Still feeling a bit reflective about the end of the school year blah, blah, blah. I can safely say that on the whole I am very happy with Xavier’s first foray into schoolboy hood. Well, apart from the things I’m not happy about. Throwing socks over fences, stealing everyone’s snacks if they look better than his, refusing to run in sports day, being thrown out of cookery, to name a few. But on the whole he has done incredibly well, considering I didn’t feel he was ready to go in the first place.
However, evaluating my performance as a school run mum isn’t quite as positive.
There was a time, when I lived in London, was single and didn’t have a child that I didn’t leave the house without high-heels, make-up and my hair almost straightened (well if I can’t see the back does it really matter?).
Anyway, since moving to Devon, to the fear of some of my oldest friends, times have changed. I do try to make an effort but the number of times I have worn my cardigans inside out, or even managed to wear odd shoes is disturbingly more than none.
There are an array of mums at school, some who look great; dressed up beautifully, full make-up, heels, smart looking, there’s others who are more casual but still look good and then there’s me. And in actual fact, although I don’t really look horrible ever, I know my report card would read, ‘must do better.’
I would like to note that Xavier’s school is not at all full of smug mums who snear at my yoghurt stained T-shirt, and unruly hair, so in that respect I’m lucky that the only person who is tutting with disapproval at my outfit is me.
I work from home most of the time, so the school run is my only public outing of the day. And as people know I work from home if I turned up in ball gown and heels (oh how I long to do this), then people would think I’d really lost the plot.
And due to the fact that I really hate getting up in the morning, my routine has to take less than fifteen minutes. That includes showering, dressing and slapping a bit of slap on. The results aren’t always wonderfully pretty but in my defence, I think I look better than I could.
Twice a week I go to a gym class from school, well via Costa coffee, and those are my favourite days when I wear the yummy mummy uniform of gym clothes, trainers, hair pulled back and no make-up, but looking productive whilst doing so.
I will never tell about the times I do this and then at the last minute change my mind and head home looking sporty but feeling knackered as I take my laptop and get into my bed.
That’s my secret and I am taking it to the grave.