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I’m feeling in a bit of a ranting mood this week. I’m becoming a grumpy old woman. My partner was away at the beginning of the week, meaning I had to do the whole morning school run.
He normally drops daughter two on his way to work. That’s a one-hour round trip. On Tuesday I also had to drop a kitten at the vet at 9. That meant timing was crucial. I had emphasised this point numerous time to the teens.
As usual, it went in one ear and out the other. They were even later than the day before. “I literally have no time to get daughter three to school on time if I drop daughter two first,” I began. Only son is always saying things are either “literally” or “figuratively” good or bad and I seem to have caught the bug. “Do you expect me to clone myself?” There was no response.
Like a GPS, I had to recalibrate my route quickly. I would drop daughter three at the bottom of a hill near her school and she would be a bit early. Daughter three is at a new school and is worried about getting in early and standing around like a spare part. Plus she had a bad day ahead including sitting near a boy who made her life hell at primary school.
I have informed pastoral support. She said she could be late, but I’d found a letter from the school in her bag saying they are very strict on lateness. I suggested she walk very, very slowly or read a good book. Daughter three slammed out of the car. “I hate you,” she stated.
Daughter two had a drama GCSE exam for which she was rehearsing all day and would not be finished until 8pm. She had only got back from a rehearsal the night before at 8pm so was quite tired.
I was still feeling slightly ranty at this point. There was a discussion about make-up being “empowering” on the radio so I let rip. My view is that wearing make-up at 13 is not in any way about empowerment but about abject insecurity. As for older women, I cannot imagine how I could possibly squeeze a full make-up routine into my day. I think I made that point pretty clear on the 20-minute drive. Only son agreed with me.
I dropped daughter two and, feeling slightly guilty gave her a hug and wished her good luck for the exam. I spent the next 25 minutes to only son’s school with him telling me how punctual he was compared to his sisters [he spends his life complaining about teenagers] and me feeling very, very guilty about daughters two and three. I texted daughter three that I loved her when I got home, probably incurring a detention if her phone pinged too loudly.
*Mum on the run is Mandy Garner, editor of Workingmums.co.uk.