I am grateful my primary school kid takes the bus, and my older one walks to the local high school. Because if I ever had to drive my son, I might just be swept up in, and become a victim of, the Mummy Mafia. There is apparently such an organisation and its sole purpose is to drink coffee, give condescending looks to the mothers who are in pyjama pants with a sloppy-joe over the top, and make other parents feel inadequate if they do not devote all spare time to school committees. I read about this insidious phenomenon a lot, and what I find in online comments is a pitting of Working Mums vs Non-Working Mums. I should point out I abhor the phrase 'non-working mum' because if you're home with pre-school kids, it's still work. Also, if all your children are at school and you are not in paid employment, then it is the business of absolutely nobody else outside your home. Actually, my sons' preschool had the right idea: when my oldest had his first day, and I was chatting with the teacher and child care worker, instead of saying, 'Do you work?', they phrased it thus, 'Do you work outside the home?'
But for some reason, all the commenters in a thread I was just reading seemed determined to do battle. The non-working mums (or Mummy Mafia, perhaps) were all wonderful because they do power walking and drink coffee, and discuss fund-raising for the school. Their boasting would be parried by the working mums with the chestnut, 'I am paying my taxes and setting a good example and being a role model...' I sat there grinding my teeth because I think I'm not too bad a role model for my kids, and for a while I was not working outside the home, either. If you teach your kids not to be little arseholes, then you're a good role model, regardless of whether you draw a pay cheque or not. Outside Chez Bingells, my kids are very good and NOT little arseholes, but they are painful when there is nobody around, but maybe I'm still an okay role model.
I did do the school drop off and pick up for a while before my oldest started catching the bus (the bus was at his request, and it gave me an extra 45 minutes to myself in the day, which I devoted to my writing). There was no Mummy Mafia that I could see. The only woman who got up my nose was the flip in the Tarago who, even though I had parked the requisite metre space from the end of the kerb), would insist on braking hard in front of me, making the vehicle give a squeal, and back up so she was at the front of the queue, in contravention of RTA rules. God, she pissed me off. Particularly as I couldn't see around the car. Also, as we mums made our respective way to the classroom and nattered until the bell sounded, I couldn't notice any demarcation or snobbery. I did kind of look down a bit at a mother who went around with her tits about to fall from her top, but only because I thought it was inappropriate at a school (if we were at a pub, I wouldn't have cared less). But nah, people would just chat. I remember one mum talking about plans to get a new fan. 'I think it's one of them menstrual fans,' is what she said. I bit the inside of my cheeks to quell the braying laughter that threatened to erupt, and politely asked, 'Do you mean Mistral?' Her reply was, 'Yeah, I think that's it.' 'I think so, too,' was my reply, 'trust me, you wouldn't want to stand underneath a menstrual fan.'
If you're reading this, and want to read more of my work, click dese linkz (that's my gangsta-speak, which is very realistic coming from a middle-aged, reddish-haired Aussie woman):
http://www.zeus-publications.com/calumny_while_reading_irvine_welsh.htm
http://www.zeus-publications.com/abernethy.htm
http://www.zeus-publications.com/silver_studs_and_sabre_teeth.htm
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