Diary of a Mummy Misfit #1 Read online

  Diary of a Mummy Misfit

  AMANDA EGAN

  Copyright © 2011 Amanda Egan

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the author or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  First published as an Ebook in 2011

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  For all those who I know would have been so proud of me, had they still been around.

  My lovely Dad, my ‘fairy Godmother’ Vi and family, my glamorous Aunties Eileen and Doris, dear friend Winnie and the much missed Jimmy. Also, Unc - yes, there really are that many words to a book and I’m sorry you never got to see it in print.

  To all those who have supported and believed in me along the way - the best Mum and sisters in the world. Thank goodness you’re not like the ones in this story!

  To my nephew Daren, who inspired me to keep getting up and trying again.

  To my Fenella, Lou and Jenny - you know who you are but may not recognise yourselves or your husbands! You all kept me sane in this mad world and money can’t buy what you have given me.

  To all in Oz - thanks for your support and I hope that I’m forgiven for the “language”.

  My sweet God-daughter - thanks for the loan of your laptop when I didn’t have my own. Hoping too that, one day. I can be a your ‘fairy Godmother’.

  My gorgeous son - thanks for putting up with me glued to the laptop and I promise I won’t write what I said I would - your secret’s safe with me!

  And lastly my Robes, the best husband/friend I could have hoped for - I could never have done this without you - but with you, I believe anything’s possible.

  DIARY OF A MUMMY MISFIT

  CONCEPTION

  Monday 5th May AM

  Letter due today!

  So excited I almost forgot to pick up Max from nursery. Spent the morning pottering about, anxiously listening out for the postman and imagining his arrival, complete with red carpet and fanfare, as he announced himself the bearer of our awaited good tidings.

  Managed to get to ‘Tiny Terrors’ in the nick of time and didn’t hang around for the usual goss with Ruth and Beckie - just had to get home to see if he’d been yet. Dashed up the garden path, even ignoring old Mrs Sengupta next door, who was happily brandishing another Barry Manilow VHS ‘bideo’. Felt a bit mean but promised myself I’d make it up to her later with a good ‘Mandy’ singalong.

  Couldn’t believe it when all I found was the usual assortment of bills and blurb. What should I interpret from that? Did no news mean good news or were we doomed?

  Called Ned at work and he did his usual, “Don’t panic, Lib. Why do you always think the worst? There could be any number of reasons the letter’s not arrived.”

  Doesn’t he appreciate today’s significance? This is the first step towards sealing the educational future of our child. Or, as Ned keeps reminding me, possibly crippling us financially for the next fourteen years plus.

  Managed to make it through lunch and a few episodes of ‘SpongeBob’ with Max before I decided that I really couldn’t wait another day and I’d take matters into my own hands and call the school immediately.

  Of course ‘immediately’ meant after I’d finally plucked up enough courage at 3.40 when it occurred to me that the school office would be closing and time was rapidly running out. Kicked myself for being such a coward when it comes to dealing with ‘people in authority’.

  A few minutes later I realised the reason I’m such a wimp is because, invariably, those people make me feel like a truculent ten year old - as indeed did the snotty secretary who answered my call.

  “Oh, no Mrs Marchant. The letters aren’t actually going out until today and we couldn’t possibly divulge confirmation of acceptance over the telephone. It wouldn’t be fair on the other parents.”

  Why did she make it sound like bloody MI5? All I want is a decent education for my son. Surely that’s not too much to ask?

  Oh well, I guess another sleepless night won’t hurt.

  PM

  Ned wasn’t too keen to discuss having to wait another day for the news. In fact he simply said, “At least I can sleep soundly for one more night before I start shitting it.”

  His yin to my yang.

  Tuesday 6th May AM

  Just re-read last night’s entry and realise that I sound like a really pushy mother. Which is SO not true. We just want the best for Max.

  For as long as we can remember, Ned and I have said we’d sacrifice luxuries and holidays to pay for his education. The schools are so crappy in our catchment area, we didn’t feel we were left with a choice.

  Ned just shows his panic more than I do, probably because he’s the one who’s got to come up with the readies. But I’ve said that I’ll return to some sort of work once Max starts school - unless, by some miracle, I get pregnant again.

  Ned always goes a bit pale when I say that - as much as he wants another one, I guess two at private school is too much to consider at the moment.

  PM

  Well, it’s official!

  Max has been accepted at Manor House Prep School - the most sought after private school in our area. He bloody did it and I’m so proud of him. He clearly has his father’s brain.

  Popped next door to tell Mrs Sengupta the good news and see if she needed any shopping. She asked if I could get a box of seed for Bazzer-the-Budgie (Manilow inspired, of course) and also if I could check the local charity shops for some more Juicy Couture trackies - “To keep bootie warm, under sari.” Her ‘arteritis’ was the bane of her life until I introduced her to the joys of ‘leisure panties’ as she insists on calling them. She also insists on designer only or ones with messages across the buttocks - her favourites so far being, ‘Hot Stuff’ and ‘Blingin’’

  Splashed out on 3 for 2 wine at Sainsbury’s and settled down with a glass to ring Mum before Ned came home for a celebratory dinner.

  Mum was her usual cautious self, “Oh darling, I was so hoping they’d turn him down!” Thanks Mum! “It’s such a huge burden to take on. He’s a bright lad and he’d have been perfectly happy at the local primary. None of my children went private and most of them did OK.”

  By which she meant my two sisters, both in high-powered jobs - certainly not me, the ‘one who chose to be a home-maker and mother’, as she likes to describe me to her bridge class buddies.

  Realised there was no point in pursuing the conversation - Mum will always have the last word. (Oh yes, she will!)

  Decided to call best friend Lou in Scotland.

  “Och, yeh daft cow, Lib! You’ve bitten off more than you can chew there, I’m tellin’ yeh. S’ppose you’ll end up being one of those stuck-up bints on the bloody ‘school run.’ God I hate that term. What happened to ‘dropping the kids off at school?’ Before yeh know it he’ll be at soddin’ ‘play dates’ and you’ll be booking in him for Basic Mandarin or Sushi for Beginners.”

  It’s nice to know that two of the people I love most in the world are so supportive of my decisions.

  At least Ned was in a buoyant mood when he got home and he’d bought me flowers - even though they were presented with a “Make the most of these, they could be your last for a while once we start paying the school fees.”

  I’d made a lovely Nigella recipe for dinner - even though I hate the woman. She may be the Domestic Goddess, but she’s just called ‘My God’ in our house because every time her mug comes o
n TV, one of us will instantly say “My God, Nigella’s on again.” Even so, I’m still doing well with my new year’s resolution to be more like her. Ned questions why I would want to be like someone I hate but I know what I mean! Not a pre-packed meal in sight in our house and regular afternoons of baking. He’s still struggling with the concept and often asks, with something bordering on trepidation, “What’s for dinner tonight then, Nige?”

  I’d cooked ‘Luscious Liver’ for dinner - which sounded great in ‘Nigella speak’ but is definitely not one to repeat or pass on to friends.

  We enjoyed the 3 for 2 a little too much and Ned got a bit maudlin.

  “Yep,” he said (or actually slurred, now I look back) “Our Max will have the best possible start in life. Who needs holidays abroad anyway?”

  I seem to remember he paused then and I could almost see the pound signs in his eyes as he continued, “Mind you, four grand a term over, say fourteen years, plus inflation works out at nearly 200 grand. Phew … could buy us an awful lot of sun!”

  Ouch, when you put it like that, what have we committed ourselves to?

  Wednesday 7th May

  Woke up determined to enjoy the feeling again. So what if we can’t have luxuries? We knew that all along. Nobody would rain on my parade today.

  Except bloody ‘Nasty Marcia’ at the nursery.

  “Oh, Libby. I do think you’re so terribly brave. I mean Edward and I come from money (as she constantly reminds me - surely that’s vulgar?) and even we’d struggle to take Jonty and Perry down the private route. The last thing you want is for him to settle and then find you have to move him because you can’t afford it. Imagine the psychological damage that could do to the poor mite.”

  Felt I coped with her comments quite well and told her to remind me that I had a lovely liver recipe I wanted to share with her.

  Thursday 8th May

  Ruth and Beckie were really sweet at nursery today and invited Max and me to a celebratory lunch at Ruth’s. Max was delighted as he got to spend time with his two friends, Ella and Tom. They disappeared into the garden as soon as we got there and that gave us time to catch up without the usual “Need a wee,” or “She’s not sharing.”

  Ruth wanted to know all about Manor House, as she’s new to the area. I told them we’d been invited to a school tea party at the end of the month to meet the other families joining in September. Didn’t want to let on that I’m really nervous about it - not good with new people and am already feeling just a little out of my depth. When did I qualify to become a responsible parent? Can I really socialise with moneyed people?

  Beckie, bless her, didn’t mean to make me feel worse - but it’s always her first question as she used to work in fashion and misses it dreadfully - asked me what I’d wear to the tea party. “I mean can you imagine, it will probably be wall to wall Versace and Dior! How exciting, Lib!”

  Went home and had a crisis meeting with my wardrobe. Manor House mothers’ labels might say ‘Giorgio Armani’ but a lot of mine seem to say simply ‘George at Asda.’

  Friday 9th May

  Spent most of the day preparing for dinner party tonight. Got Nic (best gay friend in the world) and his partner Rick coming (we still have a chuckle every time we say have gay friends, ‘Nic and Rick’ - although with Ned it’s a slightly uneasy chuckle as he struggles a little with the whole concept of gayness and loves it when Mrs Sengupta refers to them as our ‘funny girlie boys’).

  Max insisted on helping, so my julienne vegetables looked a little jagged round the edges and varied considerably in size - there’s only so much you can expect a four year old to do with a blunt knife (sorry, I’m not one of those ‘Continuum Concept’ mums who let their toddlers run around with lethal implements). Abandoned the idea of dinky little chive-tied parcels and decided to go for the more rustic look. After all, my son’s happiness is more important than presentation.

  Managed to fob Max off with more excuses as to why we can’t get a dog - how long will this phase last? Been told it’s probably because he’s an only child and will grow out of it soon enough. I do feel a bit sorry for him though, and I’d dearly love one too, but explained we needed to tighten the purse strings now. “Dog food doesn’t grow on trees,” Ned keeps reminding him. To which Max, quite cleverly, I think, for a four year old, usually replies, “No, but dog poo grows under them doesn’t it, Daddy?”

  Saturday 10th May AM

  Woke up with a bit of a hangover this morning - which is hardly surprising given the number of bottles in the recycling. You can always rely on Nic & Rick to make an evening go with a swing - the joy of having gay actors as friends.

  They commented on my “scrummy four course meal” - if you include a few bits of exceptionally stinky cheese as the final course. I guess I did rather excel myself. The ‘My God’ regime is definitely improving my culinary skills. All I needed was a flick of the hair and a seductive simper into an imaginary camera about my ‘dribbling juices’ and I’d have the full package.

  Really must stop watching her TV programme - I truly hate the woman.

  PM

  Went to the park to see if we could blow away the cobwebs. Felt better after a couple of lattés in the park café - the upper end of the luxuries we can still allow ourselves.

  Met a really nice couple with a son Max’s age and it turned out that he’s due to start at Manor House in September too. Swapped phone numbers and said we’d get together before the tea party.

  Felt much happier about having a school gate buddy to see me through the first few anxious days. Until Ned piped up, “You do realise they live in one of those fuck-off mews houses on the river? They probably won’t want to know us once they realise we’re in a run down cottage.”

  Went to bed quite grumpy.

  Sunday 11th May AM

  Pretty lazy morning, watching CITV and making Play-Doh figures. Must make Max realise we can’t keep every single mouse, worm and snail that we make. Most kids are quite happy to scrunch it up in a ball and stick it back in the pot. But Max remembers every piece like a priceless work of art, who made it and when. “Oh no Mummy, we can’t get rid of the ant. Granny made it the day she looked after me. And that’s the butterfly you made before you got cross with me for sneaking chocolate into my room.” Guess all kids have their little quirks and how nice to have such an uncluttered brain that you can remember such minutiae?

  At 1.15, realised that my own very cluttered brain had forgotten we were meant to be at Mum’s for lunch at 2. This resulted in a cranky four-year old son and an even crankier forty-year old husband as I hurried them to get ready. “Sundays aren’t meant for rushing.” Ned moaned. “I only get two days off a week.” God, how many children am I dealing with around here?

  I would have snapped back that, as a trainee domestic goddess, I don’t have any days off so I was looking forward to having someone cook for me for a change. I know what Mum’s cooking is like though, and I’m also well aware of what Ned thinks of it, so I bit my tongue and let him have his moan.

  PM

  Nice to see Mum today, even if we did have to put up with her ‘private school concerns’ as she delicately puts it. She even had the cheek to ask Ned if it was what he really wanted for his son. Ned pointed out it had been a joint decision. I was so proud of the way he supported me until he spluttered his uncooked Brussels sprout across the table when she mentioned that public schools were known for churning out ‘shirt lifters’. “Oh yes, Ned, homosexuality is rife in those places. Still, as long as you feel you’re doing the right thing.” Apart from her sweeping generalisation, Mum still hasn’t grasped that Manor House is co-ed.

  Both spent the rest of the evening chewing Rennies and watching ‘Brideshead Revisited.’

  Monday 12th May

  Got the full info pack from the school today - timetable, school dates, rules and regs, after-school clubs and, frighteningly, the school uniform list and social calendar.

  Invited Ruth and Beckie round for cof
fee while the kids were at nursery.

  “Shit a brick, Lib! Have you seen the prices of their kit?” Beckie gasped. “And the only supplier is Harrods. You can’t even do a sneaky M&S run cos it’s all so specialist. Wow, 45 quid for a jumper. Bet you can’t remember when you last spent that on one for yourself?”

  I’m well known amongst my friends for finding the jewels in the charity shop crown but have made a mental note to conceal this from any new friends I’m likely to make at Manor House.

  Ruth was busy studying the social calendar and didn’t do much to relieve the situation by drawing my attention to the following:

  Thursday 11 September - Cocktail Party in main hall. £70 per couple to include canapés.