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Toddler daughter is driving me insane. She just doesn't seem to get the concept of staying in her own bed. Relentlessly, like the Duracell bunny, she gets out and comes downstairs or, worse, wakes up her sisters. Tomorrow I have her two-year check with the health visitor - a year late, due to us moving house. I expect referral to some sort of sleep clinic where they call you 'mum' all the time instead of your name and talk down to you about establishing sleep patterns. I know I sound bitter, but I had a bad experience once at a sleep clinic with bonkers daughter. I ignored all advice and she is now a model of good sleeping habits. I keep hoping toddler daughter will one day suddenly switch to the same model, but it's not happening yet despite her promising every night to show what a big girl she can be. She says in mitigation that she's "only a little bit big".

This week has been hectic on a supersonic scale. There are hundreds of school things to do - teddy bears' picnics, sports days, music events, fetes, end of term ballet, end of term swimming, etc and the weekends are packed with activities so there is no time to recharge the batteries. Later this week it all goes into free fall as the summer holidays begin and I am reliant on a collection of relatives and friends, any one of whom could get sick, have an emergency change of plans, move country etc.

The other day I made the mistake of double booking work events in London to save on travel in the full knowledge that everything had to work to my exact timing so that I could get back to do the school run. I dropped toddler daughter at nursery first to save time, doubled back to drop the others at school, went back on my tracks to dump the car and run 20 minutes downhill to the tube. I got to my destination in central London in time, but my colleague hadn't turned up. I then realised, horribly, that, although I had made it thus far, had all the information I needed for the meeting and a list of emergency phone numbers, crucially I couldn't remember who I was meeting - my mind had suffered a complete wipe-out. I rang the office and asked whether my colleague had left and if the diary could be checked to see what time he had for the meeting and who he had down to meet, without giving away the game. Success. However, as luck would have it, the meeting overran and I had to be on the other side of London for the second meeting.

I dived to the cashpoint and grabbed a cab. I then had 40 minutes to down lunch. I talked very, very fast without drawing breath. I then had to sprint to the tube and, worse, run 20 minutes up the hill to my car to dash to the nursery and then school. The girls were waiting in the playground. I practically collapsed at their feet. There should be some sort of cheerleader posse or something to celebrate at the end of such a marathon or at the very least a gold medal. This is not a healthy life for a post-40 year old who was never very good at sports [and especially golf. Rebel daughter got laughed at by a boy in her class for being bad at golf, as if being good at golf is something of which to be proud. I spent the two days I have to motor up the M11 turning Radio Five Live off because it solely featured golf coverage. Instead, I found myself crying my eyes out to Chiquitita by Abba, at one point my worst Abba song. That's what having children does to you].

This weekend has been a weekend of four parties in a row: a christening, a 40th birthday party, a leaving party for Rebel daughter's ex head teacher and a sleepover party for my mum's birthday. Toddler daughter was very excited about the latter and said she would be sleeping with my mum. Bonkers daughter piped up helpfully that she had better keep her hands off her gran's boobies as they were "private".

Rebel daughter caused herself serious injury by spinning on a chair at the 40th birthday party and spinning into a ceramic stool thing which promptly broke into many pieces. My partner was flagging at this point - around 6pm, but had promised to stay all night and crash at the party where the average age was 25 and the two 40 year olds don't have children.

The girls and I decamped to the head teacher party. It was very good to see the old school and Rebel daughter's ex head teacher, who gave her a cuddle. That head teacher knew every single child in the school and several ex-pupils turned up to say goodbye. Unfortunately, most head teachers I have spoken to seem to want to retire because they are under so much pressure to do just about everything. One who was at the party had just been to visit a child in hospital who had had a nasty accident. She said she wanted to leave, but would be mortified if she thought her replacement wouldn't visit a pupil in hospital in similar circumstances.

The sleepover went fairly well up to about 11.30pm when my partner texted to say he had had enough. I might have mentioned in passing that I could conceivably come and pick him up, meaning if he rang before I was in bed. I was in bed at 11.30. I knew he was angling for me to come. I texted to call a cab. He replied that he had hoped I might come and pick him up and then added "only joking". Yeah, right. Heartlessly, I went to sleep. An hour later he rang my phone which was on critically low battery. He then rang my mum's phone and woke half the house. I texted "we are all asleep" and then 15 minutes later, feeling guilty and imagining that maybe he had been stabbed waiting for a cab and this might have been his last call, texted back 'r u ok...' [I haven't yet figured out how to do question marks on the new phone so I use three dots]. He arrived and my mum let him in.

There was a lot of talking then he stomped into where I was, muttered 'you took my keys' [he gave them to me] and went to sleep. To add to his problems, like the Queen, he rarely carries cash and had to borrow some money off my mum for the cab. This too, it turned out, was my fault. The moral of the story is that he should have left with us and that neither of us can any longer do any party that lasts longer than 7pm.

The following day we went to the cinema to see Kung Fu Panda with my mum. Bonkers daughter kung fued her way home and announced boldly that she would not need a knife and fork for supper as she would karate chop her food. Only she fell asleep before the crucial hour. Toddler daughter, however, was, as ever, awake until late, fell asleep in our bed and was moved back to her bed. I awoke to find her lying across my neck at around 3am.