Why does a love-in give way to a howl of hate?

`Mummy, I love you, you're the most lovely mummy in the world." Ah, yes, another triumph in the maternal department. Where have I gone right? Well, I've read every parenting book ever written, been to a plethora of parenting courses - in fact, been there, done that and now, it seems, won the award. But it doesn't last. Within hours, it's "I hate you, that's it, I'm leaving this family, you make me sick". One minute it's the great big love-in, next thing it's duck and cover. How are we meant to get it right? What about our psychological stability? "I love you, I hate you, I adore you, you make me puke . . ." and on and on and on.

If we treated our children like this they'd grow up to become psychopaths. Somehow, we're expected to be perfect. Or was it "good enough"? Or was it something to do with "surviving"? The truth is, the task is all but impossible. The objective is to "raise emotionally intelligent children" who have "self-esteem" and can "function adequately" in today's society. I'm not sure I even know what it means.

"Life is unpredictable," my seven-year-old daughter told me on the way to school one morning. Huh, simple. Just chill out mum, be cool, life's like that. I see. But I have a strong feeling I'm meant to be getting something right. In fact there are millions of parenting books with tips on how to get it right.

I've actually read those lists, yet recently I overheard my daughter denounce me to a friend: "Mummy used to lie to me, she used to say I really was a princess." I'd checked that particular list and it was there under make-believe: "do indulge the child's fantasy". I'm quite sure I got that right. Well, yesterday I had an inspired realisation. Parenting books, courses, etc, are all the work of adults. They could tell you what the ideal was and, ideally, how to achieve it. But you never get there. Rejection is inevitable (or "healthy", according to some books) and the kids are destined to become therapy candidates.

Maybe I should be asking the kids for advice. My daughter duly assisted. "You should try to be a bit more like Ciara's mum," she suggested on the way home from school. "Ciara gets sweets every day, and watches telly whenever she wants. And she gets smacked when she's bold." "Well, would you prefer tons of sweets, telly and smacks?" I asked, my trendy parent values poised dangerously on the brink of destruction. "Well, mum, not getting sweets or being allowed watch telly all the time is really the same as getting smacked," she explained, looking at me like the duh I suppose I must be.