One of the plus points of me no longer working is that, theoretically, I can get to go to my kids’ school events. You know, the quirky mid-afternoon orchestra recitals and the like.
But last week, I wished I had a job, or a decent excuse, to get out of going.
My eldest daughter has been studying healthy eating. At the start of the project she had to keep a food diary for the weekend. That was enough of a nightmare as we were away at a friend’s 40th ‘do’.
That meant pizza for breakfast, hot dogs for lunch and crisps for tea kept the 20 or so children happy, but I’m not sure that it added anything to my family’s social standing in the school rankings.
Don’t you hate it that your kids’ teachers have such access to details of your home life? I shudder to think of the stories which are passed on, unfiltered and unexplained.
Anyway, as my daughter’s project has progressed, I’ve been made to feel less and less of the superstar mother that I like to think I am, and more of a fast food junkie type.
What’s wrong with cooking meat in a can of soup once in a while, I ask? It’s mushroom soup, and surely that counts as one of your five-a-day?
Anyway, last week I had to attend a school ‘boot camp’ as I couldn’t think of a single reason not to.
I ignored the advice to wear tracksuit bottoms and appeared in jeans. But how bad could that be? After all, it was an inside boot camp, we weren’t going to be sent running around the field.
What could they do to us in a hall? Actually, quite a lot as it turns out.
And while the majority of the other mothers are super trim, skinny little-bottomed things with matching Lycra, my jeans disguised my cellulite but impeded my progress.
My humiliation was made worse by the fact that parents had to take their pulse before and after the exercises. The teacher said ‘all parents will surely know how to do that’.
Um, no. Not in my case, Luckily I was paired with an ex-nurse who assured me that I had one and showed me where to find it. She was then on hand in case I collapsed.