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The first time I experienced the school summer holidays as a parent, I felt a sense of something going terribly wrong. It was like stumbling upon an eclipse and seeing the birds stop singing, or taking a sip of cold tea instead of hot. If there was a manager to complain to, I would have called her immediately. The math simply didn’t add up. Six weeks without school, combined with limited annual leave from work, the delicate balance of adult and child temperaments, and the need for specific conditions to thrive.
These conditions include, but are not limited to: the presence of same-age peers, sleep, alone time, cultural experiences, regular meals, snacks, dessert, and intimacy. Any deviation from this list, no matter how small, sparks chaotic turmoil. This summer, daily adventures have become essential. So far, the children have embarked on a “tube adventure” (getting on and off the tube), a “pizza adventure” (ordering pizza), and a failed “boat adventure” due to long queues. However, the power of these words is diminishing.
Now, as the end of the holidays approaches, I find myself overwhelmed and unable to fix the situation. Look around, and you’ll see other parents in a similar position. On the surface, they may appear calm in a playground, but inside, they feel like climbers trapped on a mountain, contemplating drastic measures. The dad in Tesco explaining to his daughter why she can’t open that yogurt right now is like a desert traveler in tattered clothes, longing for a far-off oasis. Loving parents everywhere are developing nervous twitches, and small tremors of frustration can be felt across the UK as parents working from home bounce their legs against desks with increasing force. Suburban homes feel like they’re shrinking, with walls slowly closing in.
Personally, I find myself spending a lot of time in the bathroom. We recently installed a new mosaic floor, with my partner teaching himself the skill despite cutting his hands in the process. One day, I came home to find three beautiful mosaic pictures laid beside the bathtub, and I couldn’t help but feel joyous without needing a metaphor for parenthood. We also knocked down a wall in the bathroom, revealing a generous and warm new light that streams into the hallway and creates cozy spots for our cat. However, when the door is shut, which is often the case, I find myself perching on the side of the bath, toilet seat, or leaning against the mirror, absentmindedly scrolling through my phone until I’m summoned for the umpteenth time. It was during one of these moments that I stumbled upon the newly public Instagram account of Carrie Johnson.
Carrie, who recently gave birth to her third child with husband Boris, seems to be using social media to portray herself as a traditional housewife mom influencer. Her posts include fashion recommendations and picturesque images of her idyllic, floral, rural lifestyle. One particular photo caught my attention – she’s sitting in bed, wearing an elaborate white lace nightgown and gazing lovingly at her newborn baby. The serene white linen and absence of her husband in all the photos piqued my interest. Either he’s transitioned to be the behind-the-camera Instagram boyfriend, or his absence is intentional. Interestingly, someone recommended “The Handmaid’s Tale” when she asked for boxset suggestions. The aesthetics were instantly recognizable.
Content like this often appears on my various social media feeds, presenting traditional femininity as a remedy for modern women’s problems. Just as incel culture emerged as a supposed solution for modern men, these posts suggest that embracing the role of a housewife and having numerous blonde babies could cure modern women’s woes. The aesthetics of modern motherhood are also evident, presenting an image of the good life – a harmonious blend of selflessness and self-care. It seems that Carrie is having the “ideal” kind of summer holiday, capturing idyllic country walks alongside frazzled moments of motherhood to cater to both feminist ideals and audience engagement. I continue scrolling, a mix of fascination and disdain.
As I sit here, away from home in search of a café with Wi-Fi (my son managed to flood the new bathroom this morning, but that’s a separate story), I realize that by writing about the challenges of the summer holidays, I’m doing similar work to Carrie Johnson. Am I becoming a mom influencer, albeit without the excessive affiliate marketing links? Is my sarcastic depiction of my children’s antics considered mumfluencing – cynical, petty, and constantly astounded by the outcomes resulting from my own actions and choices? Is it even possible to document parenting today without it being seen as mumfluencing, a business decision that is often scorned for presenting motherhood as an aesthetic lifestyle choice or a laborious job with sponsored content?
I countdown the days until school begins again. Partly because the house will be empty, allowing me time to think, and partly because I won’t have to think about this anymore. At least until Christmas.
Email Eva at [email protected] or follow her on Twitter @EvaWiseman
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