Running away from the mums' race

It's school sports day season. That anxiety filled time for every headteacher (pray it doesn't rain), every sport hating child and every slow running parent.  

I'm the latter and I'm afraid of the mums' race.

To make it worse, I'm a slow runner with a bit of a competitive streak.This competitive streak doesn't come out very often but recently reared its ugly head at a wedding.

The ladies were asked to discard their stilettos and run towards the camera. I guess the aim was to bring some 'movement' to the picture and get the already-slightly-drunk ladies laughing. It was hot and whilst most of them were wondering if we'd ever get the spindly heels back on to our (already swollen) feet, I seemed to be taking the running request a bit too seriously. The picture is below and I don't think I need to tell you which one is me.

 

Anyway, back to the sports day.

Last year Dad went, son won one race, Dad exited before the parent's race took place. Dads can get away with that but I'm unable to leave anywhere quietly. So this year I'm going and I decided to test the importance of participating in the Mums' race, by asking my six year old.

It went like this:    

Me: Do you think I should go in the Mums' race on sportsday?
Son: Mummy (giggles) you are a really BAD runner
Me: Yes I know that (!), but would you rather me sit on the side while all the other mummies run, or take part for fun?
Son: Please don't go in the running race Mum.

  

So I simultaneously jumped for joy and died just a little bit inside. Yes a get-out clause, but damn my child is ALREADY ashamed of me. It's not really the speed he's embarrassed about, it's definitely more the way I run. I play rugby and he doesn't laugh at the scrum cap or the comedy tackling, yet he always laughs at the idea of me trying to run for the line with a ball (so does my coach).

So what to do? Well I can't think of a good enough excuse not to participate (embarrassing my son doesn't count, that's a requirement). So I now need to decide whether I run as fast as I possibly can and risk looking like I'm trying too hard; OR I quash my competitive spirit and just do a slow jog - which is about the same speed as my sprint, but more casual looking.

My only saving grace is that the fastest mum has the same name as me, so if they publish the results,  I'm a winner anyway :)
 

Surviving your first school year

Parent pressure has reared its ugly head for me this week, as we all counted down to the last day of term.

Thank you gifts for the teacher.

Throughout this week I've been hearing snippets of conversations about goodies being bought and handmade gifts being prepared. I've asked my own friends what they're doing and quietly taken in their replies.

So by Thursday evening I was feeling in a bit of a panic. As I looked down at the cards my son had written for his teacher and teaching assistants, I started to wonder if it was enough.

Not because I didn't think a card was enough, but because for a fleeting moment I was worried about turning up at school without the required gift bag.

Required by whom? Not the teacher I'm sure.  Gifts aren't like dinner money, they won't be chasing me for payment. Yet many parents buy presents simply because 'everyone else does it'.

The only pressure I was feeling was, indirectly, from other parents and the stories I'd been hearing about the preparations for this big day.  It still wasn't enough to do more than the cards but it had made me stop and think.

So I put it out on Facebook (as you do) and asked why the big gifts for teacher obsession?

I got a big range of responses. Different people do different things for all sorts of different reasons. And they probably don't care or notice what I'm doing. Absolutely no one is judging.

So as we come to the end of our first school year, what have I learned as a parent?

I've learned that we put the pressure on ourselves. The best thing you can do is have the courage of your own convictions and the confidence to do what feels right for you.

If that means buying every member of staff a lottery ticket, then that's great. If it means a simple thank you and a smile by the school gate, that's perfect too.

Don't do things because everyone else does, do it because you want to, and then try not to worry about it. Second guessing just takes too much time and energy ( I should know!)

Phew. I hope the second year is easier.

When work is the perfect excuse

The countdown clock has started and the tension is beginning to build. Less than 3 months to go.

I’m leaving my job, my big fat public sector pension and I’m setting up on my own.

But that isn’t what’s making me nervous.  From September, I’’ll be doing the school run.

No car waiting with the engine running, no traffic build-up to avoid, no flexi-clock ticking away timing my arrival in work. Simply put, I’ll have no more excuses. The boy is starting  school and I’M going to have to stand by the gate.

And smile

And chat

And STAY.

To be honest I’m shit scared. I’m supposed to be all nervous and excited about my eldest starting school and worried that he might not settle in properly…..blah blah blah blah blah blah.    But I have none of those fears. The teachers seem nice, the building is lovely and he knows a few people already.

I however, KNOW HARDLY ANYONE.

But will be EXPECTED TO STAND NEXT TO THEM AND CHAT. Probably for a good 10 minutes.

I won’t have work as an excuse anymore. In my new world I will do work after the school run and once the kids are in bed. In my new world I will act like the perfect mother, walking my child safely to school come rain or shine. (and walking back up that bloody big hill again, sweating like a fat lass at a dance and wishing I’d taken the car)

So I’ve got 3 months to find an excuse. I can’t withdraw my resignation, that just looks like I’ve bottled it. I’ll be working up til September so no time to wander on down to the playgroup and pick up a few mates that way.

I’m just going to have to face it. Stand alone for a while, hope someone notices me. Smile politely and look friendly (fine line between friendly and slightly mad). If I’m ignored I’ll play with my phone (slight problem with no mobile signal). 

Or I could go for the really painful option and force myself (with a bit of under-the-breath bullying ‘do it you coward, come on you unsociable bitch’) to go over and talk to them. Walk into a group of mums who know each other really well and say something cheesy “Hi, it’s my first day, what’s your name?”

What do you reckon? No me neither. Better phone the breakfast club.