I am NOT a Yummy Mummy
I've seen them at the school gates and I've envied them. I've wanted to be like them. They drop off their children, congregate by their fleet of beautiful cars organising coffee dates/post gym lunches/drinks with the girls and never inviting me. They ski in winter and head to their other home, usually in the south of France or Florida, for the summer holiday. I'm not part of the clique.
Because I'm so not a yummy mummy.
The brigade operates to a strict hierarchy:
Turnout - a beautifully turn out is essential. Marks are awarded for full makeup, with points deducted for sloppy application. A blow-dried coiffure is preferred, although neatly tied back in a colour-coordinated band is acceptable if you're off to the gym, but MUST be accompanied by designer gym attire and a commitment to hot yoga. Designer clothes should be recognisable but not label emblazoned and jewellery should be ostentatious enough to raise questions of whether or not it's a real diamond or something from Swarovski.
Transport - 4x4s win, with extra points scored if it's yours and not your husband's. Mummy mobiles because your brood of three plus requires it is acceptable, but only if it's a top end make. Personalised number plates should read properly (strategic placement of fixing studs does not count), either your initials, a derivative of your name, or something ironic like FIT or HOT. If not personalised, your vehicle should bear the current year's number plate.
My school run style is more scummy mummy - hair scragged back into a scrunchie, whatever was clean and fits thrown on and any makeup merely the remains of yesterday's, all teamed with the ubiquitous parka and comfy shoes. I really let the team down.
For a long time, I battled with the school run rejection. There have been many times the loneliness and exclusion has seen me going home in tears: sometimes I even managed to get to my car before I cried. Then I spent the month approaching 40 analysing things:
1 - What do we have in common?
Our children go to the same school. That's it. Period. Would I be friends with them under normal circumstances? No - they live a life very different to mine. I work long hours, travel extensively, do a stressful job.
2 - I actually see my husband.
He works long hours, travels extensively and also does a stressful job. But he's home nearly every night, puts the girls to bed, mucks in with the household chores, and spends time with me. I wouldn't swap that for all the status elevation in the world.
3 - My children come first.
I'm not saying that a yummy mummy doesn't love her brood or take care of them. But I will make an observation. The average yummy mummy looks beautiful every day, but some in my sphere let their children out without coats, wearing ankle-swinging short trousers, hair unbrushed and shoes unpolished. I've seen them more intent on chatting than paying attention to their little ones. I've also met one mother who didn't know which class to collect her daughter from. Not for me. I may be a working mum, but when I'm with them, my children come before me, every time.
4 - I have better things to do.
I'd love to be a lady that lunches. I'd love to do coffee. But actually, there's always something else that needs doing. I don't get much me time - I sacrifice it for whomever or whatever in my family needs it more. I'm not a martyr, I'm a mother.
I salute the yummy mums of this world, the gorgeous creatures who surely get up super early to appear so fresh and beautiful at 8.30am.
But to those mums who celebrate just getting their children to school on time, whose morning is a success if they get to brush their teeth before they head out the door, I'm with you every step of the stressful, hurried, crazy school run. Fancy a coffee later? :)
Because I'm so not a yummy mummy.
The brigade operates to a strict hierarchy:
Turnout - a beautifully turn out is essential. Marks are awarded for full makeup, with points deducted for sloppy application. A blow-dried coiffure is preferred, although neatly tied back in a colour-coordinated band is acceptable if you're off to the gym, but MUST be accompanied by designer gym attire and a commitment to hot yoga. Designer clothes should be recognisable but not label emblazoned and jewellery should be ostentatious enough to raise questions of whether or not it's a real diamond or something from Swarovski.
Transport - 4x4s win, with extra points scored if it's yours and not your husband's. Mummy mobiles because your brood of three plus requires it is acceptable, but only if it's a top end make. Personalised number plates should read properly (strategic placement of fixing studs does not count), either your initials, a derivative of your name, or something ironic like FIT or HOT. If not personalised, your vehicle should bear the current year's number plate.
My school run style is more scummy mummy - hair scragged back into a scrunchie, whatever was clean and fits thrown on and any makeup merely the remains of yesterday's, all teamed with the ubiquitous parka and comfy shoes. I really let the team down.
For a long time, I battled with the school run rejection. There have been many times the loneliness and exclusion has seen me going home in tears: sometimes I even managed to get to my car before I cried. Then I spent the month approaching 40 analysing things:
1 - What do we have in common?
Our children go to the same school. That's it. Period. Would I be friends with them under normal circumstances? No - they live a life very different to mine. I work long hours, travel extensively, do a stressful job.
2 - I actually see my husband.
He works long hours, travels extensively and also does a stressful job. But he's home nearly every night, puts the girls to bed, mucks in with the household chores, and spends time with me. I wouldn't swap that for all the status elevation in the world.
3 - My children come first.
I'm not saying that a yummy mummy doesn't love her brood or take care of them. But I will make an observation. The average yummy mummy looks beautiful every day, but some in my sphere let their children out without coats, wearing ankle-swinging short trousers, hair unbrushed and shoes unpolished. I've seen them more intent on chatting than paying attention to their little ones. I've also met one mother who didn't know which class to collect her daughter from. Not for me. I may be a working mum, but when I'm with them, my children come before me, every time.
4 - I have better things to do.
I'd love to be a lady that lunches. I'd love to do coffee. But actually, there's always something else that needs doing. I don't get much me time - I sacrifice it for whomever or whatever in my family needs it more. I'm not a martyr, I'm a mother.
I salute the yummy mums of this world, the gorgeous creatures who surely get up super early to appear so fresh and beautiful at 8.30am.
But to those mums who celebrate just getting their children to school on time, whose morning is a success if they get to brush their teeth before they head out the door, I'm with you every step of the stressful, hurried, crazy school run. Fancy a coffee later? :)
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Thanks for ranting!