Likes Of Tykes Start My Book" We Don't Let Dorothy Crack The Eggs Anymore"

PREFACE:

Whether you have a mild child or a wild child, mothers are sisters under the skin these kids get under.

We are all in the same boat and I'm afraid it's name is the Titanic. We're being sunk by little everyday disasters.

They call us Mother but I call us Referees. Raising kids and sand simultaneously.

Never have so many experts written so much about raising children. We read them and what happens? We go on groping and coping and hoping they'll outgrow childhood.

What's the worst stage a child goes through? The one he's going through now. From the time they eat their clothes and wear their food, right up until they're wearing your clothes, kids because the most glorious changes in your life.

And while they are growing up, we grow right along with them. They tie us down nights and up in knots.
Raising kids is a survival course with all kinds of theories which I can never remember to use at the right time. Th*is is how I've groped...

CHAPTER ONE: RENT-A-MOTHER

One out of every three workers in America the beautiful is a woman.

And if you wonder what the other mothers are doing, don't.

Maybe I should change that statistic to read "one out of every three PAID workers" because the housewife works. But housewife is a misnomer.

Who spends time in a house anymore?

Show me a mother and I'll show you a chauffeur-without-license.

Show me a mother with sons in different Khoury leagues, a daughter taking tap and one in Brownies and I'll show you a mental basket case.

Who needs a garage anyway? The car's always on the road.

Which brings us to the Working Mother's Dilemma.

Car pools are run swimmingly by non-working mothers who divvy up kids and mileage, quasi-supply and demand. In truth, does it ever work out to your supply when I demand?

Working mother can't trade off time-on-wheels. And even non-workers get backed to the wall with conflicts, like Junior's playing a game in Homestead, the baby's got the flu, the washing machine broke and who's going to watch Lisa perform in the school's Easter play?

Rent-A-Mother.

Why not? I can see it now. A club of mothers-for-hire, who not only drive their clients to batting practice or ballet classes, but sit and watch, applaud like mad, give kids a cheering section.

Rent-A-Mother.

The hand that rocked the cradle can grip the steering wheel and offer solace if the best team lost.

Rent-A-Mother can become the handy-dandy replacement for yesteryear's baby-sitter. Babysitting is obsolete when the babies leave the nest, before they're able to fly.

"What I need is a chauffeur!" confess my fellow (or is it sister?) mothers.

If they Rent-A-Mother on wheels, they get built-in compassionate nose-wipers and tear-driers. Not to mention willing hands, watchful eyes and eager ears.

By harnessing all available woman power, we can up that one-out-of-three statistic. Charge whatever the traffic will bear! Get mothers out of the house! Let us put you in the Mother's Seat. Rental Help means Mental Health. (The slogans are endless)

Think of it: more mothers being useful, making money: More people buying. More people selling. Income gets higher on this kind of hire.

Rent-A-Mother could become a million-dollar concern. Just watch some man come along and run with the idea.