mothers on the verge

Apart from providing me with hard evidence that I am definitely a city girl and a motorway sissy to boot, this week has also reminded me that children are extremely hard work. Firstborn is much easier than the Small(er) One due to the fact that she is four, and so can be reasoned with 80% of the time or at least brought to heel by the threat of a stint on the 'thinking step' (a punishment worse than a week without Smarties, Firstborn's drug of choice). The Small(er) One, on the other hand, is a chubby ball of rage and stubbornness with a penchant for mind-numbing repetition. She enjoys asking the same question 33,000 times, especially if it is of a stunningly mundane nature. Her favorite word is "NO!" (delivered at full volume, often emphasised by falling on the floor and screaming so loud her face turns puce). She takes an obvious pleasure in disagreeing with everything anyone says and is a natural rebel. On principle, she refuses to get dressed in anything prac

Ten major problems with the Cornish countryside in Autumn: 1. Trees and fields are all very well, but after a few days the thrill most certainly wears off. Especially when there's nothing else to do and you're limited to admiring nature from indoors, because... 2. It rains. All the bloody time. 3. The food around these parts is terrible. Wall to wall Tesco and not a Waitrose for 20 miles, let alone shops selling local produce. It's easier to get hold of a proper muddy carrot in central London than it is in the countryside when you're surrounded by fields jammed full of vegetables. 4. Dining options are limited to the Cornish pasty shop, the fish and chip shop, the Chicken Lickin' takeaway, and a pub filled with grumpy old bastards. All the food is beige (except for the mushy peas at the chippie). 5. The locals are most definitely not friendly. 6. The best clothes shop in town is crowded with oldies stocking up on nylon knickers and support hose. 7. The local swimmin

It's half term and I have uprooted my two city kids from their two-bed apartment in the middle of London to go stay with my mother and step-father in their eight-bedroom pile in the middle of Cornwall. Firstborn and the Small(er) One don't know what's hit them. The abundance of greenery and wide expanse of space has had the kids running around in a frenzy - the sort of frenzy you only usually see after a sugar-laden birthday party lash-up. Although the fact that my mother has a well-stocked biscuit tin and an unusual amount of generosity might also be a contributary factor. Added to this heady mix is a TV the size of a cinema screen, hefty furniture that can cope with acrobatic children, two cats to torment, lots of stairs to absail down, and last but definately not least, an adoring granny who doesn't bellow at them for grevious lapses in manners/ pulling the cat's tail/ wiping their grimy hands on the curtains/ weeing on the upholstery/ etc. First-born and the Sma

Not that there was any doubt, but I think it's official now. How do I know? My best friend (who is not a mother, so what does she know! --that was in case she's actually reading this...) told me I am a stress case. So there you go. So here's my question: WHAT MOTHER OUT THERE IS NOT A STRESS CASE?!?!?! Seriously. Because if someone out there has some secret, I really want to know. For so long I have been on boil. Long past medium simmer. My top blew a long time ago. And I don't know how to bring it down. Because anger is not exactly the most fun friend to carry around. She's a one-noter, and frankly a real drag. But honestly, there's so much to be angry at. I don't want to go into the huge laundry list (because truthfully I started typing it and it looked lame to me...) but basically, it seems like the font is never empty. So, other than pharmaceutical suggestions: I am all ears.

Firstborn is starting to complain about my working status. It started as a plaintive, "I wish you could pick me up from school, Mummy," and is currently at the stage of "Why do you have to work Mummy? Lots of other mummies don't go to work and that means they come to all the parent assemblies and sports days and concerts and bake sales." Hands up, I have missed out on school events (although Alpha hasn't yet managed to attend one of these momentous occasions which is pleasing only in that it makes me feel properly smug in comparison). It's not because I haven't wanted to go along - one of my fondest memories is seeing Firstborn dressed as an angel for her first nursery nativity play - but because business and school seem to have different ideas on what constitutes a decent notice period. Schools think a week or two is sufficient (or in one case, the day before) while my work diary fills up at least two weeks in advance. And sod's law, it always s

Poor Rabbit. I feel for you, MM, I really do. The smaller they are, the louder the heart breaks. The letter worked a treat. Teacher was on the phone by 9.30am Monday morning reporting that she had spoken to Firstborn at length, and had then taken all the offending children on one side and prophesied many hours spent languishing in disgrace in the school secretary's office if the behaviour didn't stop immediately. She also picked out a couple of little girls to 'look after' Firstborn, which seems to be all that was needed to form a friendship - Firstborn has been talking about these girls non-stop all week, to the point that we are now embarking on a brave new world of out-of-school playdates. Let's face it, school sucks. And I suspect it's only going to get worse. I think I too need to dust off the boxing gloves and teach Firstborn how to land an effective right-hook.

I know I planned on telling The Rabbit's teacher all about the infractions being splayed upon her. So I took her to school this morning and saw this in the classroom: She walked in and began joyfully playing hopscotch on a rug with a little boy who she says has hit her and tells her he can't play with her. The main girl bully was being coaxed out of a cubby and then sat sulking in a chair, refusing to take part in morning activities. The second girl bully was tattling on some other boys to her teacher, whining that they said they were the boss. Of course, yes, I know that it is these very acts of anti-social behavior that could be leading these creatures to go after my cheerful, smiling Rabbit. But I also realized that she seemed to be able to still walk into the classroom happy and cheerful -- despite the problems she's having. And that, frankly, she seemed more well adjusted than these other kids. We also spent 20 minutes last night role-playing with her before she went t

Sorry for the absence. I wish it was for a yummy holiday, but truth is it's been a rough patch with the Rabbit. Boy do I know where you are coming from YLM. Like Firstborn, all the Rabbit has been telling us about school is that she eats lunch. Nothing else. And her teachers are barely forthcoming with any details. One is out right rude to me. To my face. Not quite nasty, but it's on the fence. Tonight, too, it came out. Not that The Prince and I haven't seen it coming. Especially me. On the playground after school there are a few girls who won't play with The Rabbit. One girl in particular is a choice bully who often tells The Rabbit she can't play. Another treats her like a baby and I suspect it's rubbing off on the other kids. I've literally heard her say it to the other kids: "[The Rabbit] is a baby. She's not even four yet." The Rabbit is the youngest in her class -- and at times does act young. Not babyish, but young. But tonight she let

Manhattan Mama and the Rabbit have already been there (on the other side of the Pond) and now it's Firstborn's turn to be bullied. And there I was thinking that kind of thing wouldn't happen in a nice pious Church school - guess I was wrong. Firstborn has always been a really extroverted and confident little girl but since she started at this school last month she's become shy and withdrawn. The most marked change has been at birthday parties at the weekend - whereas she used to dive into the melee with glee, the past three parties (two this weekend, gahhhh) have been marked with tears and a refusal to be parted from me for even a second. Firstborn has also been having nightmares, major tantrums and being extremely contrary -she's no angel but this is all unusual behaviour for her. Alpha and I have been getting concerned and suspected that all was not well at school, but when questioned Firstborn has been unusually reticent, only wanting to talk about what she'

Finally, we have broadband access again - no thanks to Tiscali, which never did get its act together and reconnect us since their huge technical boo-boo, despite almost daily assurances that our service would be back up in five working days. Yeah, and the cheque's in the post... Right now, I'm curled up with the laptop, our squeaky new ntl broadband, and CSI on the telly. Alpha has gone out to a party and the kids are fast asleep. I would be in total bliss if I hadn't finished all the ice-cream in the freezer earlier in the week and if it wasn't for the fact that people keep buzzing our flat looking for the brothel/crack den that has recently opened for business in our building. Fortunately the offending entrepreneurs are three floors above us but unfortunately our flat is next to the fire exit which the pimp has taken to leaving open to ensure easy access for his customers after midnight (before which time Alpha and I keep closing it). Strange men roving around our bui