Dialogue: Just another day in life of a mum

By ROANNE PARKER

Tucked up in bed on Saturday morning as children bounce off walls in next room, cast mind back over past 36 hours. Begin to shake uncontrollably and look around for origins of strange wailing noise until realise it comes from self.

Thursday, pick up kids from after-school care at 6 pm (last mother there) and drive home frantically, wondering if can summon energy for argument immemorial with children concerning need to wash every night.

Decide if can win argument, can buy enough time while shower running over kids to heat baked beans and grill cheese on toast.

Train of thought interrupted by 6-year-old asking what she should do with impressively sized lump of snot retrieved from nose and now stuck on tip of tiny finger. Tell her to wait as have no tissues and am driving. Argue vehemently at her counter suggestion to lower window and wipe it on side of car. Decide school uniform needs a wash anyway and suggest she wipe it on her leggings. Am told that she already has.

Get in door and wonder why children cannot seem to assist at all with household chores despite or more probably because of mother's constant but fundamentally weak protestations that we are a family and must work together. Foolishly suggest child may like to help by vacuuming living room.

Child gets vacuum out and spends 10 minutes pulling cord out and pushing button to make it whiplash around legs as it rewinds.

Child then turns on vacuum, showing inappropriate disrespect for electric plug socket. Takes vacuum for a stroll around the house, casting into bondage any item of furniture, sibling or furry beast that may get in the way of cord or hose. Vacuum makes great deal of noise, therefore child happily convinced something must be happening.

Child soon bored and decides to vacuum up pesky siblings and $500 worth of Lego. Finally turns contraption off, leaving cord draped around house as novelty of rewind button now well and truly over. Enter room to see all flotsam firmly attached to floor as before.

Proceed in blur to bedtime. Consider regular dilemma of whether it is fair to turn out light when all children sitting in bed like little angels voraciously reading War and Peace-sized volumes of critically acclaimed prose wholly appropriate to their age level.

Wonder yet again why same children scorn reading so much as the cornflake packet unless it is after bedtime and Mum is aching to have them sleep.

Put self to bed to try to ward off flu cloud hanging over head. Ignore shivering aching body, pop mega-dose vitamin C, put head on pillow. Child-sized moaning begins, and continues all night, despite appealing photos of sleeping children on packaging of various medication administered four-hourly by Dr Mum.

Note gratefully extra washing avoided at 4 am as child proudly describes volume of vomit she managed to hold in her mouth while running to bathroom and spit in toilet bowl without spilling a drop. Own body racked with pain and exhaustion, but not to worry - there's always chance of sleep tomorrow.

Children awake full of beans with no recollection of recent 12-hour coughing fits. Ten- and 8-year-olds remember they both have one last thing to finish for homework. Find two used match-sticks for eyelids and assist with brainstorming ideas for speech competition while patiently waiting for answer to usual question regarding "what on earth can I put in your sandwich so that you will eat it?"

Reflect on own past mocking of mothers who resort to honey when awful children refuse lettuce and tomato because they make lunch soggy. Reach for honey.

Pack school bags while brushing teeth. Get to school for drop-off and note hair dripping down back. Two minutes later, marvel at own brilliance upon invention of new hair-drying technique consisting of driving with windows up tight and aircon on full and all vents directed at region of head, Barry Gibb-style. Blink back tears induced by searing hot air as negotiate slalom around happy-looking blokes with stop/go signs at roadworks.

Arrive at work and wonder at new style as seen in rear-view mirror. Decide ruefully that it's about time Farrah-look in fashion again and, as I survived the last 14 hours, am up to the challenge of being trendsetter for the next nine. Determine not to be the last mum to after-school care today and that fish and chips are perfect for a Friday night.

Skip up the stairs to work and start analysing daily reports ...