tidying before Carole turned up.

We settled Darcie and Carole in the front room with drinks (I planned on presenting her with a plate of freshly baked cakes, but as always I'm chronically disorganised and couldn't even spare the time to buy some dubious cakes from Lidl) and subtly slipped off to the kitchen. Simon and I sat at the table initially glancing at a Jamie Oliver recipe book, desperately trying to create the impression that we plan and cook exciting meals each and every night, just in case Carole wandered in. I even positioned myself strategically in front of the washing mountain, but she made no attempt to leave the front room. Finally Simon and I gave up with the cook book (I must be one of the only women in the world who doesn't find Jamie Oliver remotely attractive, and words like Pukka, Saucy and Cheeky littered through the book just wind me up, admittedly he's a good chef though and seems like a good bloke) and decided to scoff crisps and play noughts and crosses using rude symbols rather than the traditional ones. Darcie and Carole were clearly getting on well, and we heard constant chat plus occasional chuckles; when Simon bravely ventured back into the front room after an hour or so, Carole scowled at him and made it clear that he wasn't welcome, so he scuttled back into the kitchen to admire my immature scribblings.

Finally Darcie appeared, and summoned us back into the front room. Obediently Simon & I followed, and Carole informed us we could sit down on our own sofa, which was generous of her. Straight away she said she'd enjoyed talking to Darcie, which is fair enough - Darcie can be very engaging and good company when she wants to be. Then came the bombshell. Carole announced that they'd come up with a plan, and said something along the lines of "now, school are very concerned as Darcie is supposed to be reading for ten minutes every night, and she simply isn't doing it. She says she doesn't want to read to Claire, so we've decided that she doesn't have to. Claire, you must leave the room and let Darcie read to Simon every night." This doesn't sound like a big deal, but for months we've been locked in a battle about reading. Darcie doesn't want to read to me, for reasons unknown (she insists that I'm determined to murder her rather than simply listening to her reading) and frequently screams at me to go away as she can't see why I need to be involved at all. Of course, I understand that sometimes she might prefer to read to Simon, and sometimes that will work out better for us all, but I bet most children in her year read to their mums most of the time. I genuinely can't see why she can't just read her book to me, but she refuses to nine out of ten times, hence the battle. Recently I've been giving in and letting Darcie read to both Simon & I, sitting between us on the sofa, just so she makes some progress with reading, and I think thats a fair compromise. Along with many other things, Simon and I previously described the reading/homework problems to Carole, and she agreed that Darcie shouldn't get her own way, and she should do as I ask and read to me.

So, when I was told that I am no longer permitted to be in the same room as Darcie, and effectively I will have no part in her homework from now on, I was stunned. All I could think was that she is now getting exactly what she wants; me excluded, and not knowing what she's doing - how is it fair that I try and help her, try and compromise, yet at the end of the day she and Carole decide behind my back that I'm not allowed in the room while she's doing reading, etc.? Granted, Darcie will make good progress, but it just seems like we're giving her exactly what she wants. For no real reason, I'm sent away, and she realises its worked out exactly her way. Written down, it sounds even more petty, and at the end of the day it's just reading/homework and it doesn't matter who does it with her. But for me, it's the principle of the thing - for no real reason, I'm now cut out of the whole reading loop, and no longer have permission to even know what book my child is reading. I was shocked, and Carole said "what's wrong, you look upset?" clearly not getting that she'd told Darcie "so, you don't want to read to your mum? OK then, we'll force her out of the room, and do it exactly as you want Darcie." I could have cried, but I'm not one for sobbing in front of people I hardly know. I murmured something about it being great that Darcie would make progress, which it is, and fortunately didn't cause a scene. Carole then informed me that I'm allowed to spend 10 minutes drawing with Darcie each evening. OK, I get it - it's about gradually working on our relationship with her, and improving things, and having quality time is always a good idea. Darcie has time alone with Simon while I'm playing in the bedroom with Harvey, then while he's asleep I have quality time with her while Simon does something else. Good plan, but I don't like the way it was all arranged behind our backs, Carole offered Darcie the choice of baking or drawing with me each evening without consulting me first. Darcie wanted drawing, so drawing it is, despite me being dreadful at it. I actually do quite like mucking around with felt tips though, and as I said, I get what it's about - the drawing part doesn't matter, it's the quality time that counts. "It's OK Darcie," Carole soothed "it's okay, you don't have to draw with Mum for more than 10 minutes, try and get through it." clearly I'm some kind of serial killer who can't be trusted with my own child for more than ten little minutes, after that time my medication starts to wear off and I might just produce a knife and stab her to death.

Carole said how impressed she is with Darcie, how "Switched on" our child is and how she has no real problems. Yes, Darcie is bright in many ways, and she's smart and very astute. It's lovely to receive compliments about our daughter, but what annoyed us is how much Carole's attitude has changed now. She seems determined to give Darcie her own way as much as possible, like the whole reading thing, regardless of what we feel. She muttered about not doing the speech and language assessment now, her whole opinion seems to have altered after chatting to Darcie for an hour. It's hurtful that we felt we finally had someone on our side, and we can feel that slipping away.....Carole clearly thinks that we ignore Darcie and just bother with Harvey (she made several references to this) hence the spending quality time with her, which admittedly will only be a good thing. We now get the impression that she feels Darcie's behaviour is simply down to the fact that she doesn't get enough attention and if we spend a bit more time with her, and let her have everything her own way then she'll miraculously stop acting the way she does and we'll all live happily ever after. All the stuff about Aspergers traits, OCD, the comments made by school, all that's been forgotten now and the blame is being laid well and truly at our door.

Now, I don't want to come across as nasty about my child, or being desperate to get her diagnosed with something she doesn't have. However, Darcie isn't right, this is much more serious than just us not giving her quite enough attention and making more fuss about her brother. She constantly accuses me of things I haven't done or said, I'm certain she hears voices, she thinks people are mouthing things to her, she detests me and wants to drive me out of my own home, she has already made plans to kill me. A little while ago, Darcie said, quite calmly, "I'll murder you one day you know. I'll get up in the middle of the night, go for a wee, grab a knife and stab you while you're asleep. I've got it all planned." It was chilling. Okay, she's a 9 year old, she hesitates before she crosses a road by herself, she isn't going to attack me. Yet. But one day, my 9 year old will be a 15 year old, and the plan she's been formulating for years might just turn into reality. Fuelled by jealousy, hatred, anger, with a large helping of teenage hormones, will Darcie just grab that knife one night and go for it? Will the child I put on this planet stab me? I suppose I'll just have to keep my fingers crossed that doesn't happen, or even if it does than finally we'll be taken seriously. Someone might just say "You know, Darcie's just murdered her mother. Perhaps there is something wrong with her after all."

I wanted to scream at Carole yesterday, tell her again about all the crazy stuff Darcie does and says, and ask her why just giving into her and letting her control us is best. I feel like we were floating in the middle of the sea, and finally grabbed hold of a raft, only to have it snatched away from us again. Someone's chuckling and saying "ha ha, you didn't really think you were actually doing to get some help did you? No way!" It's so horribly unfair. Now we're back to the world of sticker charts and rewarding Darcie if she doesn't accuse me of suffocating her for a whole day. That's it, I reckon Carole is going to come over a few more times, persuade us to let Darcie call all the shots, we have to do everything she says, which is basically isolating me. I know there's only so much The Midget can do, she hasn't got a magic wand to make it all better, and in her own way she's trying, but the way her opinion has suddenly altered bugs me.

Almost every day, I blame myself. I hate living in a bubble of guilt, self hatred, wondering if all this is my fault. I didn't plan on getting pregnant with Darcie, not at that stage in my life, no way. I so nearly had an abortion, did she sense something even then? Can a foetus feel unwanted? Every time someone says something nice about me, I think no, I'm not nice, because if I was my daughter would like me. I can't be kind, I can't be a good person, because I have someone who hates me, so I must be a bad person. I've said horrible, terrible things to my child which I can't ever take back. Sometimes I honestly feel, deep down, that I was just given the wrong child, I wasn't supposed to be Darcie's mum. It's like how some people are born into the wrong body, they're born a man when they know they should have been a woman, some kind of mix-up.

And then there's my Harvey. He's a menace at times, he's always been high maintenance and I know all his faults. But, I've never doubted that I was meant to be his mum. Harvey is what keeps me going, he's living proof that I can be a good mother. Of course I get angry with him, but we bounce back from that; he doesn't resent me, or want to exclude me from my own home and family. This morning before school, Harvey kissed me again and again and said "I'm leaving you lots of kisses so you can taste me all day, because I know how much you're going to miss me." He doesn't doubt that I love him, Darcie accuses me constantly of hating her. Harvey wants to be with me, he needs me less now he's older, but I'm fairly sure he'll always want me in his life. One of the things I love most about my son is how he always makes me feel good about myself, he shows me how motherhood should be.

Must go and sort the bloody uniforms out, at least everything is clean tonight, hope so anyway!

My family and other animals

My first entry in 2011! I can't believe how long its been since I last wrote here, I've had lots to say but as always not enough time to plonk my (not small) bottom on the rather wonky computer chair and write it all down. I should be asleep right now but my brain is full of stuff which needs to be emptied, slightly like a bursting dustbin - you need to tip out all the rubbish before you can close the lid! Oh yes and there's the small issue of me not actually being able to go to bed until my daughters school skirt, crop top and polo shirt have finished drying in the tumble drier, once again I'm in the middle of a Uniform Crisis. Harvey has no socks clean (in my defence it's the first time ever this has happened) and it's too late now to wash any, he'll just have to wear a pair of his casual ones and I'll spend all day working myself up into a frenzy and imagining all kinds of crazy scenarios where someone spies the stripey socks and teases my son mercilessly every day for the rest of his school life.

I remember reading the Gerald Durrell book "My Family and other animals" during my first year of senior school, of course never imagining that approximately twenty years later I'd use it for the title of a blog entry. This was the innocent time before the internet even existed in my life; the idea even of owning a mobile phone was so incredible it almost ranked with flying to the moon. I never dreamed that one day, in another life, I'd sit in bed using a laptop computer, and that my children would play with a stack of my discarded mobile phones before rejecting them because they don't have cameras built in or play tunes. It was the era of "Eldorado" the highly criticised show which I secretly still watch clips of on YouTube occasionally and quite enjoy. Jason Donovan was still just about clinging onto his hunk status, and everyone was scrawling NKOTB (New Kids on the block) on their school bags. Of course nobody knows what the future holds, what lurks just around the corner, that's the exciting and terrifying thing about life, the main thing probably. I had no idea what lay in store for me, how the world around me and my life would change over the next two decades.

I often look at my kids, usually when they're asleep as there are less arguments that way, and think how incredible it is that their whole lives are ahead of them. Neither of them have done some of the simplest things, the things most people take for granted, like catching a bus by themselves, food shopping by themselves, ordering food in a restaurant by themselves. They have so much to experience, to enjoy, so many new things to learn and discover. But then comes the big thing, which is that in Darcie's case, her life's spoiled. Logically it can't be, but sometimes I see a flash of the adult she'll become and it terrifies me. So much of her childhood has been spoiled already, and I believe that in many ways your childhood is the most significant part of your life, the framework, the springboard and then everything else just follows. Darcie is clearly so deeply unhappy; she spends so much of her life in tears, screaming, battling with jealousy, resentment and anger, terrified by emotions which she can't understand or control much of the time. She thinks she's stupid, fat and ugly; and I know I make her feel worthless sometimes when I reach the end of my tether and say horrible things which I can't believe are coming out of my mouth. I don't want my daughter to feel worthless, and sometimes I imagine Darcie starting her adult life deeply depressed, and things spiralling out of control. She could turn to alcohol, drugs, get involved with the wrong people, end up in an abusive relationship because she feels that's all she's worthy of. Most parents have these concerns, but I'm so scared that she'll go from being an unhappy child into an unhappy adult, and her unstable behaviour will lead to disaster.

I'm sitting here tonight feeling very AAARRRGGGHHH and maybe like the best thing would be for me to go and drink a bottle of bleach or something - don't worry I'm not really going to do that, mainly because I don't think suicide/damaging myself is a good plan and also because we haven't got any bleach. Thinking about it, I'm certain I bought a bottle very recently and am now feeling slightly concerned about what's happened to it. Most likely I tipped the lot down the toilet in a late night half asleep random cleaning frenzy, but there's always that slight chance that one of the kids has poured it over some hidden area of carpet, or that I gave them a drink of Domestos rather than squash one tea time and they were too polite to say anything.

So I'm not going to kill myself, but this situation with Darcie has got to improve. My wish for 2011 was that we'd get her sorted out, and the main reason I want things to get better is so that she can be a happier little girl who grows into a happy adult. Sometimes I'll look at Darcie and think how beautiful she is, how grown up she is, and just sometimes she'll be okay with me and just for a little while we get a taster of how things could be, how they should be. Usually when she comes out of school she glares at me, immediately on the defensive and snarls "WHAT?" when I smile at her, like some hormonal teenager. A few days ago I saw Darcie coming across the playground just before she noticed me; she was smiling and chatting with her friend Amber, laughing about something and I tried to freeze those few seconds in my mind as proof that sometimes she can be normal. She just looked so happy, so relaxed and just like she should be.

The good thing is that after years of struggling to get someone to listen to us, our friendly counsellor psychologist type person, Carole Law, has come into our lives. She's based in Falcon house which is a fairly new and really funky little building on the grounds of St James Hospital, not far from the university campus where I lived for a year in another life when I was eighteen, young and (fairly) innocent. Falcon House is for children and young adults with mental health issues, and Darcie has had a few Art Therapy sessions there. We weren't sure about the art therapy from the beginning, although Cliff, the guy who worked with Darcie seemed nice in a quirky, eccentric kind of way. Simon and I have spent far too long debating whether Cliff is gay, the jury's still out and I guess it doesn't matter either way although I have a hunch.....maybe we should both attempt to seduce him, see which one of us he veers towards and then rest in peace? Cliff's sexual orientation has no relevance to the art therapy, but perhaps he's sensed how strange we really are and that we're a family to be avoided, as he's declared he doesn't think it's the way to go. After discussing several possibilities, Carole (the midget, I can't understand how someone so tiny can survive; I know I'm a horrible person for thinking these things about other people and deserve to perish in hell) is veering towards Aspergers, possibly OCD with reference to the "what on earth is up with Darcie?" dilemma. She does have Aspergers traits, but Carole has warned us that we're very unlikely to ever get a formal diagnosis, probably the nearest we'll get to one is being told she has traits of Aspergers or something else, or is on the spectrum. We've spent hours with her talking about our families, histories, everything under the sun basically, and for a while Attachment Disorder was on the table. This seems to be when a child forms the wrong kind of relationship with a main carer, and some of the symptoms fit Darcie very well. However, it normally occurs when the mother rejects the child completely and sends it to live with someone else, which obviously hasn't happened in our case (god knows I've been sorely tempted to send her to live with someone else though, and threaten her with it regularly) I felt like I was being accused of not caring for Darcie properly when she was a baby, or something similar, although Carole never said anything like that - I'm sure I had Post natal depression when she was tiny which is one of the main triggers of this Attachment disorder. However as I said, Carole now thinks that it's more likely that Darcie is on the Aspergers spectrum, after hearing us ranting on about her behaviour and all the issues we have.

It's apparently a conundrum and nobody knows what the hell to do basically. I don't know whether to be impressed or worried that proper professionals are stumped; Carole has contacted Darcie's school who confirm that she doesn't have outbursts there although they are apparently noticing oddities about her. Darcie has never believed that she's truly a child, and her teacher apparently told Carole that sometimes Darcie can't understand why the rules apply to her as well as the other children, and seems detached from the rest of the class. The word "sad" was used way too much, apparently thats the way she comes across at school and her teacher from last year said the same thing to us once. I hate it when people describe my daughter as sad, I hurts me deep inside because it confirms I am basically a terrible mother. I know what it's like to feel sad and I don't want Darcie feeling like that.

I feel that with Carole, someone is finally listening to us, although I'm certain she thinks Simon and I are stark raving mad. Darcie has to go through a full psychological assessment, starting with a language and speech assessment. As I understand it, they'll be looking at the way she uses and understands language - one of the key things is that she takes things literally, e.g. if I say we'll go out in a minute, she literally thinks that one minute later we'll go out. Most 9 year olds wouldn't think that way, so it could be a sign of something. I don't know what the language/speech assessment will through up; Darcie's speech has always been good and she has no obvious major problems so it's all a bit confusing really. I don't think that all these assessments will do much good, but it's worth doing......it's a relief knowing that we're getting somewhere but a bugger realising that we're never going to get an official diagnosis.

I promised myself that 2011 would be the year I cope with Darcie better. Carole is giving us some tips and helping us with some strategies to make things better, but it's all so hard. Tonight I ended up having a row with my dad on the phone; he's a miserable sod at times and Darcie was nattering away to my mum for too long according to him. In truth she'd been talking for over an hour which is a long time, and was supposed to shout me so my mum could speak to me - in true Darcie style she did her own thing, carried on chatting and it all ended in disaster. Darcie ended up screaming like a toddler, my dad was horrible to me and I didn't speak to my mum at all; I was upset and angry and lost my temper with Darcie as I'm so fed up of her at the moment. It's just such a struggle and nobody really understands, nobody can do anything and everyone gets sick of us moaning. On nights like this I find myself standing next to her bed, watching her while she sleeps and hoping she some little part of her doesn't hate me and realises that I love her.

Anyway, it's off to bed I go, tomorrow's another day........

Raindrops keep falling on my head

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Half a decade ago.....

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Halloween Happenings

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Storybook Love

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Losing the plot

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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