I fear the school run. Maybe it is because I am foreign devil and you only ever really trust your own which makes me an outsider straight away. Maybe it is because even after having had the kids at school for a few years now, I still catch myself staring at the culturally diverse brigade of mothers scrambling at the school gates every weekday morning. Whilst I am fascinated by the hardiness of being able to go out in only a pyjama and plush slippers in wintry conditions and envy the boldness of those who laugh in the face of fashion and wear comfortable tracksuits, I also fear the rough edgy voices in which harsh words are hissed at the offspring or someone who dared to park in the wrong place. The other side of the spectrum is occupied by the M&S and Next followers and again I wonder why I never seem to find any such cool looking garments without looking like an old mutton trying to get away as a fancy lamb. There is not much of a conversation to be overheard here, only the occasionally and very mysteriously dropped: ‘Did you get my text?’ And after a short discussion of community church groups without giving away too much, a mute yet very visible: ‘I call you!’ is mouthed to each other, often accompanied by a gesture of putting a fist to the ear with thumb and little finger spread out. The recipient of the secret changes over the weeks and I always wonder how the favour of inclusion is being allotted.
My children possibly feel my reluctance at mingling and stay huddled under my coat until I push them in through the gates with assuring words that are more for my own benefit than theirs. There are times when I feel I have cracked the playground mafia when I receive not only as much as a nod in acknowledgement but am included in some conversations. Granted, it seldom goes further than polite small talk and I suspect it is to satisfy a strange curiosity when both of my children have been named star of the term or won a positive mention during school assembly. Still hope lingers that I could become one of the efficient mothers and have the kids’ school friends around for dinner whilst us mothers have a sophisticated gossip over a cup of tea and rolling our eyes at the thought of so-and-so doing such-and-such. Only thing is that I do not have any inside information that could make me an interesting gossip partner and my shyness is either seen as an exotic condition closely associated with psychopaths or interpreted as arrogance.
I could of course try to impress by fundraising efforts, baking the most cakes for school events and helping out in class but I do not often (willingly) find the time away from work for such undertakings. The kids insist they would love me to come in and help in their class but I cannot for the life of me see what benefit this could possibly have for either of us. Nightmares of 30 unruly children jumping onto my back and holding my youngest to ransom are playing out in my head. When trying to be assertive and raise a confident word, the teacher would think that one of the pupils is speaking as my soft voice would hardly reach her. (Friends regularly make fun of me by calling my number and when I answer they ask in their most patronising voice if Mummy was home.) In the end I would probably be asked to not come back as I clearly entice terrorism and antisocial behaviour.
So as it is, I still linger, longingly looking over to the ones that are included, the ‘in’ crowd whilst pushing the kids through the gate with a sigh, but more for my own tragic existence than theirs…
