Carol’s Column

Come the revolution

IT is time for revolution. Mother’s Day is just not good enough. What we really need is Mother’s Year.

There’s been Year of the Back, Year of the Disabled, Year of the Children, so why not Year of the Mother? Something to get your molars into.

Even better. We need a trade union. The Trade Union for Mothers which would be known as TUM.

I thought about it the other day when I saw Agnes Sogwick fetching Warwick.

“Can’t talk,” she yelled as she shot off in her beat-up car with the wired together boot. “Got to get Warwick to judo, then fetch Gertrude and take her to ballet, get the wood for the shelves, re-charge the battery and fetch Horace’s shoes.”

All around me mothers were scurrying, hurrying and fetching.

I poured myself a rum and orange juice, phoned my good friend Betty, and suggested TUM.

“It’s time for change,” I said to her, “motherhood has to have a rethink. We’re exploited to the hilt. Enough is enough.”

“Hang on,” she screeched, “I can’t hear you, the fridge is making a peculiar sound.”

She was back in 10 minutes.

“The cooling unit wasn’t functioning. The motor went on the blink so I quickly changed the bearings and did a rewire job.”

“That’s exactly my point,” I said. “Mothers are exploited. Why didn’t you call the fridge man?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “It would take him two weeks and it would cost more than the fridge itself. Besides, I’ve been fixing it for years.”

“There you are,” I said. “We cook, wash, clean, fix, schlepp, work, care. We work an average 16-hour day, with no overtime. We are cost effective and efficient and totally exploited.”

“Hear, hear,” hiccuped Betty.

So TUM was formed. We phoned around and within two days had a membership of 391.

The stories of exploitation were pitiful.

“Every day I spend eight hours in my car transporting kids here, there and everywhere,” wept one mother.

“I have invented 745 different ways to serve mince. I am about to have a nervous breakdown,” cried another.

“If my husband walks through the door once more and says ‘I’ve had a hard day,’ I’ll take a breadknife and stab him in his kneecaps,” wailed a third.

Throughout the country, mothers downed their brooms, cast aside their ironing boards, left the rims on collars and baths and tucked their knees together tight.

A TUM constitution has been drawn up.

Briefly, Mothering would be clearly defined and a job description would be compiled to act as a guideline.

- Mothers would work a strict eight-hour day and five-day week. - In the event of overtime, adequate compensation would be paid, either in the form of remuneration or time off. - Extraneous activities such as catering, coaching and cuddling would be regarded as overtime.

Meanwhile, today is Mother’s Day.

Outside the bedroom I hear sounds of family activity. Much rustling, giggling and shuffling. I think they want to wish me happy Mother’s day.

Too bad. They’ll have to wait. I’m off duty.

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