ISLAND LIFE…

Oh the joys of (working) motherhood!

By Sabine Cassar-Alpert

1992. “Maaa…!” The long drawn-out yell, originating in Jeremy’s bedroom, reverberates through the entire house and arrives in the kitchen downstairs strong enough to raise my heart rate. Only six years old, Jeremy’s voice is still fresh and unspent!

“Aaaaw,” I try yelling back, not half as vigorously, leaving a trailing cough behind in my battered throat. In a fleeting thought I find myself wondering why we never thought of installing an intercom system.

“Did you forget to iron my shirt again?” This mustn’t be mistaken for a question – it’s an accusation, and it makes me cringe. I don’t even try to answer. Forcing myself to remain totally calm, I slam ham and cheese onto the buttered bread slices, followed by a couple of lettuce leaves, lest I be accused of ignoring my son’s nutritional needs. For a while I had put considerable effort into creating more interesting sandwiches, but fresh foodstuffs are a rarity at a day’s end. Trying to fit in grocery shopping in the morning would border on the insane!

Exactly how we manage to shut the door behind us in time every morning has always been a mystery to me. I even think of leaving the garbage bag by the door in the hope that John, my husband, will have time to come home for his lunch break and take it out. Leaving it out in the street in the morning will cost a warden’s ticket – as will taking it out after collection time at 3 pm. Yes, three o’clock in the afternoon!

1994. “Maaaaa!!” I can actually feel the double exclamation marks in the depths of my stomach. My reply, “Aw,” is almost a whisper to myself, certainly no exclamation. During the years since Jeremy started school I’ve learnt to save my energy when it’s not worth wasting.

“You didn’t forget about parents’ day today, did you?” No, not a question – positively an accusation! But wait. I couldn’t have forgotten it because I most definitely did not know about it! “What parents’ day?!” Certainty about my non-failure lends new strength to my voice! Well, while undoubtedly he can be a pain in the backside, Jeremy is a fair person, even at the tender age of eight. “Sorry mum,” his voice suddenly changes into a mumble while he slowly descends the stairs and produces a worn piece of paper from his trouser pocket, “I forgot to give you the note yesterday…”

Yesterday…? Quite unsuccessfully I’m trying to hide my fury about the teachers’ complete oblivion to a parent’s right to life outside school. Woe betide you if you stay absent from the all important parents’ day, which, by the way, has never given me a single new insight into my son’s school life.

1996. “Ma, don’t forget I have exams at 2 o’clock!” Sigh… “Ok Jerry, but make sure you’re standing by the door at one thirty sharp!” God bless our public transport that stops existing between 11.45 am and 4.45 pm. Oh well. There goes another lunch break. Fifteen minutes to get home, twenty-five to get to school and back to work. Well, plenty of time to eat a couple of sandwiches in the car, really… Is it actually legal to eat while driving?

I don’t say any of this aloud. It’s not fair to add to the stress he already has with his entry exams for the junior lyceum. But hey, what an excellent opportunity to get the garbage out punctually!

2003. A glorious year: Jeremy is joining the island’s workforce! Shamelessly I celebrate the end of my taxi services. Alas, the joy is short-lived. How could I forget after all these years that there is no such thing as a free lunches and functional public transport? At 17 years, Jeremy cannot drive himself to work. He can’t get to work punctually by bus either. There are two options. Let him drive illegally or continue my chauffeurs’ duties for another year…

2005. Epilogue. Text message from Jeremy: “hi mom, can u give me lift 2 ferry 2nite? going 2 mla 4 weekend with friends, don’t want 2 leave car in mgarr”.