Confessions of a committee mum

 

You’ve probably avoided eye contact with her at the school gates – or run in the opposite direction.

She’s always asking for raffle donations, tombola prizes, and – perish the thought – volunteers.

Netmums categorised her a while back, flatteringly dubbing her “PTA busybody mum”.

*Stands up Spartacus style*

I am that busybody.

Although in my case, I’ve only reached the dizzy heights of playgroup. So if you don’t mind, I prefer committee mum.

Brodie and Blake have both been through our local playgroup, a registered charity which relies on fundraising.

The service not only helped them to make friends when we moved into the area, it gave them loads of confidence, so there was no anxiety when they started nursery, and then school.

So to give a little back (and I’ll admit, to exercise my brain cells) I spent more than two years doing roles from chairperson to secretary, fundraiser and all-round general dogsbody.

The majority of committee mums I’ve worked with are likeminded, roll-your-sleeves-up-and-get-on-with-it women I’m incredibly thankful for.

But I’ve met a less-than-helpful bunch who enjoy the title – without doing any of the actual work.

They merit their own special names. Let me introduce them.

 

Ostrich mum
Definition: Buries her head in the sand while a flurry of activity goes on around her. Misses meetings and claims she never got messages.
Most likely to say: “I didn’t realise there was a Spring Fair/cake sale/sponsored walk. Nobody told me.”
You nod and smile sweetly, thinking of the six weeks of emails, the posters everywhere and the texts you sent out, letting everyone know about the event and asking for parent helpers. Was she on Timbuktu?

 

Martyr mum
Definition: Takes on a few jobs, then gets stroppy if asked to do anything else. Meanwhile, the rest of us are doing twice as much.
Most likely to say: “I’ve done my bit. I’m not having this dumped on me.”
You’ve only asked her to do one thing while you source raffle prizes, sell tickets, send thank you letters, put up posters and generally have a nervous breakdown.
But she baked a few cupcakes two weeks ago and is obviously still suffering fatigue.

 

Faux dizzy mum
Definition: Quick to say what should be done – but ask her to do the simplest task, and she plays the dumb blonde.
Most likely to say: “I would…. but I’m so dizzy I’ll probably forget. Perhaps you should do it *giggles girlishly*”
She’s been asked to pick up a get well soon card for a sick member of staff – and suddenly you’re confronted with fits of giggles and girly twirling of hair. This is her way of saying you’ve got more chance of a date with George Clooney.

 

Expert delegating mum
Definition: Has a job to do, but passes it off to others in small tasks – so she hasn’t done much herself.
Most likely to say: “Did anybody do (insert task here)?”
Everyone is too gobsmacked to point out this is actually part of her role.
When volunteers are needed for something else, she’s the first to bow out, claiming she already does her bit. You scratch your head, wondering what she actually does.
Extreme warning: Watch out for the hybrid between this lady and Martyr mum – I’ve met an expert delegating martyr, and she was unbearable.

 

“I would…. but I work” mum
Definition: Uses her job as an excuse, as if the rest of us are lazing around at home with nothing else to do.
Most likely to say: “We should be doing (insert task here). I would… but I work. I’m sure you ladies could oblige.”
She has no idea the phrase ‘working mum’ is redundant – because every mum works. Some of us just don’t get paid for it.
Instead, she waltzes in occasionally with her powersuit and her mocha frappuccino, criticising the rest of us – who would gladly beat her to death with her Blackberry.

 

Friends have argued these women may not have started out this way.

By the time you’ve seen one child through playgroup, nursery and then school, you’ve been grabbed by so many committees, PTAs and parent councils that you’re totally burned out.

It’s hard to say no when you’re asked for help. But after a while, you get to feel you’ve earned an easier ride.

I know this can happen.

But equally, I’ve met many mums who are at home with toddlers and haven’t even reached the school system.

This playgroup gives them a welcome break, knowing their child is learning and having fun in a secure environment – and it costs less than a childminder or private nursery.

Yet they begrudge standing for a couple of hours at a cake stall – or being asked to sell raffle tickets.

These lazy types create a vicious circle.

Because they can’t be bothered to contribute, they make more work for the rest of us.

Meaning volunteer mums like me are wary about giving our time again. With my boys out of playgroup, and Brodie now in school, I’ve side-swerved the PTA.

Because I’m turning into a bit of a bird-fancier. The ostrich really is a beautiful creature.

 

 

This is an updated version of an article I wrote for Parentdish.

Apologies if you’ve read it on this blog before. A nasty little virus attack on Mummy Central last month meant we lost a handful posts – meaning they need to be re-published.