Kid Rulez

Friday 16th September

It’s the first time I’m picking up my eldest from her new secondary school. I’m really looking forward to it. I take a cab, which is an outrage, but this is one event that can’t be repeated. No second chance for first impressions, right? So, coughing up the equivalent of about six meals, I get out of the cab and walk to the playground.

I once paid my daughters an impromptu visit at their infants’ school at lunchtime. I tried to find a way in, but sensibly, the playground gates were locked. I stood around looking forlorn, wondering if I might catch a sight of my daughters playing. Within minutes, I had triggered a full-scale alert. System shutdown. Kids hidden, Headteacher walking stiffly towards me. As she approached, I realised I was still wearing my crash helmet. Ah. that would be why they thought a predator was prowling. The Head was apologetic for not recognising me, but I was chuffed. I complimented her on her vigilance and safety-first approach before apologising myself for being a twat by casing a kids playground in full leathers and helmet.

Now, I have been told I look young. Normally. I just shrug and mumble something about genetics, an apology of sorts, it’s not like the years haven’t taken their toll, they’ve just buggered up bits not immediately visible to the human eye, if you catch my drift. So it was with some trepidation that I stood outside the gates of a secondary girls’ school. I looked younger than most mums there frankly and this of course can work against me. The dads there looked old enough to be my own. I got a few odd looks, and I was grateful that my daughter found me quickly.

I enjoyed a few seconds of her company before the inevitable happened. Her mother called. And again. And again. And again. During the 15 minutes that it took us to walk from her school to the bus stop, which included a brief stop at Pret for a coffee for me and a cereal bar for both my girls, I received no less than 7 calls from their mother. 7. Seven. That’s one more than 6. And 7 too many. I would have liked to have spent this time with my eldest alone, so that we could chat about her day and so that she could enjoy this rare event. It wasn’t to be. My daughter looked at me with hurt. She knew what was going on, but was powerless to stop it. This wasn’t some worried mother. It’s not like I’m unreliable. One call might have been understandable. And the conversations were brief and pointless. Their only purpose was to break up our time together.

We rode the bus to a meeting point mid-way between the school and my younger daughter’s school where we were to pick up my youngest and then continue the bus ride back home. On the way, my eldest asked if we could get off the bus to bid her mum farewell. I told her it wasn’t a problem. So we got off.

Now, their mum was just getting warmed up. Here’s a summary of what happened:

Mum asked me what I thought of the route.

“Let’s talk about this later - not in front of the kids” was all I could manage.

“Look, I’m only trying to have a grown-up conversation” she huffed. Well. I could have shat myself laughing. But I didn’t. The idea of her having a grown-up conversation is pure farce.

“Since you hadn’t bothered discussing the idea that my eldest would now do the school trip without her mum with me in the first place, there’s not really much point. The time for this grown-up conversation would have been before your unilateral decision to allow our child to travel on her own”.

She persisted, but I maintained silence.

Then she decided that instead of going home, she would get on the bus with us for part of the journey. This was another well-worked routine to piss me and the kids off. It prolongs handover and increases the chances of argument.

We got on the bus and for some reason, mum was faffing around and the bus moved off without her. I stopped the driver. During this period, I turned to see her giving me the look of death, red rage on her spiteful face and mumbling obscenities. She pulled off the quickest schizo switch I’ve seen in a while when she boarded and I explained that I had to stop the driver for her. Her face cleared in a femtosecond. Or maybe even a zeptosecond. Whatever. She switched quick.

Then on the bus, I offered her and the girls the available seats. An old couple got on and I offered the lady a seat occupied by my youngest who I called to stand with me. Within a few seconds, her mum had called her back to stand with her and started up a silly conversation. Pathetic.

That evening, the girls and I had a good time. Their mum calls them often while they’re with me and eats into their time with me by chatting about shit for hours. But we still have a good time. My eldest cooks a meal of pasta with pesto and cream cheese with a beautiful salad and I help her. It’s all on video. They’re great kids.

Saturday 24th September
My girls have stayed overnight. Last night their mum called and spoke to them for ages. Gave my eldest crap about the mobile phone. Which mobile phone?

Her mum and I disagree on this. Her mum gets her way. I want my eldest to have a mobile phone. It would be nice from a safety point of view. We had discussed this many times over the years and agreed that she’d have one once she started travelling alone to secondary school. I’m pissed that she’s travelling alone so soon without discussion, but that’s life. The point is, this was when we’d agreed she’d have a mobile. The mother staunchly, stubbornly and for no fucking good reason whatsoever, refuses. It’s simple. If my eldest had a phone, I could contact her and vice versa without the fucking troll being in the way.

So to stem my daughter’s levee-crushing-tide of disappointment, I gave her a phone with a pay-as-you-go account to use when she was with me. You can’t imagine the joy on her beautiful face when she texts my sister, or very rarely her friends. On our recent trip to Brighton, my sister called her. And you should have seen how grown up my beautiful girl acted when she answered the phone, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She’s a responsible, sensible girl. She’s not going to abuse it and she is very conscious of how many texts she sends.

So this Saturday morning, her mum knows for some reason that she is using this phone and makes her cry non-stop for over an hour. Gives her the massive guilt-trip and tells her how badly she’s hurting her mother’s feelings. My daughter is so upset that she swears not to touch the phone again and indeed, does not.

This Saturday, I should also mention, their mother called them 12 times.

Monday 26th September
I arrive in good time for the first “Parents Information Evening” at my eldest’s school. Later in the classroom, mother, sitting at the front, starts spouting in front of all the other parents - after the teacher has stressed that a mobile phone is a good safety option for any child travelling without a grown-up - that “we don’t allow our daughter a mobile phone, we don’t agree with them. The school has a perfectly good phone and that has worked fine for us so far”.

(As an aside, the following day, my eldest reminded her mum how the system had in fact failed on one occasion and she had no way of contacting anyone about a change in post-school activity)

Of course, my instinct was to jump up and say “The woman is a lying sack of shit and doesn’t speak for me!” but of course, for the sake of face, I kept my mouth zipped.

Later, I got the teacher on his own and requested a set of school information notices be duplicated for me, as there was no guarantee of me gettnig them because our child’s parents are divorced and did he actually know that? He didn’t of course.

I had asked the mutha to give me some space and privacy. So she stood a yard and a half away, if that, with her back to me, but her ears pricked. I asked her for privacy again and she shuffled forwards about a centimetre. Sorry to mix metric with imperial, but hey, I’m British and Muslim too, so deal with it, ok?

Later, she asked with the gall of a thief shouting “thief!” in the market - “Why were you asking for privacy? We’re supposed to be presenting a united front!”

“Listen. To you, a united front is to do what you want to do and to have me go along with it. That’s unacceptable”. And before waiting for a reply, I left.

Right now, my daughters are doing well at school and they tell me their mum is not beating them or swearing at them as much as she used to. I explained that this alone was a good reason for us to be apart. That if they now get really upset if we have a mild argument, it just goes to show how damaging the big ones were when we were together, that they weren’t acceptable and that it was better not to fight and be apart. For the first time in years, they started to see the sense in this.

They also seem to be more affectionate and caring towards me recently, and more understanding that their mother is manipulating them and is not totally mentally healthy. It’s still not easy, their mother is still affecting their lives negatively, but she is raising them, and so am I.

So am I.