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Thursday, 11 January 2007

Dark Days

We despair. Freya is burning up with a fever. The poor baby had no sleep last night. She has a sore throat and a voice like Rod Stewart. Things are not going well if she is to recover by tomorrow in time for a last ditch attempt at the assessment for Alleyn’s school.

Freya has been playing Sudoku on the Cbeebies web-site for hours today, but with a non compliant, 'don't bother me' look in her eye. She says she is too sick to go to the assessment, and she means it. She is only three and a half, why will she not bend to our will? She has a steely determination.

I have promised her a large pack of Smarties, some pretty nail polish from the chemist in the village (she will use nothing but Mavala as she loves the small pretty bottles) and even a (heavens forbid) Fruit Shoot.

'No Mummy, I am too sick' she says defiantly.

I am having palpitations. She is saying no to me simply because she can. I can't abide this, she is getting back at me for all of the times I insisted she went to bed at 7pm, for all of the baths I insisted she took, and for all of the vegetables I compelled her to eat. I am grinding my teeth into powder, while stroking her hair gently and filling the tiny white spoon with antibiotics and Calpol. She is running the house.

Freya doesn't care a hoot, it is her career in medicine she is putting at risk. Long after she has had her fun, she will be repenting in a failing school. Whatever are we going to do?

In the meantime she taunts us by playing Sudoku with ease, and watching French Muzzy DVDs, but not allowing the staff of Alleyn’s to witness it.


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