Hi guys. I'll confess, I'm kinda cheating. I wrote this piece as part of a uni assignment. I think it still resonates with those of us who have children at school... any school really. Enjoy. Hope this makes you feel ok about your parenting skills, which I will only assume are WAY better than mine!! Oh, and PS, I got a HD
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I’m
going to be brutally honest. Motherhood
is not all it’s cracked up to be. Nothing
prepares you for the politics of being a mum. No one mentions the unspoken
rules of the playground. It’s like a war zone. The battle is sometimes blatant,
but mostly covert, usually vitriolic, subliminal, extremely aggressive and
always damaging.
I found myself facing motherhood
later than I had hoped. According to the Australian Bureau of Statistics, with
assisted conception and IVF, I was in good company. Fertility rates for women
aged 35-39 years increased in 2005 making it the highest rate since 1962. That
year 259,600 babies arrived.
No sooner are you home with baby, then
you face the prospect of mother’s group.
A local council run initiative, it’s designed to allow new mums to come
together with other mums for support. It can be wonderful. I have great friends from my mothers’ group.
But things go awry when your child starts to hit (or miss) the milestones.
My child was into missing most of
them, something that was pointed out to me many times. As a mother, you try not
to compare children, because every child is unique. The constant reminders that
your child isn’t rolling, lifting its head, crawling, holding its bottle, or
talking can be draining not to mention demoralising.
Our group began with 15 members.
There are only five of us who still keep in contact. I can’t say I miss the
ones who made me feel guilty, who made me question my ability to parent effectively
and the choice I made to go back to work.
Lorraine Candy, Editor in Chief of Elle magazine has talked about her experience with the ugly side of
‘Yummy Mummies’. It’s comforting to know it’s not just me. She raises some
interesting questions. Do women do this to make themselves feel better about
themselves or is it based on jealousy? Yes, on both counts. Her final
conclusion is enlightening. ‘The trouble
with motherhood is there is no end result, no chart of comparison that says you
did it brilliantly or terribly.’ How
true.
My alienation from my mothers’ group began when the kids
started kindergarten. As a working
mother, my children have been in full time childcare since they were eight
months of age. We decided on the kinder program at the centre for convenience
while the other children attended the local pre-school. There was a shift in
the balance and before too long, I was on the outer perimeter looking in,
replaced by new alliances made in my absence. I was comforted by the knowledge
that primary school would bring us back to the fold.
Our first day of school was exciting. A civilized affair,
there were tears and countless photos. In the days that followed there was a
change in mood. As the children were lined up by homeroom, I was separated from
my group of friends and was left with one friendly face among a sea of
strangers. Being isolated gave me the opportunity to observe the key characters
at play.
Groups of mothers clustered around and stared each other
down. It’s nerve wracking for the uninitiated and can determine your place in
the playground for the duration of your child’s stay in that particular school.
Time poor, I sometimes feel like I’m racing against the
clock to finish everything on my to-do list. It’s a battle I constantly lose.
I’ve forgotten how to apply make-up and if my clothes aren’t stained with snot
or food, that’s good enough for me. This philosophy doesn’t fly with the ‘Yummy
Mummy’ crowd that is so prevalent in the school ground.
The cliques can be broken up into a number of categories.
According to Rachel Halliwell of The
Daily Mirror 2009, there are the ‘Super Mummies’, ‘Yummy Mummies’, ‘Earth
Mummies’ and ‘Slummy Mummies’ to name a few.
‘Super Mummies’ can do it all and can be said to be the
leaders of the pack. Impeccably attired, they are hands on with their children.
I want to be them.
‘Yummy Mummies’ are coiffed, manicured, wear skinny jeans
with stiletto boots. They don’t work, drive 4WD’s and love their designer bags.
I roll my eyes at them.
‘Earth Mummies’ radiate blissful calm and waft into the
playground oblivious to playground politics. They’re more concerned with global
warming and cutting their greenhouse gas emissions. I envy them.
‘Slummy Mummies’ are the ones who just aren’t on top of
their game. Always late, they arrive at school in rumpled clothes, red faced
and sweaty. I am them.
Comedian Libbi Gorr describes in the waiting for the
afternoon bell and engaging in chitchat as ‘an extreme sport’. Extreme it is. I
once overheard two mothers savagely tearing apart a mother’s parenting style, like
vultures stripping flesh off a carcass. One mum smugly informed me her daughter
told her that my child does not have good listening ears. Oh, really?
Why thank you.
Apparently not having listening ears can be a deal breaker,
as I later learned that my child was the only girl in the class not to receive
an invitation to this girl’s birthday party. That killed me. Was it because of
me? How do you protect your kids from that? Thankfully, my child lives in a
fantasyland where everyone is a friend and life is grand.
Even I judge. It’s a terrible thing to admit. You can’t help
but do it. There’s ‘Super Skinny’, ‘Super Model’ and ‘Wannabe’ to name a few. There’s a trio of mums always playing Angry
Birds. I call them ‘The Birdies’. I dread to think what my moniker is.
Examples of my extreme lack of parenting skills are too
juicy not to share. Did I mention I also forgot the Walkathon? What about the
time I dragged my child to school, only to be stopped by the business manager
who said ‘The children finished yesterday… for the term.’
‘Oh.’
On the last day of (prep) term one, the junior school held
their Easter Bonnet Parade. It was scheduled for 12.45pm. I turned up at
12.20pm only to find I was late. Apparently the children had put on a play before
the parade began. Whoops.
Fortunately, one of my friends from playgroup saved me a
seat in the second row. Apparently I missed a near fistfight over the race for
front row seats. It was chaos. Parents jostled for position to take photos.
There were even video cameras on tripods.
I managed to get only two photos of my disheveled but happy
child who walked proudly beside her grade four buddy, her bonnet perched
precariously on her head. She sang out ‘That’s my mummy!”. Those three words made me feel like a super hero.
Peace out party people.
Mrs Nobody.
