Does Obama get stressed when it’s back to school?

Now we know what’s in US President Barack Obama’s wardrobe. He said recently, when interviewed by Vanity Fair magazine, that he wears only grey or blue suits: “I don’t want to make decisions about what I’m eating or wearing. Because I have too many other decisions to make.”

I’m pretty sure it’s Obama’s wife who handles their daughters’ school affairs. And that’s not just because he’s President- Kristina Chetcuti

Now, let it be said that I am an ardent Obama fan (possibly the last one on earth), but I found this a tad baffling. What other choice of suit colours do men politicians have? Orange? Pink with a touch of mauve?

But his argument, him being Obama (the Great), is very valid. He said research shows that the simple act of making decisions hinders one’s ability to make further decisions.

“It’s why shopping is so exhausting. You need to focus your decision-making energy. You need to routinise yourself. You can’t be going through the day distracted by trivia,” he said.

And right he is. For the very same reason, my summer wardrobe consists of: a blue dress with stripy sleeves, a blue wrap dress, yet another blue dress with little flowers, and oh, another six or seven other blue dresses.

Perhaps the political parties with their penchant for the colour blue have brainwashed me (Michelle Muscat even paints her toe nails blue!), or perhaps, as Google tells me, I want to be “peaceful yet cold, calming and standoffish, creative but conservative”.

But the truth behind my colour scheme is the Obama mantra. It’s for practicality’s sake.

What are the chances that I’ll wake up at 6am confident, sunny and perky enough to slip on a bright yellow dress? Once every (blue) moon. It’s best to play colour safe, I say, than experiment with the accessories.

I pare down on lots of other decisions: I supermarket-shop once a month; clothes-shop one afternoon every season; my shoes are all flats; and I haven’t changed my breakfast cereal in five years.

I’ll stop here because I am perfectly aware that I sound like the town’s bore. But my point is, that despite all this narrowing down of choices, the beginning of autumn still stresses me like no other thing. It’s the back-to-school fever and the avalanche of decisions that come with it.

Obama is probably oblivious to all this: I’m pretty sure it’s his wife who handles their daughters’ school affairs. And that’s not just because he’s President.

I have yet to meet a father who’s stressed out – knackered yes, tired yes, but not really exasperated by the sheer change that the school term routine brings with it. Most dads, bless them, have a pretty cheery “What? What should I be worried about?” kind of look.

This contrasts acutely with mothers, who at this time of year go around with dark circles under their eyes, hair frazzled, and a look of “I-need-a-holiday-get-me-out-of-here”. I should know, I just looked in the mirror.

If you’d care to join my girlfriends’ conversation at this time of year, it’s insane. Politics, gossip, relationships, laughter – it’s all out of the window. Instead we’re standing there, constantly swapping after-school activity timetables and discussing road maps and how to avoid traffic, and giving each other tips on the best way to wake up cheery at 6am and not dose off in front of telly by 9pm. We tire ourselves out just talking about it.

Why do we do this to ourselves? It’s the anxiety which comes with all the decisions that need to be taken in a short span.

Do I ferry my child to school? Or pay for the van? What days shall I work? Shall we go for ballet/football/ swimming/art/music? Would we manage more than one after-school activity? Will there be time for fun and play?

Please do not think of us as tiger mummies – goodness, no. We just believe it’s important for children to start nurturing some artistic or sports passions. Plus, we spend ages trying to synch our activities, so that we, the parents, have time for ourselves, to retreat to Palazzo Parisio for tea while they’re at catechism, for example. Or to go for a spot of power-walking while children are ‘balleting’.

And we’re also safety nets for each other: in this age where cousins are becoming rarer, we are like aunties to each others’ children. My friend’s daughter, in fact, calls me Mummy Three (Two is her aunt, and One is, of course, the original).

Give us till the end of October and we’ll be back to our serene, few-decisions-to-make Obama mood. That will last approximately until Christmas time, also known as The Stressful Buying Presents Period. But this year I’m adamant: blue shirts for everyone.

krischetcuti@gmail.com