Failure

When I found out I was pregnant, I cried for weeks. Not because I didn’t want a baby, but because I was scared. I was scared that I didn’t know how to be a mum. Terrified I would get it wrong. Worried that I would be like my own mother. Afraid that I would raise a child that would grow up feeling like me - I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

I tried to find out what would make a good parent, a happy child. Read up diligently. Applied the things I learned, consistently and calmly. I made sure I had a fantastic nanny to help me, a constant positive presence for the first seven years of their life - a reinforcement of the values, behaviours, support, love that would prepare them for life and make them happy and confident.

I didn’t want my children to go to a school where they were bullied for accidentally being clever, or playing a musical instrument, or liking reading, or having red hair: so I worked hard to pay for them to attend an all-girls school – small classes, traditional values.

But there was one thing I never worried about, even me, the all-time top worrier of the century. I never worried about them learning how to be a good friend. I know I set a good example here. My loyalty, commitment, discretion, support - all absolutely without question.

Last week the school called me to say that Daughter No 2 has been setting the girls against one another in her class to the extent that several of them had to be picked up by their parents, they were so upset. And then when asked about it, lied her head off until she was caught out, then lied some more. I am summoned to a meeting with the Head after half term.

And today Daughter No 1 has been found out sending a horrible, mean email circular that manages to incorporate swearing, threatening, bullying and ganging-up, all in one paragraph. Several parents have already contacted me to complain, explain they are blocking her from their daughters’ email and MSN, and asking me what I plan to do. I asked her about it, and she lied too.

I don’t know what I plan to do.

Right now, I have penned an apology to the girls and their parents, explaining the rules we have and how they were broken. She has sent one of her own too. I have confiscated her laptop and I have disabled the wifi on the home computer.

I am ashamed. Appalled. Embarrassed. Humiliated. I don’t know where they have learned to behave like this. My immediate plan is to drink a lot of wine, cry, and wonder what I did wrong. Not constructive, but I’m too upset to care.