Chapter 12: Moms’ Morning

Fridays drag, some more than most.

Well, most Fridays do but this Friday drug on like the rain of Ireland had gotten into and dampened down the sands of time.

But even in the worst of Fridays there are always high points in every day and the weekly coffee mornings my school run group hold every Friday is one of them.

Most Fridays during the school year, around 35 weeks out of the 52, the group of Moms that share our particular school run always get together for a coffee morning (even though most of them actually drink tea by preference to my favourite bitter brew) and we take turns to have it in our houses each week so your own turn as host only comes up every couple of months or so.

The group pick Fridays for our little get-togethers as it is the day they collect their messages for the weekend (that means their groceries in local-speak) during late morning before lunch and they tend to do the housework in the afternoon. I try and work my schedule around them, especially when it’s my turn to be host.

Last Friday I had to give the coffee morning a miss because I had a sales appointment in Cork that I couldn’t put off, but this week it is my time to host the event so it is a “must-do”. It is basically a gossip-fest for the Moms and I find the experience both edifying and terrifying.

What is expected? Well, tea and coffee is obviously expected, with milk, sugar, various sweeteners and, absolutely necessary, is some kind of cookie or cake on offer which is expected to be home-made rather than bought.

Generally, we RSVP our likelihood of attendance during the week so that the host knows how many are coming and can cater accordingly. There’s about 10 of us in the group all living south of Thurles and usually three or four of us drive each day and pick up between 2 to 4 kids, so it works out that everyone gets roughly about 2 or 3 mornings a week off to do other things, which gives us work flexibility. I usually pick up Caoimhe every afternoon and occasionally the odd child or two in addition to drop off. We use the MeWe app among the group so we know who’s picking up who and it works brilliantly and no-one gets left behind.

I couldn’t take Caoimhe to school last Friday, or attend the coffee morning at Moira Duggan’s house, because I had to be in Cork early, but this week it is my week to host the Friday coffee morning, so I have to bite the bullet and go through with it.

You’d think my testosterone would drown in a sea of oestrogen at these coffee mornings but, while all the Moms are my age or younger, and most are quite attractive and have become relaxed in my company, they are all happily married. I would say marriages are more stable here than my experience in the Stated. Anyhoo, I have never bothered them with nasty “pick-up” lines and do try my hardest not to ogle them when the weather is warm and they dress, well, minimally shall we say. I’ve never “hit” on them and in response they treat me like an honorary Mom.

No, that’s wrong. To them I am apparently a “poor wee Gosoon’’ they seem to have made it their life’s work to “pair me up”. They introduce me to sisters, cousins and neighbors who just “drop in fer a chat” and when they do the only seat available for them is sitting next to me. It’s obvious and I hate it but they mean well, which makes the exercise well, nice.

Normally we get three or four Moms turn up for coffee or tea when I attend, and slightly more turn up when I don’t, probably because I’m the main subject of the gossip. I can tell who attends when I’m absent because they are listed as RSVPs on the cell phone app and it soon becomes obvious.

This week all ten of them are coming, without a single one crying off, no doubt because all during this week Etain has been joining me on my two morning turns on the school run and the four afternoon pick-ups so far, and now they want to know all about her.

Meaning they really want to know about her AND me rather than just about her.

It would blow their minds the things I could tell about HER! But I cannot of course, on the one hand who would believe me?, and if they did and told anyone else, the knowledge of who Etain really was would destroy her life and ours.

So, dear readers, if only for my sake, regard this whole thing as fanciful nonsense for our own amusement, would you not?

Anyhoo, it means holding the event in my sitting room and borrowing Kaetlynn’s kitchen chairs as well as moving my own kitchen chairs into my snug sitting room to ensure we can all sit down with plates on our laps and mugs in our hands and still just about have room to breathe.