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The School Run – My New Commute

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I still remember my old commute to work in London with fond, rose-tinted memories. The cosy train carriages, leafing at my leisure through the Metro, no one demanding my attention, and hooray not a packet of wet wipes weighing down my bag. I used to travel on the train locked in my own pleasant little bubble. Now I have swapped the corporate world to be a full-time mum and writer.

The reality 

I have to remind myself during my new commute that the old was actually pretty crap and did not exist so wonderfully as it now does in my cloudy head. My

SelfishMother.com
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new commute is called the School Run and for anyone who has never done it before, let me give you a very honest overview of this daily adventure.

The wrong terminology

Firstly, the terminology is wrong, it’s all wrong. Nothing is done at speed by children in the morning when we have to go to school. NOTHING. They jump around to avoid swapping their pyjamas for school uniform, they hide in wardrobes, behind doors, behind their hands, their fingers spread through laughter, and they stroll down to breakfast. If I had more time, I would find it

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funny.

There is no running

There is no running, although believe me if I could crank up the pace a notch or ten I happily would. It’s more of an amble with me the frantic mother trying to push the buggy quicker and chase my five-year-old as he scoots through puddles, across the grass, down peoples’ drives, anywhere but the direction of the school.

It can bring on the grumps

Secondly, I feel like the grumpiest person on earth. I’m not even limiting myself to the catchment group of other mothers, no I am talking the worse person in the

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universe. I nag, I moan and yes sometimes I shout, I do. I can’t help it. I am a stickler for being on time, I always have been, and I’m pretty convinced I always will be, and I feel exactly the same at the school gates. I don’t want to be the late one shoving my red-faced child through the door and I don’t want him to feel bad being late. And so I turn into Irritable Mum, pushing my children to shovel down their breakfast, dragging on their coats and above all creating a fun free zone of seriousness.

I hate to admit it

I’m embarrassed to

SelfishMother.com
5
admit that last week I actually clapped my hands at breakfast in an attempt to force my children to double their speed of cereal shovelling. Who have I become, some sort of wannabe Army Sergeant?

Better than the old commute?

Yet as much as I curse this new-found routine when I think about my old life, I mean really think about it and remove those tinted spectacles, it was just as stressful. Legging it to the station in the dark/cold/rain/wind or some other weather-related miserable environment, squeezing onto a packed train ready to pounce on an

SelfishMother.com
6
available seat when we hit East Croydon.

So, what I really need to do is accept my new commute and make it a way of life as I have years and years of school days ahead with my boys. I need to manage it like I did when I went to work, and yes there will be hurdles along the way (literally I guess when the boys decide to start shimmying over fences on the school run), but perspective is a wonderful thing and who knows, maybe I’ll get some the more I do it……..

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- 5 Dec 18

I still remember my old commute to work in London with fond, rose-tinted memories. The cosy train carriages, leafing at my leisure through the Metro, no one demanding my attention, and hooray not a packet of wet wipes weighing down my bag. I used to travel on the train locked in my own pleasant little bubble. Now I have swapped the corporate world to be a full-time mum and writer.

The reality 

I have to remind myself during my new commute that the old was actually pretty crap and did not exist so wonderfully as it now does in my cloudy head. My new commute is called the School Run and for anyone who has never done it before, let me give you a very honest overview of this daily adventure.

The wrong terminology

Firstly, the terminology is wrong, it’s all wrong. Nothing is done at speed by children in the morning when we have to go to school. NOTHING. They jump around to avoid swapping their pyjamas for school uniform, they hide in wardrobes, behind doors, behind their hands, their fingers spread through laughter, and they stroll down to breakfast. If I had more time, I would find it funny.

There is no running

There is no running, although believe me if I could crank up the pace a notch or ten I happily would. It’s more of an amble with me the frantic mother trying to push the buggy quicker and chase my five-year-old as he scoots through puddles, across the grass, down peoples’ drives, anywhere but the direction of the school.

It can bring on the grumps

Secondly, I feel like the grumpiest person on earth. I’m not even limiting myself to the catchment group of other mothers, no I am talking the worse person in the universe. I nag, I moan and yes sometimes I shout, I do. I can’t help it. I am a stickler for being on time, I always have been, and I’m pretty convinced I always will be, and I feel exactly the same at the school gates. I don’t want to be the late one shoving my red-faced child through the door and I don’t want him to feel bad being late. And so I turn into Irritable Mum, pushing my children to shovel down their breakfast, dragging on their coats and above all creating a fun free zone of seriousness.

I hate to admit it

I’m embarrassed to admit that last week I actually clapped my hands at breakfast in an attempt to force my children to double their speed of cereal shovelling. Who have I become, some sort of wannabe Army Sergeant?

Better than the old commute?

Yet as much as I curse this new-found routine when I think about my old life, I mean really think about it and remove those tinted spectacles, it was just as stressful. Legging it to the station in the dark/cold/rain/wind or some other weather-related miserable environment, squeezing onto a packed train ready to pounce on an available seat when we hit East Croydon.

So, what I really need to do is accept my new commute and make it a way of life as I have years and years of school days ahead with my boys. I need to manage it like I did when I went to work, and yes there will be hurdles along the way (literally I guess when the boys decide to start shimmying over fences on the school run), but perspective is a wonderful thing and who knows, maybe I’ll get some the more I do it……..

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Who: Sarah - Queen of self-deprecation Job: from corporate HR career to Mum, Writer and Blogger Children: two boys with a 13 month age gap!! Obsessions: writing, Haribos, rainbows, coffee, fizz

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