Mercy Mission

Tamsin Parker - 11 Nov 15

Be prepared to feel like an SAS solider being parachuted into troubled waters on the latest mercy mission, fairly regularly throughout your parenting career.

Read more in my A to Z of  what it’s like to be a single mum, juggling the school run, with a full-time job and failing at www.singlemumsjournal.co.uk

ou will normally be loading the car up, ready for the day ahead, when a little voice chirps up:

” I need a red t-shirt for sports day.”
” What do you mean a red t-shirt? Sports day is tomorrow. I haven’t had a letter or a text.” Like that means the request is null and void and requires no further action on your part.
” We haven’t had a letter. Mr Jones told us last week to tell our mums and dads.”
” Well why didn’t you tell me last week, like mr Jones asked you to? ” I say as I mentally pin Mr bloody Jones up against the wall, enquiring as to why the normal PE kit I forked out for last team is no longer good enough.
” I forgot,” brilliant I’ll forget lunch then shall I, so I can go on a red t-shirt hunt and hope that Asda have something resembling red in an age seven which knowing my luck they probably won’t?
And events like this are common place. A red t shirt could be replaced by any number of things, like needing to know whether any of your relatives has a World War One connection, for the year two history project, or needing to buy an emergency birthday present for Lola, whose bowling party is actually tonight, as nobody told you it was the 23rd today, all day and not next Wednesday.
But like SAS soldiers, you need to expect the unexpected and be prepared for anything.
Take scenario A. The missing in action shoe situation.
Pulling up at dads, second week into the six week holidays I am greeted by a distraught Maisie.
” Mummy, I have lost my shoe. I was singing and dancing ( demonstrating as she tells me) and it just flew over the fence.” Pointing to the six foot fence separating my mum and dads cul de sac home from the next door neighbours in the next road. Yep shoes can now apparently grow wings and fly.
” Grandad said you would get it.” That is of course if I can even remember how to get to their house – the last time i ventured over the aforementioned fence I was Maisie’s age and my ball had also miraculously grown wings.
So there i was stressed after a days work, trying to get home in time to hit the gym and instead I found myself stuck down the wrong road, hunting for a £6 missing Matalan shoe or three pounds if you take into account that Maisie was still wearing the other one.
Stuck in the sense that I’d managed to horizontally park the car in a very narrow cul de sac called Beaver Drive of all places, whilst trying to reverse out, knowing that I’d strategically placed myself in the wrong bloody lane in the first place.
And as Maisie’s gets increasingly stressed and profusely apologises for effectively winging her shoe over the fence, I get increasingly shirty and annoyed at my own seemingly wank driving skills.
So as I try to manoeuvre my car out of the narrow lane, by carrying out what can only be described as a fifteen point turn I get it more and more stuck between a very prickly privet hedge and a pensioners front door.
And as Maisie gets more stressed by the fact, she is only wearing one shoe, and that her mother clearly has the motoring skills of an ameba I begin to imagine the only rescue scenario I can think of.
” Hello fire and rescue service, what is your emergency?
” Hi yes errr, well it’s not really an emergency in the true sense of the word, and it’s a bit embarrassing really, but I’ve got my car stuck.”
” Sorry did you say your car is stuck. Where exactly is your car stuck madam?”
” Well it’s errr stuck in beaver….
” Mummy, I’m hungry how long is this going to take? I just want my shoe back. Who are you talking to anyway?
” Sorry did you say your car is stuck in a beaver?
” Maisie don’t interrupt. No it’s not stuck in a beaver is it – I mean bloody hell unless it was a big beaver, well gigantic actually how would a car get stuck in a bastard beaver. No it’s my totally shit driving. My car is wedged in a cul de sac called Beaver Drive and I can’t fuckin get it out smartarse”
“Mummy don’t swear. And it’s not a fireman you need it’s a driving instructor.”
Clearly I don’t do this, although it does cross my mind, instead my fifteen point turn, turns into a thirty point turn and I manage to free the car and reverse up the lane, until I see a girl who I think can come to our rescue.
I recognise her from living over the fence when I was a kid so when I explain to her why the mad blonde woman, she last saw 25 years ago has a crying child and a badly parked car on her drive she says:
“Yes dad ( who apparently still lives over the fence) did say to me he wondered where the random shoe had come from on his patio. I will go and get it back for you.”
And as she returns with the elusive shoe – I am embarrassed to take the black scuffed, used to be patent shoe from her, because I can tell she’s thinking: ” Poor kid, fancy crying over such a shit shoe like that, if I’d have been her mum I wouldn’t have had the face to claim it as mine,”
And as I drive off I realise that this mercy mission probably wasn’t worth the hassle, or the exhaust fumes, because shoe number one and shoe number two both ended up in the bin as soon as we got home.

Tamsin Parker

Tamsin is a 40-year-old bleached teethed, bleached hair, tattooed eye-browed single Mum of one who still wishes she was 25. A journalist and PR specialist Tamsin loves family, friends, football and fashion in that order. Her raison d'etre is nine-year-old Maisie Mae.

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