The Everyday Housewife.....

Where I come from, this lady is everywhere, and any when. Such is the life of the everyday housewife. Nameless, faceless, a middle suburban mother of four children who grew up too fast. Once they were babes in arms. The everyday housewife had proudly brought them all home, one by one, from the maternity unit.

Now they are teens, all of them. Not such good planning, regrets the everyday housewife, as she awakens one Saturday morning. Teen A, her senior heir to her absent husband, is a loud proud male, with his own car. It is a noisy, but reliable old bomb. Much like the everyday housewife. Teen B, her 17 year old attractive daughter, wishes to be a shopping mall at 9 am. It is 20 minutes drive away. Her two younger daughters, Teens C and D, are due to play at basketball stadium in the opposite direction, also a 9 am.

"On with the show!" thinks the everyday housewife. This is her logistical nightmare. She hurriedly dresses in yesterday's fleecy tracksuits, and her cleanest dirty shirt. Who has time for showers and manicures? Her waistline is long gone anyway. The everyday housewife waves a brush at her mane of hair.

Rousing her teens, she rallies her resources and commences her everyday task as suburban taxi driver. This is only the start of her day. All four teens have planned a hectic schedule, finally heading off to three separate parties tonight, all needing to be collected at 1 am, when the everyday housewife should really be home in bed.

This long day yawns ahead. Many cross words were said, while the everyday housewife's son was still sound asleep, hidden under a mountain of vaguely foul-smelling clothes. Her three daughters are still cat-fighting over who was sitting in the front seat. All quite normal. On with the show!

Disaster! A flat battery for the no-go zone car. Quick thinking necessary here. The everyday housewife speedily grabs her son's car keys, submerged under a pile of orange peel in the sink. Sorting her young ladies, all muttering curses by now, blaming their mother, she hopes the old bomb has fuel.

The everyday housewife roars off to the basketball stadium. Her oldest daughter is having quite a hissy fit. She was supposed to meet her friends ten minutes ago. Life-threatening. But got there. The everyday housewife attempts to accompany her designer teen to the shops.

But no. Teen B points to a coffee shop firmly. "Don't be embarrassing. I'll text you when you can come to the cash register. Have you got both credit cards?" Teen B plunges into shop-till-you-drop, hoping her socially mobile circle of gals had not caught sight of her mother in her frowsy threads.

"Embarrassing....' thinks the everyday housewife, sitting at the table behind a pot plant in the corner of the cafe. Ah, muffins. God is still good, carbs do exist. The everyday housewife is eventually summoned to the cash register with her credit cards, lips zipped. She is not letting those cards from her clutches. Got to think normal.

Finally, by 11 am, the everyday housewife taxi driver returns Teens B, C and D home. She has not even sorted a mechanic for the flat battery. Her Teen A son flings open the front door, an incredible sulk. "Where's my petrol money?" he demands. Good question, rudely asked.

The everyday housewife opens her purse, and a little grey moth flies away, wings glistening in the Saturday sunshine. Next door, the yummy mummy waves chirpily, as she pops her bundle of joy in her wheels. "I'm off to aqua aerobics." "You'll learn," mutters the everyday housewife taxi driver, bitterly, 'you'll learn...." This was all perfectly normal. Such is the life of the everyday housewife.

This situation called for desperate solutions. The everyday housewife postpones lunch, and phones her very busy mechanic.

"You're in luck today. I have a spare battery all fired up and ready to rock and roll. But you have to pick me and the battery up by 12 noon. That's when my mate is picking me up for the car rallies this afternoon. Hope you get here on time."

The mechanic hung up, back to his repairs. Times were tough. The everyday housewife hurries upstairs, and forages for her emergency credit card, the only one with any credit on it. She has to pick up the mechanic, pronto.

Still clutching the car keys, with one eye on her watch, the everyday housewife leaves all her teens to self-cater for once. "I am not taking the kitchen!" she yells. She has to fill her son's jalopy with petrol and zoom across suburbia to her local workshop. This is vital, more life-threatening.Her son and eldest daughter have afternoon delights to attend, plus the parties tonight. No way is her son driving on Saturday night.

Foot on the pedal, the everyday housewife dodges traffic, sort of speeding where possible, while avoiding any infringement tickets. She has to roar round corners, street after street. She wonders why the other motorists are driving so slow, dawdling.

"Hurry up, lazy drivers!" They could not hear, just as well.

Yes, fist pump! The everyday housewife makes it in time. She drives the mechanic and the battery back home, after swiping away her credit. She shall have to slave for the next 1000 years to recover this little lot.

All that proceeds well. Her son is consigned to take her eldest daughter in his ancient wheels, while her other daughters invade the shower. Each of them take at least half an hour each, washing themselves, adding gel, and using the last shampoo on Earth. The everyday housewife might get a shower if the hot water system ever recovers. The other two teens arrive home to prepare themselves for a night of teen fun. It was time to cook a decent meal for once.

Sad, but true, sometimes the everyday housewife realizes she has turned into her mother, wasting thought on fresh vegetables. Really, Brussel Sprouts are a disgusting food group.

"Ski the bumps, kids," the everyday housewife said, "into the car. I have checked. There is no way you are ever going to a parent-free party. Don't even dream about it." Her fun wheels head off to their teen Saturday night. She returns home, to face loads of washing, a cold shower, and her ongoing job as a taxi driver for her kids. It is only a routine day in the suburban life of an everyday housewife.

But then, surprise! On her pillow is a bunch of straggly daisies from the apathetic garden she never has time to weed. Her kids leave her a note, "Love you, Mum. Thanks!"

All perfectly normal, where I come from.......