I had such good intentions for the school run. I would be – of course – on time, looking stylish and groomed. I didn’t just think I could pull this out of my arse, as “stylish” is absolutely not my usual mode of operation. I did my preparation. I bought some new outfits because it turns out that not being in a corporate environment for three years means you can roughly divide your clothes into:
b) scruffy with holes
c) scruffy with holes and unidentifiable stains
d) your wedding dress (“inappropriate” for the school run, apparently. Some people are so stuffy.)
I built enough time into our morning routine to allow me to fully prepare myself as well as the children for the morning. I had a range of shoes that said, “practical but fashionable” and three carefully-chosen jackets perfect for the school run.
Other parents would describe me as, “You know who I mean? She’s the one who always looks so organised and well-put together. Effortlessly sophisticated, you know the one?” And of course they would.
It went something like this.
I got up early and showered and blow-dried my hair properly with that ridiculous Babyliss Big Hair thing. I wore a cashmere coatigan with some tailored trousers and new boots, with a freshly-ironed crisp white shirt. I wore full make up. The boots rubbed. I didn’t wear them when I did the afternoon pick-up.
I got up early and showered and dried my hair roughly. I wore freshly-ironed jeans and a stylish mac, which admittedly needs dry-cleaning, but is cut nicely. I wore knee-high boots. I concealed the dark rings under my eyes and bunged on some tinted lip balm.
I showered. I wore the previous day’s jeans and the same mac. I put on some lip balm.
I changed the jeans because they got yoghurt on. I lost the lip balm. I wore trainers.
I found the lip balm. YoungestGirl had been using it as a crayon to colour in the carpet. I changed out of my pyjamas, but I resented doing so. I wore Crocs. My jacket had been left on the stairs and was therefore covered almost entirely in ginger cat fur.
To be honest, by half term, if I manage to do the school run wearing anything but a onesie, I shall be awarding myself 50 house points. And if you’re wondering which one I am at the school gate, I’m the one mostly covered in cat hair with massive dark rings under her eyes.