Diary of a Mummy Misfit #1

by Amanda Egan

  Monday 24th November AM

  Well, it’s true what they say. Things do come in threes.

  Woke to a soaking wet landing carpet - we have a fucking great leak in our roof. Would laugh if I could but I think, if I did, it would be slightly hysterical and I may not be able to stop.

  Ned took the day off work to be around for quotes from builders and to take up our now ruined hallway carpet.

  Drove to school in my fancy borrowed wheels, wearing my pathetic second hand clothes and sat at the school gates, feeling what could only be described as ‘toxic’. I could feel the venom racing through my veins like a drug. I knew it was wrong but just couldn’t stop myself. Logically, I knew it wasn’t the other parents’ fault that they have more money than they know what to do with but I just wanted to shout at them all, “YOU DON’T REALISE HOW LUCKY YOU ARE! SWANNING OFF ON YOUR FOUR HOLIDAYS A YEAR AND NEVER HAVING TO WORRY ABOUT WHERE NEXT TERM’S FEES ARE COMING FROM. BET YOU DON’T HAVE A LEAK IN YOUR ROOF. AND IF YOU DID YOU’D JUST PAY THE MOST EXPENSIVE ROOFER IN THE LAND TO FIX IT PRONTO. ARSE-HOLES!”

  Max interrupted my ‘in-head-screaming-match’ with, “Come on Mummy. I need to go in. I LOVE Mondays. We’ve got gym this morning and I need to get changed. YIPPEE!”

  Made a silent promise to myself that we’d get through this and, come hell or high water, we’d never pull Max out of Manor House.

  At least we’ve had the third in our series of unfortunate events and I guess there are a lot worse things that could happen than a leaky roof - like Gestapo breaking an acrylic for example or the Gnome finding that GapKids don’t stock the trousers she wears anymore.

  Can’t be that depressed - bitching mechanism still in full working order.

  PM

  An assortment of quotes have shown that we’re looking in the region of eight grand to get the roof sorted. What we’d hoped would be a few tattered tiles has ended up being several jiggered joists.

  Ned spent the rest of the day organising an emergency overdraft and we then spent the evening in stilted silence - no point in talking. There’s nothing to say except, “SHIT!”

  Tuesday 25th November AM

  Committee meeting tonight

  Rushed home from school this morning and cancelled the lap top order. Don’t think Ned would take too kindly to me committing us to even more monthly payments, deferred or otherwise - it was a great idea while it lasted but, sadly, not to be.

  Add to Christmas present list - NED: Socks?!

  Popped next door and finally got to meet Skunk. What a lovely young man. Peculiar looking but lovely. He has nothing but respect for Mrs S and has adopted her like a much loved granny, even to the extent of calling her “Ba”. Far from taking advantage he’s advising that she be very careful committing herself to too much by way of a business loan and has even offered to go in with her, contributing some money from his own grandmother’s will.

  Left them with their Babycham, discussing website designs and how quickly they thought Mrs S could teach him to make all the recipes.

  PM

  Meeting went well and should have left me feeling euphoric. Everyone very complimentary and we really had set a fundraising record.

  The heads were delighted with the amount the cookbooks raised for CCL - almost a term and a half’s fees.

  Even a quick drink with Fenella afterwards didn’t cheer me up. Found myself silently thinking if she ever has any worries. I know money isn’t the ‘be all and end all’, and people have other things to worry about, but it would certainly make life easier if we could wipe that one from our list.

  Just can’t seem to shake the feeling of doom and gloom.

  LABOUR

  Tuesday 9th December AM

  Nativity this afternoon

  Have just been way too miserable to write - who wants to read over their old diaries and discover that they did nothing but weep and wail?

  Spent the last few days putting up with the noise and mess of roofers. We’re finally done and a good deal more in debt. New carpet being laid tomorrow - the cheapest and most hard wearing we could find.

  Feeling more positive now. Not least because it’s Max’s nativity this afternoon and no parent can sit through one of those with a heavy heart.

  We’ve also got end of term Christmas carols tomorrow and the school ball on Saturday - we’d considered asking for a refund on the ball tickets, after our last expense, but didn’t want to accentuate our ‘paupers status’ through our absence. Start panicking tomorrow about what to wear - remember to consult Fenella.

  Also need to start making some sort of plans for a mega-cheap birthday celebration for Ned on the 19th. How thoughtless to have a birthday so close to Christmas and when we’re so broke. Wonder if he’d prefer to have the socks for his birthday and a giant Toblerone for Christmas?

  PM

  The nativity was tear-jerkingly sweet whilst also being an eye-opener.

  I’ve never seen such fierce battle for ‘the best seats in the house’ - it’s a school hall for Christ’s sake (sorry Baby Jesus). ‘Mary’s’ mother was insisting that she could oust a lowly wise-man’s parents from their front row seats because her daughter was the lead. Then ‘Joseph’s’ father said he had to have front row seats because his wife had been called away to a meeting and he needed to video it.

  As it happened any recording or photography was banned due to child protection. A professional company had been brought in for the job and photos could be obtained at the ‘bargain’ price of 9.99 and a DVD would retail for 24.99.

  Gestapo actually had the audacity to get ‘Joseph’s’ father to leave his front row seat then as “Now you can’t film so you’re there under false pretences!”

  Lots of small (but characteristically loud) talk while we waited for the show to start.

  “We’re off to St Kitts again for the hols - such a bore, but Marcus insisted.”

  “Just couldn’t decide between the PS3 or the Wii, so we just got him both. Anything for a quiet life.”

  “Oh yes, the ball. Hadn’t really given it much thought. Probably just wear an old Vivien Westwood, I’d imagine.”

  “We’ve decided on Eton. Think boarding is the only way with boys. The schools are so much better equipped to deal with all that testosterone. Not healthy to have it around the house, is it?”

  Yada, yada. Blah, blah, blah it went on.

  Fenella and I had a fit of the giggles when we overheard Tatiana (the Inn keeper’s mummy) saying she was suing her Polish builders because she firmly believed they’d eaten the carp from her ‘Oriental Water Feature’ (fish pond).

  “You know, in the six months they worked in the house, they never once went out to buy food. Nothing! And then suddenly I realised that one by one our fish had gone missing. More than coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”

  Had to jab Fenella firmly in the ribs to shut her up but then I started up again - it really was most embarrassing and Ned and Josh sat there shaking their heads like we were a couple of naughty schoolgirls. Thankfully the nativity began and everyone quietened down.

  Max and Todd did a fantastic job as shepherds - staying fully in character until they spotted us in the third row (shepherds, angels and trees’ parents) and gave us an excited little wave.

  All was going swimmingly until ‘Mary’ realised just how many eyes were on her and it all became a bit much. The lines were forgotten, the baby Jesus dropped unceremoniously on the floor and the tears started.

  And boy, did they flow. Immediate reaction was to think, ‘Oh poor little thing’. But after a good few minutes of real drama queen theatricals more consistent with having a leg chopped off, it got a bit wearing. The teachers tried to coax her and calm her down. Then Mummy was brought onto the stage to placate her but nothing worked. ‘Mary’s’ little feet were stamping, snot was flying and the baby Jesus had been given a few swift kicks.

  She was eventually removed from the stage and Gestapo’s Mia took over the role with all the confidence
and ice-cold calm of a pro. Heard Gestapo mumble to the Gnome, “Let that be a lesson to them. If they’d chosen the best girl for the job in the first place none of that would have happened.”

  The remainder passed uneventfully and, predictably, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house as they all finished with ‘Away in a Manger’. ‘Mary #1’ managed to make it on stage for a bow but was quickly pushed to the back by ‘Mary #2’ - like mother like daughter.

  It all got a bit ugly between Gestapo and ‘Mary #1’s’ mother as we were leaving. ‘Mary #1’s’ said the children were far too young to be put under such pressure and it wasn’t fair on them. Gestapo retaliated with, “Well you weren’t saying that when she got the part and you were bragging about how fantastic she’d be!” To which ‘Mary #1’s’ mother snapped back, “I’ve never bragged in my life. Anyway, I’d rather have a shy little girl than a precocious brat!”

  Looked like it could escalate to fisticuffs at any minute, with chunks of highlights and acrylics flying. Tried to coax Ned and Josh away as they were rubber-necking just a bit too much - they don’t get to see as much of the bitching as we do and were making sure they got their money’s worth. Think it’s the first time I’ve ever heard Ned say, “I don’t want to go for a pub lunch. What if we miss the best bit?”

  Eventually managed to drag them away, with Josh telling Fenella she was “So unfair. I’m sure they were about to start a full-blown scrap. I’ve never seen posh girls fight before.”

  We assured them there were bound to be plenty of opportunities in the future and next time we’d let them stay until the bitter end.

  Ned pushed it a bit too far and asked if we could make sure there was also a bit of mud involved. Josh smirked like a pubescent teenager and added, “Yeah, and wet t-shirts would be a bonus too!”

  Wednesday 10th December AM

  Max breaks up. Christmas carols and mulled wine.

  Can’t believe the kids break up a full two weeks before Christmas - too much time to be driving us mad at home and asking how many more sleeps until Father Christmas comes. Still got loads I need to do so made sure I spent my last Max-free day productively and cracked on with jobs.

  Almost everything done now except:

  Get last of Max’s stocking fillers - managed to get his main presents on eBay and Amazon so saved heaps.

  Thorough cleaning of house - Two mothers staying are bound to find somewhere I haven’t cleaned but serves them right if they go looking for it.

  Get manky fake tree from loft and decide if it will do for another year.

  Decorate house - Max has now made enough paper-chains, stars and fairies to start his own business so it definitely won’t be a case of ‘less is more’ in our house this year.

  Decide what to wear to the ball. Eeek!

  Plan Ned’s birthday - next Friday! - I’ll think about it tomorrow.

  PM

  Excellent carol concert, although sadly there wasn’t a ‘Silent Night’ or ‘Good King Wenceslas’ to be heard. In fact, we didn’t recognise one carol on the programme. Our children had instead learnt the words to such curiosities as ‘Figgy Duff’ and ‘Here We Go A-Wassailing’. It seemed that the more obscure the carol, the more likely it was to feature.

  The mingling and mulled wine part revealed that the music teacher, Mr Dreyfuss, was known for being a bit of a prima-donna and it was a standing joke to see if he’d come up with more oddities to avoid Jingle Bells for another season. To give him his dues though, he’d coached the children well and the service ran smoothly.

  I heard ‘Dress-Up Mummy’ (sporting a tartan jumpsuit, complete with bondage straps!) say to another mother, “He’s so good with the children, isn’t he? I just wonder if he’s totally fulfilled working with them! I’m sure he’d be much happier using his talent in the theatre.”

  Gestapo added, rather too loudly, “Doesn’t really matter what they sing does it? You put a bunch of kids together and it always sounds like shit. The best bit’s when it’s over!” Does the woman have no redeeming features?

  Shaaaron commented on my floor length velvet coat and scarf and asked if it was Karen Millen. Couldn’t tell her it was a car-boot buy so lied and said I’d picked it up in a little boutique in Scotland - God I’m such a snob. And a lying one too.

  Managed to escape fairly early as we couldn’t cope with any more competitive babble - the memorable snippets of the night being:

  “Zebedee (Zebedee?) wanted to have a stretch limo tour for his birthday but we told him we’re not bloody Chavs, so we’ve booked Soho House for dinner instead.”

  “You haven’t had a facial since when? Golly, how brave. I simply couldn’t face the world without a weekly seeing to. You really must try my girl, she’ll take years off you.”

  And:

  “Of course I’ll put in a letter of recommendation for you at the club but you know they really are very choosy. Have you taken delivery of your new car yet? The right wheels really can make all the difference, you know.”

  Drove home in our modest little Citroën that wouldn’t get us membership to any club (except the AA), to the dulcet tones of our happy Max singing, “Figgy Duff.” Moments like these remind us why we’re putting ourselves through this.

  Zebedee for pity’s sake!

  Thursday 11th December AM

  Fenella came round with the kids to keep Max company while we plundered through my wardrobe for something for me to wear to the ball.

  Decided against, and indeed chucked:

  Black satin halterneck dress - accentuates all the bad bits and totally ignores the good ones.

  Red polka dot Doris Day type dress - too old fashioned but not enough to be fashionably retro.

  Lime green and pink cocktail dress - enough said.

  White lace evening dress - splattered with red wine and another unidentifiable substance, although not à la Monika Lewinsky.

  Felt thoroughly depressed and almost on the brink of bailing, when Fenella spotted my wedding dress in its protective plastic.

  Now I’m not one of those brides who’ll ever look back on the photos and say, “What on earth was I wearing?” My dress was stunning and timeless - a 30’s inspired dancing dress. Figure hugging to the hips and then flatteringly bias cut, in cream and gold silk with pearls and translucent sequins.

  Fenella absolutely raved about it and told me to put it on. Amazingly it still fits, even forgiving my post-Max protrusions, but I just didn’t think it would be appropriate for the ball.

  “Oh for heavens sake, Lib.” Fenella admonished me, “It’s absolutely perfect and no one would ever know it was your wedding dress. Anyway, I’m sure I saw ‘Dress-Up-Mummy’ collecting Cludo, or whatever his name is, in one the other day so you won’t be the first.”

  It did look lovely and with a little Gok treatment and the right jewellery and shoes, I could probably just about get away with it. Fenella even said she’d come round on Saturday and straighten my hair - an absolute first, never been brave enough to try to tame my frizz to that extent.

  Fenella of course is wearing and old Jasper Conran she “just happened to find at the back of the wardrobe” with a pair of “much-loved Jimmy Choo’s”. God I wish we were the same dress and shoe size.

  PM

  Excitedly filled Ned in over a glass of wine - thought he’d be really happy to hear that I’d found something to wear and wouldn’t be wandering around with a face like a wet weekend anymore.

  And so we had the following dialogue:

  “Is this ‘do’ black tie then?” He asked somewhat warily.

  “Yes Ned, you know it is. Why?”

  “The small matter of the family of moths who feasted themselves on the dinner suit I never got round to replacing?”

  “Oh shit!”

  “Yes Lib. Oh shit, indeed.”

  What a pity Ned and Josh aren’t the same size too!

  Friday 12th December

  Managed to get a good deal on a hired dinner suit - extra expense w
hen we don’t need it but, short of trying to rustle up one myself on the sewing machine, we didn’t have much choice. So easy for men, “Oh, the moths ate my suit. Fine, I’ll just hire one for the night.” Can’t quite see that being the case if it happened to a woman! All hell would break lose, there’d be a few choice expletives and a tantrum or two, but you can guarantee it wouldn’t all be sorted with just a flick through the yellow pages and a phone call.

  My point was proved when Fenella called in a complete flap to tell me that her Jasper Conran had obviously shrunk at the dry cleaners because it was far too small for her. “Can’t be anything to do with the fact that I’ve gained six pounds,” she said with all the conviction of someone who actually believed it. “Anyway, now I need to go out shopping for fat people’s clothes. Could you possibly have the kids for a couple of hours?”