The Playground Mafia. Clare Christian
and her children are weighed down by their pencil cases full of EpiPens and rucksacks full of tissues and wet wipes. They walk to school along a route that has been stringently risk-assessed by Helicopter Mum, the results of which dictated that they wear skate pads and helmets for the entire five-minute journey and it would be no surprise to see them quite literally wrapped in cotton wool for their Cycling Proficiency Test.
In the playground, Helicopter Mum is such a bubble of nervous energy that it is almost impossible to hold a complete conversation with her, distracted as she is by her children playing dangerously nearby. The best time to catch her is just after the bell rings for the start of the school day when there is a five-minute window of opportunity before she begins to worry about pick up. If you are inviting her child to tea be prepared for an in-depth grilling on the safety of your home (what do you mean you don’t have rubber protectors on the table corners?) and for God’s sake don’t mention the building work you are having done or you’ll all be in hard hats faster than you can say ‘BEE’!
Unlike some of the other Mafia Mums, Helicopter Mum really can’t help her behaviour and she means no harm – quite the opposite, and at least you know your child is in safe hands with her. However, the reverse is not necessarily true and if something should happen to her child when in your care, then we really wouldn’t like to consider the consequences.
All together now: ‘BEE!’
She says: ‘Have you washed your hands?’
She means: ‘Here, use my hand gel. Do you realise how many germs there are living on that school gate?’
She says: ‘Little Johnny would love to come to tea.’
She means: ‘I will be carrying out a full health and safety risk assessment programme before I let little Johnny get within half a mile of the danger zone you call home.’
She says: ‘I like your dress.’
She means: ‘Is that a bee I can see?’
Points awarded: 15
Bonus Points: 75 if you see her cycling anywhere without her anti-smog mask on.
LIKELY TO WEAR: High street designer jackets and slacks, never jeans and certainly never heels.
WHEN NOT IN THE PLAYGROUND YOU ARE LIKELY TO FIND HER: Online, googling Ofsted reports.
IF SHE WERE A COCKTAIL, SHE WOULD BE: A gin and tonic.
IF SHE WERE A MEAL, SHE WOULD BE: A Sunday roast.
IF SHE WERE IN A BUILDER’S MERCHANTS, SHE WOULD BE: A combination square.
Ofsted Mum is the voice of absolute DOOM! She is the only person in the playground (well, let’s face it, the whole schooling system) who understands the small print of the latest Ofsted report and she is constantly poised, ready and willing to remove her darling Jenny to avoid further educational scarring. Ofsted Mum lives for insider information, and somehow (you suspect bribes) knows that the new all-too-glamorous Spanish teacher doesn’t have the language degree she claims, and in fact picked her rather dodgy conversational Spanish up after a disastrous and tearful year in Spain with a Catalonian tennis player called Fernando.
On a typical day, Ofsted Mum is on the hunt for information that she can use to make sure her little Jenny isn’t being short changed or falling behind. She’s not beyond a little snooping and has been seen, on more than one occasion, digging around in the childrens’ cloakroom checking bookbags. Heaven forbid that another child should be on a red reading band before her darling Jenny! This mum will never be late (a late mark in the register is NEVER acceptable) and it goes without saying that all book money/permission slips/lunchboxes will be provided, without fail. Unlikely to work (she is currently designing an app for the iPhone that will plot a child’s progress towards Year 6 SATs targets from birth), this mum is possibly the most obsessive of all the mums in the playground.
Of course, Ofsted Mum will have at least two children (her research has shown that the highest achieving children come from families containing 2.2 children) and her children will be perfect (if not slightly odd in a stunted emotional way). Their conception will have been faultlessly timed (some would say immaculately) to ensure that they are the oldest in the class, thus avoiding any hurdles commonly faced by younger children. She will corner you to tell you about the Cognitive Repetition Assisted Practice, which is all the rage in California (and has been proven to have a 3.64% more effective learning uptake ratio), and the Omega Delta 5K pineapple oils that have been proven, beyond a shadow of a doubt, to maybe help children learn to spell the word OCTAGONAL 3/10ths of a second faster. And let’s not forget that it’s because of her that you have already registered an interest in the yet to be formed, all girls Mother Teresa College at your local university.
Ofsted Mum is Treasurer of the PTA (of course – who else could they trust with the numbers!) and she provides the committee with regular updates and guidance on educational statistics and governance. Many a parent has jumped ship and moved their child to a different school, based on the say-so and predictions from the oracle that is Ofsted Mum.
But, thanks to Facebook (of course you accepted her friend request, how could you not?) and some tagged photos (that she was too slow to untag) you have a secret weapon. It turns out that Ofsted Mum actually left school at 16 and that the closest she got to Cambridge was the affair she had with a Professor Plum, in the drawing room, with some lead piping.
Praise be the oracle!
She says: ‘My daughter has moved on to free readers.’
She means: ‘My daughter is possibly the best reader in this entire school, even better than [insert name of head teacher], in fact.’
She says: ‘I’ve a meeting with [insert name of head teacher] to discuss Jenny’s progress.’
She means: ‘I am going to give [insert name of head teacher] shit because Jenny has been moved down to a lower maths group.’
She says: ‘I like your dress.’
She means: ‘I’m moving my child out of this school because it’s crap.’
Points awarded: 20
Bonus Points: Have an extra 10 for every mention of ‘Ofsted’ and ‘outstanding’ within one school run.
LIKELY TO WEAR: Surf shorts and Fat Face flip-flops regardless of the weather.
WHEN NOT IN THE PLAYGROUND YOU ARE LIKELY TO FIND HIM: Driving his sports car up and down the high street.
IF HE WERE A COCKTAIL, HE WOULD BE: A Hairy Navel.
IF HE WERE A MEAL, HE WOULD BE: Prawn cocktail, rump steak (well done) and sherry trifle.
IF HE WERE IN A BUILDER’S MERCHANTS, HE WOULD BE: A decorator’s touch-up brush.
Poor Midlife Crisis Dad. He tries hard, he really does, but let’s face it he’s never going to get it right because he’s HAVING A MIDLIFE CRISIS! His hormones are raging, SHOUTING at him that wearing a baseball cap back to front is a really good idea, YELLING at him to download Wiz Khalifa to his engraved iPod and INSISTING that trading