Beta Mummy’s Guide to Life

Anna Vaught - 16 Mar 16

BETA MUMMY’S GUIDE* TO...

1. The school run.
(*Not so much of the guide; I’m a bit incompetent.)

The other day, I heard someone describe The (primary) school run as ‘a shit party you have to go to twice a day’. This amused me. Secretly (and not so secretly) women carp and sometimes even cry about the school run; some women—I know this to be true—have to have a lie down afterwards; if they are on their way to work by car, you might see them sitting a bit rigid there, in the front seat, eyes closed—visceral determination written across their face. The sort that whispers, ‘I will put my anxieties in THIS box in my head, you know; the anxieties about whether I am a moron in this parenting malarkey/shit party; the worries I entertain and which sometimes even wake me at night and which go, “Are my kids okay?” “Have I screwed them up?” “Do other kids like them?” “Do THEY (the mummies) like ME?” ‘

Now, there may be mothers who do not do this. I have probably met them; they are scary people. I swear their husbands must be quivering unmanned wrecks, pussy-whipped by lists, scheduling and ‘to do list’ sex. I have sat in rooms (after one child had repeatedly duffed up another, more timid soul) and heard mothers say things like, ‘Well obviously little Jimmy is top of the pecking order and your son is not and that’s just the way the world is!’ I have heard mothers declaim—sometimes quite loudly in queues and baby groups and, God Forbid, the pub—about their children’s extravagant talent; that their child does not lie, swear, pinch anyone and would never take a chupa chups even if the school bully were standing behind them with a big stick and the shop assistant wasn’t even looking and couldn’t give a toss. That their child is aceing everything and top of the list in spelling (where the school has had to invent a new category for the exceptional speller); that their child is top of the year, totally happy, never has any worries, would never play truant or be a school refuser (we’ve done both at Vaught Towers) is emotionally sound ad infinitum. I just don’t know what to say. I suspect most mums say, ‘That’s great!’ but that they are thinking, ‘You are making yourself sound like a right knob And, ‘I want a gin.’

I have, also, seen mouths drop open when other mums have expressed their difficulties, thinking they are in the company of kindred spirits and the respondent saying, ‘That’s dreadful. I have NEVER heard of anyone doing that/a child behaving like that/that kind of thing.’ And my response is KILL ME NOW. Our children, like us, are full of emotional problems. Everyone has emotional problems, because emotions are big, unwieldy things; emotions buried come back, deferred and angry, and bit you on the arse. I make a clear distinction between mental health problems and emotional problems—because they are not the same thing. Which is, of course why it would infuriate me should I hear (I have) someone describe someone else’s child as having mental health problems or being mentally ill. Whoah! Don’t go there! On SEN or Mental Health, do not go there unless this is discussion with opinions asked. I digress a bit here, but hopefully you see my point. I would say that with parenting—as with pregnancy, miscarriage (more on which another day) and mental health problems (ditto), some folk feel compelled to tell what they reckon, shooting from the hip. It’s annoying and if you find it annoying but have felt you couldn’t say, then hopefully I got it off your chest for you. BAM!

So the school run. A shit party that you have to go to twice a day? How so?

I think people can feel intimidated. Perhaps, when you parent, you revisit your own childhood and the way you were parented yourself and that can be an unsettling and painful thing. When I have raised this with some mums, I see a sort of startled look, so I guess it doesn’t feel that way for them. But I do, personally, experience a hard bolt of pain within my child rearing; in the love and acceptance I try (TRY—I did say I was Beta Mummy) to extend to my three boys. It is the feeling that that I have no conception myself of what this must feel like. There I said it. Pillar of the community mother; great, wonderful person; fed me, clothed me and attended to me very well. And she also repeatedly told me I was unwanted and the spawn of the very devil and that kind of lexis sticks. It is not always truly palpable, but it is always there. So I can feel sad on the school run, because I feel a sense of my difference. A sense of loss and might have been. I also lost both parents before I could know them as an adult: in being mum, that makes me keenly alive to others’ experience and I am apt to make comparisons (see below!) which hurt and are not helpful, as I watch the doting grandparents and mums with their mums. I know I am not the only one to feel this. You may also have been, yourself, the one that didn’t fit in; the awkward, un-cool kid. The nerdy one; the whatever. Yup. That was me. Was it you, too? I think that we revisit some of those tricky and unsettling memories. And that sometimes we are not prepared for it, so it discombobulates us.

So, there might be a little bit of pain in there; there may also be insecurity of all sorts. Some mums are incredibly well groomed. I don’t know how they do it. When does anyone have time to iron their trousers. Oh hell— to IRON? Do they have people in to do it? I am the mum with the tights that fall down; the woman whose wardrobe malfunction caused a full frontal exposure in the KS1 area; who went to a meeting with the Headmaster with her dress in her knickers. Am I comforting you? Thing is, no-one died (although a number of people saw my tits). Now, I am not saying we should not take care of ourselves by wearing make-up or pretty clothing or things that boost us. Not at all. I do try to do those things, but I am also mindful that I will always look like I’ve gone three rounds with a lusty stable lad (hey—there’s a thought) and, actually, do arrive a bit covered in straw when I’ve been mucking out the chickens. But back to what I was saying. I know, from frank conversations, that some mums feel intimidated by a certain level of gloss-grooming. But let’s not forget: people are people, aren’t they? I bet Kim Kardashian has really hairy legs, like a big old gorilla, and a proper moustache before she attends to such jobs.

And there may be other insecurities. Mums can worry that others are more successful at parenting; they worry about their kids; they may also feel they are not doing enough with their day and I have heard some really snarky comments in nearly twelve years of school runs, that go from working mums to stay at home mums (not even keen on that definition) and back again. Mums worry that others are achieving or juggling more than them; that they have better homes; more chintz; more chrome; that their kids don’t fight; that they own a spendier, snazzier, more fuck-you extension—I don’t know; I have just seen women get really upset because they feel they aren’t doing enough. That other mums are bettering themselves; are more educated. Oh and that everyone is having more sex then they are (especially the dominatrix women I mentioned who have it in their lilac leather diary for Monday, Thursday and ‘His birthday’).

Well, I am not immune. The school run can take it out of you and—women—we need to do something about this. So here’s my plan.

1. Competitive mothers. Pipe down and go and start a conversation with the chavviest person you think you can see.
2. Compare and despair. You don’t know what someone else’s reality is, by how cheery and glossy they appear to be. Gloss is not soul and it is not substance. You only know your own reality and that is where you need to stay. Because YOU is cool. So you don’t need to compare. I have loads of form in this area and this is why I pass on my awareness of its utter pointlessness to you.
3. If anyone is a bit sniping to you (or about your child) resist the urge to have a go back. You’re better than that. Instead, think a really evil thought of the individual being steam rollered while wearing their shabbiest underwear. Or something. And also be compassionate. I have had astonishingly open conversations with folk who once floored me with a comment they made. (See point two about not knowing what someone else’s reality is.)
4. Talk to the person who looks alone. Whom you sense feels uncomfortably alone. Don’t overdo it. You’ll freak them out. Do it because school playgrounds can, sometimes, be lonely places for mothers.
5. Don’t worry about THE PLAN. I have seen not one thing to convince me (as mum or as a teacher, for that matter) that kids don’t throw you a curved ball; that they won’t hold an opinion you despise; that they are never going to do something terrible. Being a loving parents goes so, so far. But it is not a guarantee because they are going to be autonomous and however good our plans for our kids, I’m convinced that the best we do is wing it. Do I think I know what I am doing? Not really. I am making it up as I go along!
6. And here’s a summary, as I see it. Them kids. Show them heart, compassion, rebellion, daring and courage. Show them humour and don’t cover up when you screw up— which you will do multiple times. Let them see that you can have a full range of emotions and that you can learn to handle them, not to prevent yourself having them in the first place. One mum said to me, years ago, ‘We don’t do anger in my house’ and I thought, ‘What a nightmare!’ And you? It’s bravery and humour and slapstick and a naughty glint in your eye that make people love you and want to be around you. If people don’t, does it matter? Don’t take yourself too seriously sometimes. Lower your standards to stay calm. How about that? Look at you there? Aren’ t you just lovely?
Hey, maybe the school run doesn’t have to be the shit party you go to twice a week after all?
What do you think?

Anna Vaught

I am a mum of three boys, 6,13 and 15, a sceondary English teacher, tutor, campaigner, freelance writer, poet, editor and novelist. My first novel, Killing Hapless Ally, came out last year. It's a semi autobiographical black comedy about mental illness. My second, The Life of Almost, a novella, is out in October 2018, with my third novel out on submission at the moment. I'm writing my fourth, editing a couple of anthologies, reviewing books, and drafting an irreverent non-fiction book on parenting. I have much to say on (mental) health and happiness and lowering your standards. Anna x

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