World Book Day's a nightmare for time-poor working parents like me
As I frantically dig through my wardrobe looking for a black dress which is small enough not to look like a tent on my 10-year-old daughter, along with some tights and a cape I once wore to a Halloween party, I silently curse World Book Day (WBD) for what feels like the 100th time.
You see, as a tired and slightly scatty mum-of-three (Charlie, 16, Eddie, 12 and Jemima, 10), I’ve had over 10 years of it but I'm hoping that, as it’s my daughter's final year of primary school, this will be my last ever one. Hallelujah!
As much as I’d love to be an arts and crafts type mum who could rustle up a costume at the drop of a hat, I’m more of a last minute 'add to basket' Amazon one.
And now it’s WBD again and the pressure is on. I find myself frantically ordering green face paint from Amazon so my daughter can try and emulate Elphaba from Wicked and hunting for a pair of black tights which haven’t been laddered.
My daughter tells me that one of the boys in her class is going as The Wizard of Oz, another girl as Wednesday and that two other classmates are going as the teenager from Dork Diaries. Her BFF is going as Glinda from Wicked and has already stocked up on jewellery from Claire’s Accessories and a wig.
The theme this year is 'Read Your Way' which apparently includes either a character from a much loved book or an outfit they would feel comfortable reading in. I’m not sure a pair of pyjamas is quite going to cut it though?
Parental competition
And, while I’m a huge fan of books, I won’t look back and miss WBD because I think the value of reading gets lost in the competitive scrum of costumes. Instead, it's become just another needless burden for stressed-out working mums like me.
Don’t get me wrong, I know every mother is a working mum but I’ve been self-employed ever since my three were babies and I have always worked around them. My working life as a freelance journalist for the national press is often erratic and filled with last-minute deadlines. So alongside the school fairs and assemblies, fundraisers, information evenings, meet-the-teacher sessions and parents evenings, WBD just feels like yet another thing I have to fit in and manage alongside my day job.
WBD just feels like yet another thing I have to fit in and manage alongside my day job.
Where we live, on the edge of the glorious Cotswolds, I would say around half, possibly more, of the mums at my daughter’s primary school don't work which means they have more time, energy and inclination to devote themselves to all the school stuff. And good on them, I say, because it’s just as well someone does. My three are all at different schools and just keeping on top of the emails feels like a full-time job at times.
And don’t get me started on the stay-at-home dads (SAHDs.) They are the really competitive ones. I think it’s marvellous they want to be so involved but some obviously see WBD as their chance to shine. Naturally, these parents put time-poor working mums like me to shame.
Mum guilt
In one standout year, there was the mum who made a Matilda dress for her daughter from scratch and the SAHD who made his son a costume covered in small silver pans – Mr Saucepan from the Magic Faraway Tree.
My daughter, by contrast, was wearing an old jacket and some old jodhpurs (Fern from Charlotte’s Webb) and my son was in a Willy Wonka top hat I bought at the last minute from Sainsbury's costume section and a massive waistcoat I borrowed from my dad (which was probably last worn in the late 1980s).
'I had the worst costume,' my daughter said. 'Why couldn’t you make me one like the other mums?'
Then there was the mum in my daughter’s class who sent her daughter in as the Queen of Hearts complete with a crown, a white rabbit toy and a beautifully embroidered bodice which wouldn’t have looked out of place in a BBC production of Elizabeth 1st. It made my poor daughter, who was basically just wearing her nightie, à la Sophie from the BFG, feel underdressed.
When I picked her up that day, I was met by four foot of pure stroppiness. "I had the worst costume," she said. "Why couldn’t you make me one like the other mums?" I promised to do better next year.
Bending the rules
It could be worse I suppose. I remember when all three were at primary school and it was a nightmare trying to think of ideas. My middle one is autistic and has sensory issues, so he hates wearing itchy costumes or anything with labels scratching him. I'd have no choice but to put him in whatever the one costume he'd wear at the time would be.
I think he probably did about two or three WBD dressed as a Stormtrooper and at least one as Batman and Spiderman. Not exactly literary heroes, are they?!
In the flurry of the morning, I realised I was still wearing my slippers at school drop-off too.
"Bless him!" I remember one mum, whose daughter was dressed as Gangsta Granny, saying, consolingly, as I waved my son off at the school gates. In the flurry of the morning, I realised I was still wearing my slippers at school drop-off too. Whoops!
So I for one will be very glad when it’s all over and I don’t have to pretend to care about World Book Day. This year I’ll be setting the alarm a bit earlier so I’ve got time to help my daughter cover herself in green paint. Let’s hope this is the last one I'll ever have to do.
Read more on parenting:
10 parenting styles to be aware of and what they actually mean (Yahoo Life UK, 8-min read)
Parents ‘spending nearly £20 per child on costumes for World Book Day this year’ (PA Media, 1-min read)
Why our children need a digital detox – and how outdoor experiences can help (The Guardian, 4-min read)
