Secret Diary of a Single Dad: 'School gate mums are scary'
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“Maybe ask her mother to give me a call,” said the gymnastics coach, on the phone, frustrated as I failed to understand the complicated different groups and levels. My daughter's only brief to me was that she wants to be able to cartwheel.
I hang up and arrive outside the school.
Single dads at the school gates, while accepted in theory, fit in about as well as a square block into an abacus.
Waiting for our children to come out to the school gates can often feel like an alternate universe, where the mommy mafia rule. A few stragglers wait quietly, looking at their shoes, also waiting for the experience to end.
Sometimes the school gate gang can leave me feeling like "Pretty Bad Dad" and 'Mostly Out of The Loop Dad'.
These moms speak a different language. They know whose hands to grease when signing up to early-bird swimming lessons, who gets ‘made’ into their clique, and the last mysterious day for signing up to the hockey wait list.
Queen Bee is parent in charge. Whenever the teacher gives too much homework or the school randomly decides to finish two hours early, Queen Bee is the one you'll see power-walking up to the school principal, all militaristic hand gestures. It reminds me I’m lucky I didn’t cross this mob boss.
I’m a single dad dropping and collecting my daughter once or twice per week, so I’m not always in the loop, but what I’ve observed is both a beautiful support group, and an intimidating gang of mean mums.
There are whispered conversations as I walk up to them, and then a confident, ‘Good Morning,’ keeping me firmly at arm's length.
These parents don't share.
The greeting was from the ‘Super Mom’, as I call her. There isn’t a school tour she doesn’t volunteer for. She knows CPR and the dietary requirements of every child within a 10km radius. It’s impressive but she makes it clear I need to stay in my lane.
There's ‘Hippy Mom’, with her ironic dreadlocks and talk of how her 4-year-old decided to become a vegan, purely their own choice, of course.
As I wait next to ‘Hippy Mom’ I’m getting subconscious assistance from ‘Eye Roll Mom’, for her life is one long rainy day.
‘Eye Roll Mom’ is always on the hunt for the world's worst problems.
'Range Rover mom' parks unapologetically on the double-yellow lined kerb beside us and all the eyes pop north.
Last week she announced her family ski trip, blissfully unaware of the cost of living crises the rest of us are rocking right now.
Queen Bee abruptly leaves the principal's side, and darts over to the Range Rover in a flash, trying to lock in a playdate before the car window even starts to wind down.
I resist the urge to mansplain the parking etiquette and turn away while taking deep breaths.
I get chatting to ‘Worrier Mom,’ who brings up the article she read on kids and screen addiction. It’s not the first time she brought it up. I overheard her desperately recruiting others to join her movement. She wants society to change and is planning to change it, one panicked conversation at a time. I nod, pretending to give it the gravity it deserves.
Little does she know I’m still figuring out how to work the latch on my kid's lunch box.
‘Smug Mom’ is quiet today, her child never comes out muddy or crying. She always gets the perfect gift for each child’s birthday party. Maybe one day I’ll master the art of plaiting hair and the ribbing will stop. Then I’ll be Smug Dad, at least for one day.
Each character is beautifully flawed and unique, but when they combine forces there is a powerful reckoning.
They all seem to have a majestic ability to know each other’s child’s name, ensuring they repeat those names as often as possible, demonstrating how invested they are in each other’s family.
They even know that third-born baby’s name and, let's face it, we’ve all lost interest in him.
Or is it her?
My imposter syndrome flares up, just like it did when I accidentally stumbled into an honours maths class at school.
Or like the time I arrived at the birthday party du jour...an hour too early.
That time change memo was for the break-out, moms-only group message, so I awkwardly chatted with the host until more people arrived.
The moms' WhatsApp group is like the secret society of the Illuminati, no one talks about it to the outsiders. Deep down I’m afraid to even ask to join. Who knows what mysterious topics they cover.
I get that a super dad is about as good as a mediocre mum, but so many of my male counterparts struggle to ‘get it’.
They play it safe and talk about neutral things like computers, football and the government. Maybe the dads all feel a little left out too? We’ll never know, as a dad’s only WhatsApp group would be about as taboo as me participating in the women's marathon.
The bell's gone. Doors fling open.
I make my way over to some male comrades that band together in a circle of safety.
They are always accepting of me, however, their wives are in the click, one is even married to the ‘Sound Mom’.
'Sound mum' is the parent that’s always slagging me for being so clueless. She represents what I finally figured out from all of these observations, that it’s secondary school all over again, there are cliques and characters, and we’re all just trying to make friends and get through the day.
We are all sleep-deprived and stretched thin on time. We are all just doing our best.
Suddenly I feel my jacket being tugged. There's a new drawing to dote over, followed by a firm bear hug, and so our weekend of adventure begins.
The escapades of the Mommy Mafia are on hold for now.
I may be mediocre at the school gates, but to her, I get an A+.