Bon anniversaire!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A matter of life and death

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You're the best

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

Harvey has been invited to a couple of birthday parties since he started pre-school in September, but for various reasons which have now escaped me, we decided it wouldn't be worth him going. I can never understand why some parents decide to throw parties for their kids lasting less than two hours (I'm sure parties always went on all afternoon when I was a child) at weird times in obscure places! Lots of people don't have parties these days due to the hideous expense, but finally Harvey got invited to his friend James' 4th birthday party, at an indoor play centre just down the road, after nursery. Hooray, all convenient for us and it was all systems go! He looked forward to it all week but I had mixed feelings - despite being depressingly familiar with the venue, Krazy Kaves (no, I haven't made a spelling mistake, seriously that's how the dreaded place is spelled!) because Darcie had her 6th and 7th birthday parties there, I was still nervous. From my experience I was aware that most mummies stay at parties with their little angels at this age, and Harvey wanted me there. I have a couple of other nursery mums who I chat to, but the thought of having to make conversation for two solid hours in a chilly and slightly odd-smelling environment didn't excite me.

So the Party Day arrived and I sent my son to pre-school wearing his Party Shirt, bubbling with excitement at the thought of heading to the party as soon as he came out. I disgraced myself by being slightly late picking him up (again) and virtually dragged Harvey to Krazy Kaves, walking fast isn't something my kids do. We were there first, absolute fluke as I'm never, ever first to get anywhere! Harvey gave birthday boy James his pressie, virtually opened it for him, attempted to pop several balloons and then finally disappeared into the jungle of steps, slopes, slides and rope bridges which don't look completely secure but which I would have loved when I was a kid. As the other mums and kids arrived, I found myself wondering why they all looked so cool, calm and confident, surely I couldn't be the only one who had spent the past few days working myself into a frenzy about the party? I was sure that my child would be the one who refused to join in/hurt himself/hurt someone else either accidentally or on purpose/started being naughty and wouldn't stop/refused to eat, etc. etc. etc.......or perhaps even worse, I'd do something embarrassing and my fatal mistake would forever brand me and by association my child, as Strange. The other 7 mums behaved as though they didn't have a care in the world, while I settled myself down (worrying of course that I'd sat either too near or too far away from the others, thus appearing too keen and over-friendly or stand-offish!) feeling sick and praying it would all be over soon.

Of course it had to be bang on lunchtime and I had to be starving, presenting me with an instant dilemma - Krazy Kaves offer a selection of hot food, snacks and drinks in order to extract yet more money from long-suffering parents. By some miracle Harvey hadn't noticed the strategically positioned sweetie machine, but I was quite tempted by it myself. One of the mums produced a carrier bag and proceeded to eat constantly for the next hour, she attracted a few glances but as she's reasonably thin and the stuff she was munching was healthy-ish, she got away with stuffing her face. I tried to stop my stomach rumbling and attempted to prevent myself from gazing longingly at the snack bar, while internally scolding myself - for heavens sake, if you're hungry bloody buy yourself something and stuff what they all think! I told myself, but still wasn't brave enough to venture up there until someone else went first, and came back with a coffee and crisps. That women wasn't skinny and was eating junk, it seemed to go unnoticed so I scuttled up and got myself some coke (normally drink diet/zero/max but rebelled and went for fat coke, safe in the knowledge that nobody would know) and some crisps. No weird looks, no muttered comments, phew! I never imagined that something so simple could become so incredibly complicated.

Anyway I managed to eat the crisps quickly before Harvey saw and stole them, but without scoffing them too quickly and looking greedy. Jo, one of the nicer nursery mums, turned up late and flustered, which immediately made me feel better about myself - I generally feel quite sorry for her anyway as her son Davey looks like a scarecrow, and her daughter Ellie never stops running away. There's only a year between the kids, they go to different nurseries, she's always on the go and I secretly admire her - mainly for freely admitting that she relies heavily on alcohol to get through each day! Jo is always willing to talk to me, even if she is scarily popular with all the other mums, and we had a nice chat. In the end, by some miracle, Harvey wasn't the kid who hurt himself, or moaned for crisps and sweets, nor was he among the ones who refused to eat anything or went into a mood. His only crime was to spill some juice and eat most of a bottle of ketchup, he really enjoyed himself and we congratulated ourselves as we walked home together - quickly as we were both desperate for the toilet!

I told my mum all about the party, and after listening patiently and confirming that I am indeed mother of the year for enduring it for the sake of my son, she asked why I'd been so nervous. I don't actually know why I get so worried about these social occasions, it was a birthday party for four year olds for heavens sake, what's to worry about? It all comes down to confidence, which I feel is one of the most important things to possess. If you think you're wonderful and can do everything, then other people tend to believe and respect you. At the party, one of the mums was sharing stories of how generally perfect she is, how amazing her son Joshua is, how every decision she's ever made has been exactly the right one, etc. etc. I resisted the urge to push her into the ball pool but found myself wondering why exactly I feel inferior to her and to people who are similar to her? I doubt this woman has been to private school and university, I have, but yet I feel like she's better than me. I hate feeling like I'm not as good as people like her simply because I have less confidence, it's something Simon and I often talk about. We have quite a lot of qualifications between us, our kids are reasonably bright and not ugly, so why do we have no confidence? I think we all need to do something to increase our confidence, but what?

Things with Darcie remain the same, some good days and some bad. Having a daughter who is known as being slightly odd and who freely admits she hates me doesn't exactly make me feel great about myself! However, Darcie is definitely doing better at school this term, bribing her to do her reading is proving fairly successful and she's making progress, even if we do have a couple of screaming sessions about it a week. She got full marks in her last spelling test which is fab, spelling is something she finds very difficult and she was rightly proud of herself.

A week or so ago, it was one of Those Evenings when Darcie had a meltdown. She'd moaned and shrieked ever since she got home from school (although bizarrely she likes me collecting her and we have a lovely time walking along chatting usually) it was about 9pm and both kids were still up. Simon and I were tired, the flat was an utter tip and Darcie was refusing to get washed and ready for bed. I had a pile of washing to do and was yelling that I would never get it done, we'd never have any clean clothes unless she shut the hell up and went to bloody bed. Harvey was clinging to me as he often does when Darcie kicks off, and suddenly he said "Mummy, it's okay, you're good at washing.....you're the best. You're the best Mummy ever." Suddenly nothing else mattered, even Darcie didn't argue with what he'd just said. I thought, how on earth can anybody think I'm a good mum? I'm always rushing, there's always tons of washing-up to do, a mountain of washing which I nickname the leaning tower of Pisa, dust everywhere, I have so much housework to do it's incredible, I'm always cross, I never give the kids enough attention and yet he thinks I'm the best mummy ever! Poor little thing, he's clearly mad, but that made me feel so much better. It's funny how sometimes a few words can make everything suddenly seem okay again.

Smile

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My two daughters

Well actually I don't have 2 daughters, but sometimes it feels like I do! Darcie can be the most lovely, caring, sweet little girl and I really enjoy her company. I genuinely believe that her little brother Harvey is incredibly lucky to have such a kind, patient big sister who adores him, despite him being a complete pain in the bum at times! Although she desperately wanted a sister, Darcie accepted Harvey brilliantly and they really connected from the start. Of course they argue and I think she is jealous of him sometimes, but that's normal for siblings - they have a wonderful relationship and I'm so proud of her for being so good with him. Darcie loves being the oldest and the boss but she deserves Harvey's admiration and love, he worships her.

So there's my bright, funny, lovely daughter, and then there's the other one. I expect I'll mention this a lot in my blog, but we have major problems with Darcie. She screams, and I don't mean the occasional outburst, I mean hours, literally, of standing there screaming until she's purple. Worrying behaviour for a three-year-old perhaps, but extremely disturbing that an eight year old does this. She's always been highly strung and a bit on the "different" side, but I'm not completely normal myself! She screamed and had moods when she was younger, but over the past three-ish years it's spiralled out of control.

I won't go into it all here as there's plenty of time for all that later, but we do have a very real problem. Darcie reacts very negatively to me, and most of her anger is directed straight at me. I admit we never bonded properly at the beginning, that was confirmed for me when my son was born and I clicked with him instantly, it was much different the first time. I blame myself for most of Darcie's issues, and know I'm a rubbish mum to her, I just don't understand how we've ended up like this.

Sometimes, things are fine. This is always the calm before the storm though, we're lulled into a false sense of security and explosion is never far away. Darcie will totally flip over the slightest thing, even me simply walking into the room where she is can, and often does, trigger a screaming session. Ideally she doesn't want me near her, and as her mother this is so incredibly hurtful. I never thought motherhood would be simple, and of course I expect her to scream and shout at me sometimes, but not like this. The guilt is incredible, I carry it around with me constantly and at times she hurts me so much I feel ill. I realise I've somehow made her like this, but an eight year old shouldn't have this much anger inside them. She'll scream regularly that she wishes she'd never been born and that we hate her, I only hope that some little bit of her knows that this isn't true.

I've only scratched the surface but this is a little bit about the complex creature which is our daughter. We've had counselling previously but we're seeing someone new this afternoon, we're just praying that he or she will actually listen and understand that Darcie's problems won't be solved with a sticker chart. I honestly think she has a degree of autism/aspergers/ADHD or something, but because she behaves relatively normally at school, we don't get any proper help or understanding. I really hope the counsellor we're seeing today does something good for all our sakes.

Last night Darcie told me she wishes I was dead. That hurts, but strangely enough it hurt far more when I stood waving at her as she went to school this morning and she never waved back.

Hello

Hello and welcome to my life! I'm not sure exactly why I'm writing this or if I want anyone to actually read it, but I think having a blog is kind of cool. I decided that things are going to change in 2010 and it's going to be a positive year, but so far not much has changed really. I do have plans, but making them happen is always the hard bit, maybe writing it all down will help and encourage me! I've started several blogs over the years and then abandoned them, hopefully this will be the one that survives.

I think the main things I'll write about will be my kids, they take over everything! This time of year always makes me think a bit, it was this week 9 years ago when I discovered something which changed everything forever for me. I know that sounds dramatic, but it was, I found I was pregnant with our daughter Darcie. I can honestly say that nothing has ever shocked me as much as that positive pregnancy test did, I don't think I'll ever have a bigger shock!

I know thousands of people every year get pregnant by accident, so it's no big deal really, but it was for us. I always knew I wanted kids eventually, at some point, way in the future, and I'd have a job, house, money...everything would be happen as I wanted it to. But life has a habit of chucking things at people when they least expect it, and this was chucked at us. I was 21, my partner Simon was just 24, he was approaching the end of his degree course and I was doing an English degree. I had a false start, basically I chose/was pushed into the wrong course to begin with and it took me a while to admit to myself that it wasn't what I wanted. I got onto the course I'd always wanted to do in the end though, and was enjoying it, and then my whole life was turned upside down.

People find themselves pregnant and in much worse situations, but it was a nightmare for us. We had very little money, were living in separate student accommodation, were at uni....and basically weren't ready for a baby in any way. It all seemed so completely unbelievable, and I'll be honest and admit that abortion was a very real option for us for some time. I'll be honest again and say that we do sometimes wonder how different our lives would be if we had gone down that path. No matter how hard things are and how much she infuriates me, I can put my hand on my heart and say for once we absolutely made the right choice though.

That year, 2001, was most probably the hardest of my life, we started it as a young couple with no real worries or responsibilities and ended it as parents of a three month old. We came to terms with my pregnancy, considered our options, made a decision, then coped with months of me chucking up everywhere! Simon managed to graduate, get a job, and on 11th September 2001, a memorable day across the world for all the wrong reasons, we found out we'd got our first home. Moving on a tight budget while eight and a half months pregnant was an experience, but I can laugh about it now! We had to break the news to our families, and I'll always know that I let my parents down to a point which is a hard thing to live with. Suddenly being told that your daughter is six and a half months pregnant while trying to enjoy your starters in a crowded restaurant is a slightly unusual situation to be in, but they coped fairly well even if my mum went red and my dad turned a worrying shade of grey! I'll never forget the looks on their faces, but the champagne my dazed father ordered helped with the shock I think. I still have the cork!

We were lucky to get support from both families, support which still continues today. I think it's true that you always need your parents, and I felt much better when I finally stopped hiding my pregnancy from my mum and dad! I still can't believe they genuinely never realised, although living seventy miles away and not seeing them every day made my secret easier to keep I think. My mum especially had hopes for me and I'll always feel guilty for not living up to her expectations, but life doesn't always work out the way you expect.

We really thought we'd dealt with all the hard stuff as my due date arrived, but the greatest challenge of our lives was just about to begin! We were told the baby was big, but nobody actually gave us an estimated weight or went through our options with us. I had a scan on 12th September, and was informed that I was booked in for induction on my due date, eleven days later, due to the baby's size. We were naive and didn't question what we'd been told, these days I know so much more about labour and wouldn't have agreed to be induced then.

We duly turned up at hospital, 9am on 23rd September 2001, all nervous and excited. Simon & I were in fact quite glad to be getting a break from organising our new home and moving the last bits in, and genuinely believed that we might well be parents by that evening, or the following morning. I knew labour would be painful, but told myself that everyone must be exaggerating - how bad could it be? We spent the next three whole days being mainly ignored and insulted, for some reason most of the midwives assumed we'd insisted on the induction for no real reason! Darcie was in no rush to come out, and I'll never forget pacing up and down those bleak hospital corridors, and hanging around either on the ward or in the cafe, just waiting for something to happen. We had a bit of fun, but couldn't believe how long the whole process was taking, it was like a nightmare. It couldn't have been much fun for our families either, anxiously waiting for news for days on end!

Finally, Wednesday 26th September arrived & it turned out to be the day our daughter would be born. The midwives must have got sick of us, because suddenly we were whisked up to the labour ward, my waters were broken and then I was stuck on a drip to start the contractions. Pure hell is the most accurate way of describing the next eight hours, but that doesn't really do it justice - I have never experienced pain like it. I honestly thought I was going to die at one point, there was just no relief and as a final insult I couldn't even have an epidural as the anaesthetist was in theatre! The memories of that day will stay with me forever, and it took me a long time to recover mentally from it. I survived though, and at 5.52pm Darcie came into the world. I'd been so sure all along that we were having a boy, I'll never forget the complete shock of realising that our baby had no willy!

Life changed for us forever in that dark delivery room that Wednesday teatime, we were parents. Simon went off to phone our parents and break the news that finally, finally I'd popped, and the midwife and student also vanished. I remember lying on the bed clutching Darcie, unable to move because there was nowhere to put her down, and thinking "Oh my God....what the hell do I do now......!" It was just so surreal, of course we'd known for months that we were going to have a baby, but a tiny bit of me thought it still could be some sort of joke!

Anyway, that's the beginning, how it all started really. So much has happened over the past 9 years, and I sometimes wonder how that positive pregnancy test turned into the eight year old I have now! I don't know what the purpose of this blog will be, but who knows, maybe one day my daughter will read it herself. Maybe her children will also read it, you never know!

I'll finish my first post with a couple of photos of my baby girl, one of her in hospital the morning after she was born, and another when she was just a few weeks old, it's one I've always liked.