that's life (Australia)

What do you do, Mum?

Trish was worried about how she’d measure up against the over-achieving school mums

- By Elaine Westley

You’ll never guess what Stephanie’s mum does,’ said seven-year-old Bella as they sat down to dinner. ‘She’s a police lady. She catches baddies and puts them in prison.’

‘Wow,’ said ve-year-old Tom, impressed.

‘And Sarah’s mum makes yummy cakes,’ Steph added.

Thank heavens, thought Trish. A normal mum, just like me.

‘Yes,’ said Bella. ‘She works for one of those big magazines as a cookery person.’

Trish felt her heart sink, but Tom looked suitably impressed by that, too, cake being his favourite thing in the world after LEGO.

As Bella reeled off a list of half-a-dozen other class mums who did anything from interior design to teach music, Trish found herself cringing.

‘How come you know all this?’ she asked her girl, hoping it wasn’t one of those playground ‘my mum’s better than yours’ things.

‘Because of news. We have to talk about our mums. My turn’s tomorrow.’ Tom looked at his sister. ‘What you gonna say?’ Then he looked at Trish. ‘What are you, Mum?’ he asked. ‘What do you do?’

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and where did she start? She did all the stuff that stay-at-home mums did and helped out at a friend’s catering business now and then.

Did it sound glamorous and exciting? Of course not.

So she reached out with a cloth and wiped spaghetti off Tom’s face. ‘I clean up messy kids, that’s what I do.’

When the giggling stopped, Bella turned to her brother.

‘Don’t worry, Tom. I’ve got it covered,’ she said. ‘I know what Mum is.’

Later, Trish asked her husband, Mike, what he thought ‘got it covered’ might mean.

‘It’s just I don’t want the other children going home and telling their parents Bella’s mum cooks badly, and cleans house when she feels like it.’

‘No idea,’ Mike shrugged. ‘Your cooking’s not that bad.’

He dodged the cushion she threw.

‘Just wait, love. I’m sure she’ll tell you,’ he said.

‘Or one of the other mums will,’ muttered Trish. ‘One of the over-achieving mothers.’

The next day after school, Trish waited for Bella to say how her news had gone, and when her daughter kept quiet, she feared the worst.

Desperate as she was to know, she couldn’t bring herself to ask, until she was tucking Bella in at bedtime, the story reading and song singing nished.

‘So, news went okay?’ She tried to sound casual.

‘Oh!’ said Bella, her big blue eyes wide. ‘I forgot. My teacher said to give you a copy of what I said. It’s in my bag.’

‘Okay, thanks. I’ll nd it. You get some sleep.’

Trish practicall­y ran from the room to nd Bella’s bag. She found a piece of paper folded into tiny squares. Taking it to the table, she smoothed it out and read.

My mum is a rainbow, Bella had written. Red is for how much she loves me and my brother, orange for having the same colour hair as me.

Yes, Bella had certainly inherited her gingerness, Trish acknowledg­ed.

Yellow because she’s always smiley like the sun and green’s the colour she goes when she takes me on the roller-coaster. Blue is for her eyes and purple is my favourite colour and the colour of the icing on the cupcakes Mum makes. Purple isn’t an easy colour to make. I love my mum.

Trish was reading it for the second, or was it the third time, through a haze of tears, when Mike came in.

‘Wow,’ he said, after he’d read it too.

‘Wow,’ agreed Trish.

She’d rather be a rainbow than a fab designer or chef any day.

‘So,’ said Mike, ‘if you’re a rainbow what does that make me?’

Trish laughed. ‘No idea, but I’m sure Bella will know.’ ●

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry

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