Holiday creche hell

Day 2 of the summer holidays (said in a Big Brother voice) and already my plans have gone awry.

A month ago, when I was anticipating how I would entertain my two little darlings over the summer stretch, I have to admit I was somewhat nervous. Without three days of nursery for the nearly-4-year-old and extra-curricular music for both, I wondered if they'd be so bored by the end of the first week that we'd all be climbing the walls. And with my part-time degree picking up speed, I could really use a couple of hours each week to catch up with my studies.

So, after a little soul-searching, I booked them into our local creche for Monday morning sessions for the next six weeks. It would give them a brief change of scene, different toys to play with, some peer-group interaction - and allow me a few short hours to complete the chores I normally fitted into Youngest's nap time, now obsolete as I'd be entertaining Daughter non-stop. There's also a soft play centre just down the corridor, which the creche has open access to, so the kids get to benefit from all that action. And the place is used by my dear friend N, whose judgement I trust 99.9%. She sends her two sproglets there regularly so I figured it must be more than ok. All in all, I had high hopes that this would work well for the three of us - as well as giving Youngest a little dress rehearsal for the nursery he starts in September.

But when we arrived yesterday morning, friendly as the girls (and I do mean girls - average age...22?) were, I looked around the slightly chaotic room and wondered what on earth my 2 and 3.5 year old were going to DO for the next two hours? The few toys they seemed to have on display were strewn haphazardly across the otherwise bare room - and looked distinctly uncared for (naked dolls on the floor outside the dolls house, dolls house furniture stuffed in one room, three beat-up toy cars to play with in the little garage, inside-out dressing-up clothes stuffed into one big box...um, couldn't actually see much else). There was a table with some manky-looking PlayDoh on it but I couldn't see evidence of any other activities set up. Outside - a narrow strip of covered concrete - an ancient plastic ride-on car loitered near an almost empty sand table. The children already there (mainly babies and toddlers, as the older kiddies were off on a group outing) were wandering around the place looking rather lost. I couldn't blame them and was starting to feel a little bit sick about leaving my babies there.

Daughter was obviously thinking the same thing as I could see her eyes nervously darting around the place desperately seeking some reassurance or even reason to be here. Clearly, as I write this, I realise I should have followed my gut instinct and grabbed my darlings firmly by the hand before sweeping briskly out of there, never to return. But, thinking of my friend N's faultless judgement and the long list of errands awaiting my attention, I decided I had to at least give it a whirl. I'd probably just caught them at a bad time and the girls would all swing into action as soon as I left them to it.

I bossily asked for some colouring for Daughter and, to give credit where credit's due, a very smiley girl set up a little drawing table next to the play-doh. So I knew Eldest would be occupied for at least 20 minutes. Then I figured they'd haul the kids off to the the soft play zone, after that would be snack time and before you could say, 'Mummy, get me out of here', I'd be back. My little boy had found one of the sun-bleached plastic cars to clamber into so, with his words ringing in my ears ("Come on, Mamma"), I beat a hasty retreat. Just as the door shut, I heard him burst into tears.

Knowing there were four friendly members of staff there and that, although it all looked a bit messy, they were at least loving and would have scooped him up in a comforting cuddle, I bravely drove off. And sent both my little darlings a mental hug, whispering loving encouragements through the ether. Then I raced round the grocers, post office and ironmongers, at breakneck speed, ticking off my list of dull but pressing jobs.

A breathless hour and a half later, I raced through the front door and hit the phone, to find out if the twosome had settled happily once I'd left. The answer I received did not reassure me.

"Um, well, J has been a bit tearful. He's, well, he's crying a little bit now."

So then I ask if he actually stopped crying after I went at 9.40...or whether he's been crying pretty much the whole morning.

"We-ell, I won't lie to you. He, um, hasn't really stopped crying".

I don't think I waited to reply.

If I'd had a flashing blue light I could have stuck on top of my car, I would have done. With only half an eye on the speedometer, it took me approximately 4 minutes to drive the 2.5 miles back to the creche (you do the maths. Sorry - this was an emergency.). When I got there, I could hear my children's cries above any other noise and followed the sound out to the concrete 'garden'. My heart nearly broke in two when I saw them facing each other, sobbing pitifully. Daughter was clutching her pink cuddly tiger and Youngest's eyes were red-rimmed, his sobs and runny nose threatening to choke him. I leapt over the plastic detritus in my path and clasped them tightly to me, cursing myself for ever leaving them - even if it was only for 90 minutes. Seeing my distress, one sweet-looking helper (who was already comforting another little tiddler), said that Daughter had only just started to cry, in response to her brother's tears.

Maybe. But I think I'll be haunted forever by the image of the two of them huddled together like little lost orphans.

Despite being booked in for the morning, we extricated ourselves as quickly as possible. In the car home, Daughter told me she was sooo thirsty as she'd missed out on getting a drink at snack time (isn't that a legal requirement? Dehydration and all that...). I asked if she'd played with any of the other children? "No, just my tiger cuddly and my brother". The image that came to mind when she said this made me feel all wobbly. And they hadn't been taken to the soft play zone at all. So it had pretty much been an hour and half of boredom morphing into purgatory, by the sounds of it.

I spent the rest of the day trying to make up for their traumatic morning with fun-filled antics. We went to the soft play centre we'd all pinned our hopes on earlier, had hot chocolate afterwards (AND a biscuit!), Husband put up the wigwam tent in the garden and we made a tea party for their cuddlies. Books on the sofa followed, then a lovely long bubble bath. By the time their little heads hit their pillows, I was hopeful that any thoughts of the morning's stress had been totally obliterated.

Out of interest, I've just looked up the Ofsted for the creche in question and it's really quite good. So maybe we just had a bad experience. Nevertheless, I won't be sending my two back there and will be cancelling our booking for the summer forthwith.

But lots of other mothers use creches all the time. So please tell me, is this the norm? Am I asking too much from a baby-sitting service? As my husband said, they're not claiming to educate or even entertain kids. They're just doing they're best to keep children safe, fed and (ideally!) watered for the time they're in their care. Obviously if the kiddies enjoy themselves too, that's better for everyone and more likely to result in further bookings. But I now realise it's not an essential requirement. Perhaps I was expecting too much.