As a mother of two under-fives, I am put to the test
almost daily. There are some days when I know I won’t make the grade, no matter
what; like when there’s a train journey involved.
The ordeal starts with the crossing of the
overbridge - fairly painless unless you have only two minutes or less left. That
being the norm for me, I have to take the steep steps two at a time carrying
the younger one and a heavy bag and coaxingscoldingcajolingthreatening the older
who will invariably come to a stop to inspect that greenish blob of God-knows-what.
When I make it to the other side, perspiring and
foul-mouthed, I hear the dreaded announcement – the train is late. After an
hour of Lays, Frooty, Appy and similar junk, the train arrives. But as I see it
chugging into the station, my relief melts into trepidation.
