I was too cool for the school WhatsApp group… until I started one

She rolled her eyes, hit mute, and vowed never to become one of those parents. But one unexpected season of junior basketball was all it took to break her.

It started with basketball. It ended with me becoming the group chat boss I swore I'd never be.

For over a decade, I held the line.

Through four kids, countless school years and a blur of extracurricular activities that could rival the Olympic Games, I remained strong.

While the other parents were “just popping this here so it doesn’t get lost” in the class WhatsApp group, I was over here muting it like my sanity depended on it.

Because it did.

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My phone could’ve moonlighted as a personal massager

She rolled her eyes, hit mute, and vowed never to become one of those parents. But one unexpected season of junior basketball was all it took to break her.Netball, soccer, AFL, jiu-jitsu - we’ve done it all. Sometimes all at once.

Each sport came with its own chat. Each team with its own thread. Each coach with their own preferred app, platform or barely-functioning spreadsheet.

I once had so many notifications I’m pretty sure my phone could’ve moonlighted as a personal massager.

It buzzed constantly:

“What time is training?”

“What colour shirts this week?”

“Can someone give Timmy a lift?”

“What time’s the game again?”

“Who’s on oranges?”

I’d skim the messages just enough to know whether we were meant to be at the south or north fields and if we were responsible for halftime fruit. Then I’d throw my phone across the couch and go back to pretending I wasn’t involved in any of it.

But then something happened. A quiet miracle, if you will.

This year, my older three aged out of most of their extra-curriculars. Just like that, the family calendar started looking… manageable. Empty-ish.

For the first time in years, I thought: we’ve done it. No more Tuesday night soccer training in the rain. No more 7am Sunday warmups. No more brr-brr-brrr of group chat alerts announcing last-minute field changes or calling for a goalie.

Bliss.

My youngest, 11, even said he didn’t want to play a weekend sport anymore. And who was I to argue? I nodded solemnly and whispered “Amen.”  

Image: Supplied

I started a WhatsApp group

Enter: The Basketball Bloke. 

He came to school to run some after school skills and drills which my little guy wanted to take part in, and suddenly, my child was obsessed. So were his mates. Every afternoon it was “Mum, can we start a team? Mum, pleeeeeease?” And I did what any seasoned parent would do: I waited for someone else to organise it.

They didn’t.

The begging continued. And continued. And continued.

So, I looked into it. Found a couple of local comps. Shared the info casually at the school gate. Surely one of the other parents would take the reins?

They didn’t.

So I cracked. I started a WhatsApp group.

I started a WhatsApp group.

After years of mocking them, muting them, and swearing I’d never be that parent, I voluntarily created one. I collected numbers. Shared the info I had found. Asked questions. Linked maps. Gave the chat a name: ‘Basketball parents’. I don’t even recognise myself anymore.

And of course, everyone was keen. They all signed up their kids. They all thanked me. I’d become… useful. Worse - I’d become organised. 

Image: Supplied

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We all become that mum eventually.

As the freelancer with the flexible schedule, I offered to drive the boys to games. I was happy to do it, but what this meant was more chatting. Then the team needed a coach, so I signed up my husband. This meant even more chatting. I was sharing game times, carpool info, uniform reminders. I was reminding people when sign-up deadlines were looming.

I’d become the boss of the very type of group chat I’d sworn to avoid.

It got me. It took a while but it got me in the end.

I don’t know when it happened exactly. One minute I was scoffing at people who posted multi-paragraph messages on a thread with 23 parents and zero replies. The next I was that person, reminding everyone to pack water bottles and “check the updated draw!”

I’m not even mad. I’m just… defeated.

Parenthood has this sneaky way of eroding the lines in the sand we once drew so confidently. I used to think I was a “cool mum” - not in a leather jacket and tequila shots way, just in a don’t get sucked into the chaos way. But it turns out, the chaos always wins. Especially when your kid’s eyes light up over a sport and all he needs is someone to help make it happen.

And if that means I become the admin of a group chat, well… so be it.

I still mute it. But I also send reminders. I still roll my eyes. But I add the heart and basketball emojis like my life depends on it.

We all start out thinking we’ll be different - above it, somehow. But the truth is, we all become that mum eventually. The one who knows the draw, has the coach’s number, and organises the carpool.

It’s not a personality flaw. It’s love. It’s survival. It’s parenting.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a message to send: “Hey team! Just popping this here so it doesn’t get lost…”

Originally published as I was too cool for the school WhatsApp group… until I started one