Could you imagine the situations vacant ad for motherhood?
Wanted: Female to work from home. Must be able to cook to GCSE level (Great Chips, Sausages and Eggs) and be qualified above HNC (House Needs Cleaning) in Environmental Services. Vivid imagination and the capacity to turn cardboard into countless hours of amusement is essential. Should be prepared to work eighteen-hour days (overtime unpaid), often in hazardous conditions involving noxious fumes and unsanitary fluids. Will be responsible for budgetary control, travel arrangements, entertainment co-ordination, health plans and behaviour management. The ability to work under pressure is mandatory, as is a talent for diffusing stressful situations without the use of audible profanity. Must be a skilled educator with the patience of a religious icon and have the capacity to remain cheerful despite urban warfare, rejection and PMS. Sense of humour required, as is a talent for endless repetition of commands and activities. Basic nursing skills, experience of high-level negotiations, and a demonstrable track record of peacekeeping in volatile situations would be an advantage.
Please note that this is a voluntary position, but lodgings and uniform of stain-resistant fabrics and shapeless fleece jumper is provided.
Somehow, I don’t think they’d need to call in crowd-control officers down at the job centre.
Of course, it’s all worth it for our darling delinquents (or is that just mine?), and none of us would change a single moment of our child-rearing days. Actually, that’s not true – I’d happily skip the whole ‘potty’ period and move straight on to unreasonable tantrums and demands.
One of the biggest perks of the job, though, is Mother’s Day. This Sunday we’ll have a whole twenty-four hours dedicated to showing us how indispensable we are and rewarding us for 364 days of unpaid labour. Commercial nonsense? Most definitely. But it’s in the motherhood code of behaviour that we must milk to the death any amount of sentimental adulation and fawning praise that’s going because we know it doesn’t happen very often. And, besides, you can’t beat soggy Cornflakes in bed and a card made out of old newspaper and string.
I do, however, have one complaint – the prezzies are about as useful as Jimmy Choos in a swamp.
I could quite happily live without another bunch of Esso’s finest blooms. My hips could survive without another box of Quality Street. I want practical presents (however, dear husband, if you confuse this last statement with a plea for any form of kitchen utensil you may lose your life on Sunday).
I want things that make my daily life easier. So I’m putting together a list of invaluable tools and inventions that every mother should have. Manufacturers, shop bosses and marketing bods, please take note.
Top of the list is a megaphone. This is inspired by the fact that my boys, aged four and almost three, have already acquired that man-skill that allows them to tune out all verbal communication that doesn’t involve the subjects of play, sport, food, television or treats.
‘Boys, can you put your clothes in the washing basket please?’
Ignored.
‘Right, guys, it’s bath time.’
Glazed over, non-responsive.
‘Who’d like ice cream?’
Two scud missiles shoot to the freezer. My youngest doesn’t even like ice cream, but he’s still in the ‘copying everything his brother does’ phase.
This extraordinary talent has resulted in recurring throat problems for me as I inevitably end up repeating my request until I’m shrilling like a fishwife in a voice so high-pitched that only the neighbourhood dogs can hear me.
Next on the list of motherhood must-haves is a satellite navigation system for shoes, gloves and hats. If we could pinpoint those items at a moment’s notice, just think how much extra time we’d have in the day – almost enough to replace the toilet seat to a ‘down’ position every time it’s been left up.
And how about a car-wash-type contraption for children? Just stand them on a conveyor belt and two minutes later they come out of the other side, washed, dried and dressed in pristine pyjamas.
Personally, I’d also appreciate a course in acrobatics and contortion that will give me the ability to get a restful night’s sleep on the six inches of mattress that are left after the entire population of the household have climbed into my bed.
And, finally, I want a secret override device for the television remote control.
This has no practical application to my motherhood duties, but it would give me hours of fun watching husband’s puzzled and horrified face when Sky Sports repeatedly flicks over to reruns of Cagney and Lacey.
Oops, forgot to put that in the ad – the undoubted bonus of being able to indulge in childish, nonsensical behaviour whenever it takes your fancy.
Just another little perk to go alongside the soggy Cornflakes in bed and the card made of string.