Mum's Two Jobs: CEO of Chaos and Queen of Cold Tea.

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Let me tell you something about mums, They’ve two jobs, apparently. Two! That’s what the brochure says. One: look after the children The other: everything else on the bloody planet!

Now, looking after the kids, that’s not just nappies and lullabies, is it? No! It’s psychological warfare. You’re negotiating with a three-year-old who thinks trousers are optional and spaghetti belongs on the ceiling. You’re like a hostage negotiator with a juice carton. “Put down the crayon, son. Step away from the dog.”

And then everything else! What does that even mean? It’s like the universe went, “Here, love, you’re in charge now.” Bills, birthdays, broken boilers, Brexit, baking for the PTA, and finding socks that match. And not just socks the right socks. Because apparently, if you send your kid to school in dinosaur socks instead of rocket socks, you’re a monster.

She has to be a chef, a chauffeur, a nurse, a therapist, a referee, and a bloody magician. “Mum, where’s my homework?” “I dunno, maybe it’s in the Bermuda Triangle with your sense of responsibility!”

And the multitasking! She’s making dinner, answering emails, and simultaneously preventing World War III between siblings arguing over who gets the blue cup. The blue cup,! It’s like the Holy Grail of domestic diplomacy.

Meanwhile, Dad’s in the corner like, “I emptied the dishwasher.” Oh, congratulations, Hercules! Shall we carve that on your gravestone?

So yes, two jobs. But really, it’s one job: being a mum. And that job? It’s the most underpaid, overworked, emotionally explosive gig on Earth. And she does it all while wearing a dressing gown and drinking cold tea. That’s not a job it’s a bloody superpower.


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