It's Not Me, It's You

Oh for the days when I will be able to shove both Midgets in the direction of their respective schools without having to deal with the rude ignorance and stupidity that is Other Children's Parents.

Other Children's Parents (herein OCP) are the parental world's equivalent of Other People's Children to the single, childless observer.

They seem live on a different planet to others.  They sometimes appear to reside in a parallel universe.  Sometimes, I suspect they have fallen through the back of a wardrobe from their Narnian winter land covered in snow, baffled by the lack of talking moggies and goat boys.  Though to be honest that white stuff on their shoulders may well be their dandruff.

Being an adult in the playground is really no different from being a child; there are still cliches, the trendy (or those who believe themselves to be trendy) still travel in packs.  Your popularity depends on how popular your child is; how much make up you are wearing and which brand; which decade your clothes came from and how much they cost.  Nothing has changed, nothing at all.

In a throwback to your yesteryear, some parents will even only let their children associate with the children of parents they like, regardless of how their child feels about that forced friendship.

Some parents are desperate to be a part of the braying forces, to be associated with any part of it at all. 

At our school, there are the "Friends of", who treat their voluntary unpaid minion work as if they are heading the "cure for cancer" department of UNICEF.  They roam the playground like overweight, over made up female cast members of a particularly underfunded "Reservoir Dogs" remake shot in extra idiotic vision, who may or may not deign to speak to you, regardless of how polite you are to them. They are Very Important, and this must not be forgotten at any time, ever. 

There are the Racist Mums, the Trendy Mums, the Working Mums, the Unemployed Mums, the Smoking Mums, the Childcare Mums, the Dads, and then, in the smallest group of all, there are the Disabled Kid Mums.

I see it as a smaller group, mostly by design.  I don't really want to get involved in the nasty bitchiness that goes around, although it's possible to be a Disabled Kid Mum and still be a gossipy witch.  I try, as much as possible, to stay out of things completely.  I don't really want to talk to anyone about anything.  I'll happily talk to children, as they can't help who their parents are, but the parents?  No. No thank you.

I don't want for people to feel comfortable coming up to me bemoaning what my child has done.  I am increasingly less patient on this matter, and it is only manners that prevent me from throwing back at them what their child has done to mine.  I happily ostracise myself, not because I don't need or want support, not because I don't need or want friendship, but because I don't need or want the hassle that appears to go with it.  I don't want to be gossiped about over coffee.  I don't want to have my private life aired betwixt people who know nothing of it.  I do not see why I should bend over backwards to help you but you will not even stand to one side for me to get past.

I do not want to hear your nonsense.  I do not want to have to bite my tongue so that I do not say what I think are the multitude of personality defects and etiquette bypasses your child is afflicted with after you have finished giving your "helpful" insights on mine.

I do not want it, and neither should I have to bear it.  I will stand in the background, speaking only with the children who are ignored by their parents, nodding at the parents I can tolerate, smiling at the few I adore for their genuine unconditional support of my child. 

It's taken me a long time to realise it, but actually; it's not me, it's you.