The Mummy Mafia

There are a small group of women at the school gates, who have the ability to make me feel like the epitome of an unfit mother. They are the ones that make casual wear look très chic, whilst I look like I’m on my way to clean out the oven and defrost the fridge (which incidentally, I am). The ones that make you feel guilty for using regular supermarket variety veggies, instead of the exotic organic ones purchased from the farmers market. The ones that frown upon your inability to control your pre-schooler as he screams and kicks you in the shins. They are the ones that have “motherhood” down to a fine art and wear it like a badge.

They almost always are on the PTA, actively involved in fund raising, over-zealous in volunteering their spare hours to the school in any way they can, and ensure that their children are signed up for all the preferred after school activities. Whilst I struggle to finish my very measly tasks I’ve set out for myself each week. I don’t know how they accomplish all that they do, but they do, ensuring you feel guilty about how little you do for your children and the school. I’m more than a little intimidated by these women, and feel like I’m the terribly un-cool kid back in high school.

I have a theory on how these Mafia Mums are born into our world of swimming lessons and ballet classes. Having left their careers at the labour ward door, their ambitions have moved onto their children and the school they attend. Over-qualified and frustrated, they pour all their energy into their over-stimulated children and transfer their self-esteem issues onto other mothers through their sophisticated bullying methods. With little else to occupy their idle minds they are left to interrogate others lives. Are they happier than the rest of us, constantly checking their “score card” of where they’re currently positioned, in fear that they may have dropped a rank? Doubtfully.

I won’t be selected as the next “chosen one” by the Mummy Mafia as I very much do not cut the grade, but I should be happy and patting myself on my back as my children are generally happy (with the odd tantrum thrown in for good measure), get sufficient outdoor exercise (but still get to watch their favourite TV program) and eat their balanced meals (with some naughty treats allowed). And most importantly, quoting my daughter, in her eyes I’m the “bestest mum in the whole world”.