THE SCHOOL RUN(WAY)
Natalie Broadley (left)
Mum to Yasmin (3) and Logan (1)
Simple, classic winter colours and preferably clean is how I would sum up my go to school run style! A comfortable uniform consisting of a variety of skinny jeans with a striped top/jumper, my Chelsea tan boots and my old faithful Zara padded coat. It looks together even though most days it can be a struggle to get out of the door on time. With a diva of a three year old who often demands Elsa or Anna plaits, with bows of course, there is very little time left for her baby brother let alone myself. I’ve got a very quick make up routine down to a fine art, using a powder foundation for speed, (Don’t mistake your bronzer for powder like I did one day - no healthy glow just more of a tangoed look!) a lick of mascara, blush and a tinted lip balm. Great for the frosty mornings to keep my lips soft with a subtle colour. A jean and loose top combination is the key look at the school, with some much smarter mums who must be up at the crack of dawn to be so together before they head to work. My main tip is planning the night before, get your outfit hung on the wardrobe door and get up 15 minutes before the children to get ahead. Oh and have time for a much needed coffee!
Gemma Ambidge (right)
Mum to Mary (8)
I wake up and assess the damage of yet again forgetting to take my make up off before falling asleep face down in bed. I’ve heard of these satin pillowcases that are supposed to delay aging and stop you from getting bedhead, but honestly, I can’t get my head around having bedding that doesn’t match and as it’s not the 70s I’m not going full satin.
My 8 year old daughter wakes with hair resembling Beetle Juice and we enjoy a 5 minute discussion on whether we have time to wash our hair or if we can tie it in a ponytail and hide behind our respective school / work desks all day.
I can manage eye make up every day in the shape of Revlon felt tip type eye liner and some L’Oreal Mascara. I only felt grown up enough to buy my first foundation in February this year so I’m still getting to grips with trying to blend it in with my fingers or a brush. I can take or leave lipstick, takeaway coffee cups lids leave with me too much anxiety to risk brave it every day.
I need to grow up and sometimes I do. When I wash my hair, get brave with a tong, try harder with a foundation (bobbi brown), be patience with eyeliner on top of a natural colour eyeshadow, and use a natural lip liner I swear I will always make this much effort.
There’s things I could like to do:
Watch a hair and make up tutorial on you tube
Learn what a highlighter is (it’s not a neon pen)
Practise blusher so that I don’t look like Aunt Sally – I have the freckles
Wear a facemask
Buy make up somewhere that isn't Superdrug
Marie Leonard (middle)
Mum to Romily (8)
Speaking as one of life’s spectacularly inelegant human beings – and therefore no authority on style whatsoever – I genuinely believe there is no situation that can’t be improved by the addition of leopard print. This trusty furry beast of a coat has rescued many a traumatic school run. Much like the age-old technique of carrying an enormous handbag to make you look smaller, the sheer size and loudness of my coat detracts enough attention from my stress furrows to see me from door-to-door without anyone realising I’ve spent from 6-7:30am repeating “for the love of god will you PLEASE get dressed/eat your breakfast/brush your teeth/take that off your head!”
Its softness can disarm a tantrum in less than 20 seconds (“Give Mummy a cuddle. You’ll feel better, I promise”) and I’m fairly certain it has wacky time and space curving voodoo abilities, as it never seems to stain or mark, despite my daughters best efforts. On stuffing my hands in my pockets, I marvel at the unidentifiable matter, small pieces of colourful plastic and the occasional rogue lipstick. Every time I empty them I worry that I am depriving our scientific community of a world of new discoveries.
Once the daily drama of delivering our child to school is complete, I can serenely curl up inside my coat and snooze on the train. It’s my very own faux-furry, portable sensory deprivation tank of joy.