I was idly scrolling through Instagram the other day, as you do, when I came across the feed of a mumfluencer. You read right – that is a bona fide, 21st-century job title, and there are millions of them.  

This particular specimen was filling the slow-cooker, doing a charity shop run, pressing reset on the house – doing all the things that would give her time to be “present” when her little ones were home.  

She was a veritable whirlwind, a domestic goddess. What a hilarious spoof of idealised motherhood, I thought.  

Then it dawned on me: she was the real deal, with not a shred of irony in sight.  

The last thing any of us needs when frantically juggling balls is someone who makes it all look so goddamn easy, just to rub your nose in it when you drop one.  

To be fair, I try and do all of those things – just not in one-action packed day.  

I’m wedded to my slow-cooker, which has been an absolute lifesaver on many occasion. But I can’t remember pressing reset on the house; the Other Half certainly seems to think it needs it. And a charity shop run is long overdue.  

I like to measure life in small wins. Just the other day, I managed to get a load of work done, drove Daughter’s forgotten homework to school, went to the dump and attended an after-school meeting.  

Go me! Maybe I could be a mumfluencer too. Except that if I simply video-cammed my way through life, the results would be like watching paint dry. To make it Insta-worthy, I would have to add some motivational music and an upbeat commentary, punctuated by jazz hands.  

The after-school meeting was about a school trip to Africa, which Daughter has her heart set on. It’s a social enterprise doing fantastic work in communities that don’t have the same access to what we would regard as the basics in life – including basic sanitation and regular education.  

It will undoubtedly be character-building and life-changing, and a big part of the experience is the fundraising towards an eye-watering fee that includes a return flight and a month’s worth of upkeep.  

On the way to the meeting, we discussed the kind of things Daughter might do to raise a substantial amount of cash. My ideas – cake stall, litter pick, sponsored swim – were instantly shot down in flames. 

“I was thinking of an auction,” Daughter mused. I imagined the house stripped of all contents, Daughter bringing down her virtual gavel on the highest bidder on eBay. Thank goodness I work from home (and that we own little of any real value – except maybe the cat if we’re counting sentimental attachment). 

The trip rep suggested teens build a fundraising activity around personal skills or hobbies. Remember the Argument Clinic, a Monty Python sketch in which John Cleese is paid to have a debate with Michael Palin (sample dialogue: “This isn't an argument!” “Yes, it is.” “No, it isn't - it's just contradiction.”)? Daughter could clean up on that front, although to be fair, she never charges at home.   

When Daughter was little, parents of teens would often tell me: “They still need you, just in different ways.” Right now, these include encouraging her to tackle her Duke of Edinburgh award, organise her summer work experience and remember where she left her glasses/school tie.  

The other night, I “helped” her, or rather offered emotional support, with her homework. It was trigonometry. A medal? Why thank you, I’ll take it.  

I last tackled trig 35 years ago, and hoped I would never have to do so again. I have forgotten every scrap of it since – traumatic amnesia, I reckon.  

I watched the videos, which relied on a basic understanding of the subject. Sadly, it was all Greek to me – literally.  

“What’s it even for?” I wailed via social media. A few answers came back: roofing, joinery, set building. All confirmed that trig is one of those things you have to learn, in case you turn out to be good at it and want to do something that requires it – or, if you are terrible at it, choose a career path that avoids it at all costs.

Unfortunately, the only way to find out is to do it. “It’s a bit like French,” said a friend. (Mais j’adore le francais!)  

“All I remember about trigonometry is using a protractor and a pair of compasses,” said a friend in a similar parental position. Isn’t that geometry, though? “That would be why I was no help at all,” he laughed. 

“I bet you remember pi, though,” said an old schoolfriend. I do – just not what it’s actually for. 

Anyway, you’ll have to excuse me. Daughter has a swimming lesson, and Mum Taxis has been booked for five minutes’ time (free of charge).  

No rest for the wicked...