Susie O’Brien: Book Week has become another parental pressure test, not a celebration of reading

Book Week was meant to celebrate reading – but now it measures parental love in sequins, glue-gun burns and last-minute trips to the $2 shop.

Book Week is the ultimate con, measuring the love and dedication of parents one colour-matched sequin at a time.

Is your child wearing a hand-sewn Hungry Caterpillar costume with the right number of legs?

Top marks! You’re a great parent who really cares about what makes your kids happy!

Did you spend a week handmaking a Bluey costume to out-Blue every other Bluey fan? Well done!

Or is your kid going as the Chicken Jockey from Minecraft with a rip-off costume bought from the $2 shop at the last minute?

You don’t really love your kids, do you?

There are many parenting websites full of tips on how to create Book Week costumes, offering invaluable hints on how to sew, create and use hot-glue guns without getting third-degree burns.

But there’s no advice for those who remember it’s Book Week at 8.30am.

BOOK WEEK COMPETITION: Enter our competition to find the best Book Week costume in each state

My son’s half-arsed Harry Potter costume ready for Book Week. Picture: Susie O’Brien

Where’s the help for parents who need to whip up a costume in five minutes flat with only items found in the vegetable crisper, the wardrobe and the linen closet?

Where’s the advice for parents of kids who don’t want to dress up, don’t like reading and can’t think of anyone to go as?

And I’ve seen no tips to help parents of kids who totally lose it ten minutes before they are due to leave, as they discover the costume they thought they were going to wear no longer fits and anyway they’ve lost the pirate sword/magician’s wand/Harry Potter glasses.

I was derailed one year by my youngest – who was all set to go as Batman – informing me there was a ban on superheroes at exactly 8.35am.

Yes, a ban.

That’s right, people, we have a common enemy, and it is a six-year-old with undies over his pants and a batarang in his hand.

That left us just 15 minutes to think of a character from a book that took no effort, no money, no time and no pressure.

In the end he tied a piece of shiny material over his shoulders left over from my daughter’s Little Miss Sunshine dodgy dance phase and went as a magician.

Then we spent the last ten minutes desperately trying to find a book about magic for him to take.

Gee, who needs pressure like this on a Monday morning?

He then spent the next five years of primary school going as Harry Potter wearing exactly the same half-arsed costume made up of items found around the house.

Look! Same costume, different year. Harry Potter makes an appearance at another Book Week parade. Picture: Susie O’Brien

I am really happy for the parents who have the time, money and skills to spend the best part of a month scouring op shops for accessories, doing 100 hours of sewing and 50 hours posting every step on Facebook.

Good for them, and I mean that.

It’s just a pity that some of them aren’t as understanding of the need for the rest of us to hand our kids a saucepan as they walk out the door and make them go as Enid Blyton’s Saucepan Man. (So what if they’ve never heard of Enid Blyton?)

Who’s got the time or energy for effort and innovation these days? Give me Slacker Mum over Sanctimonious Mum any day.

As I see it, the pressure of an event like Book Week takes away from the books it’s meant to be celebrating.

Instead of Book Week, some schools are having a “drop everything and read day”.

Kids come to school dressed in pyjamas and bring along their favourite books to read. Older and younger kids are paired up and spend the day together eating popcorn and lying around on beanbags reading.

Sounds great to me: Come To School Dressed in Pyjamas Week.

Now that’s MY idea of a school event – no hot glue gun required.

Originally published as Susie O’Brien: Book Week has become another parental pressure test, not a celebration of reading