Mrs. Mummy

My daughter’s teacher calls me ‘Mrs. Moozles’. Obviously she does not know that my daughter’s nickname is Moozles but she uses Moozles’ real name. That’s what all the teachers call us parents. Mrs. John, Mrs. Lucy and Mr. Sophie. Our children’s first names have become our identities. There are 30 children in my daughter’s class. I understand that it would be very tough to learn the names of each student’s parent(s). I wonder what they do in the States, or other countries for that matter. At my daughter’s nursery, the carers would call the parents ‘Mummy’ or ‘Daddy’. I found this quite creepy. At pre-school, at a different nursery, the carers seemed not to want to call us anything. I preferred that.
Here I am. I have given up gainful employment to spend my days as a Stay-At-Home-Mum. And as I have slowly lost my identity I struggle to be ‘more’ than a mum. But everyone reminds me. I am a housewife. I am Mrs. Moozles. But there is more to me. I am a wife. A friend. A sister. An aunt. A daughter and a granddaughter. And now a blogger. I am a good listener, and love giving advice. I am quiet but loud. I love Jane Austen, watching trashy television and baking goodies. I am a terrible cook and detest cleaning. So go ahead, call me Mrs. Mummy, for I know that I am much more.