This isn't precisely the way it happened. It's the way it should've happened. So, for Mother's Day, a scene that was - how do they put it in Hollywood? - inspired by a true story:
I sit in the unenviable, too-close-for-comfort middle seat on a flight bound for Toronto from Vancouver. Seated on my right is a smartly dressed, briefcase sporting businesswoman. On my left is a quick-fingered computer junkie who's laptop is worn like an appendage.
I offer my copy of a recent magazine to the woman. On the cover is a picture of a beleaguered businesswoman attempting to juggle her cellphone, toddler and briefcase: an illustration of the so-called Supermom of the millenium. I'm not interested in the article. I'm tired of the who-works-harder debate: the stay-at-home mom versus the at-the-office mom. I figure it's a stalemate and a stale discussion. Having worked both sides of the fence, I understand the demands placed on either career choice. Women and men from both camps work equally hard and all want the best for their children.
The woman is also uninterested in the magazine. So we stare uncomfortably at the back of the roughly upholstered seats. The computer wizard continues to tap impressively on his keyboard. Finally, I make some attempt at conversation.
"Are you on a business trip?" I ask, sure of the response.
She nods. Needing no more prompting, she adds that she is the director of research at a pharmaceutical company. She's currently overseeing a clinical trial of a new medication.
"Very impressive." I'm humbled by her credentials.
The woman's response piques the interest of our computer genius. Barely missing a beat, he joins the conversation, informing us that he's the president of his own computer consulting firm. The two upscale professionals relish their discussion on the trials and tribulations of upper management.
Noticing my lack of involvement, the man direct the conversation towards me. "What did you say your job was?"
Unfortunately, my job title lacks the sophistication associated with the professions of my new travel companions. But I press ahead. "I am director of family operations," I reply.
"Director of family relations - hmm, interesting. What company?" the man asks.
"It's the Logan Agency. I'm sure you've never heard of it. It's a non-profit organization dedicated to the intellectual, spiritual and physical well-being of children."
"Sounds like a worthy cause," the woman says. "But what does the director of family relations actually do?"
"I wear several hats," I tell them. "I am a manager, teacher, health provider. I organize chair meetings on a variety of topics such as stress management, sibling rivalry and coping with the terrible twos. I also promote and educate on basic hygiene, nutrition and dental practices. A great deal of time is spent, however, on conflict resolution and the provision of a decent transportation service."
"You're pretty busy," the man says.
"Time management is crucial. I often work late. But my greatest challenge is providing these services on a meagre budget."
"I'm impressed," the woman says. "It's tough having to juggle so many tasks."
Identifying a new networking oppurtunity, the computer consultant offers to demonstrate his new computer program.
"It's guaranteed to lighten the workload," he says.
"If it'll do the laundry, I'll buy it," I say. He assumes I'm joking and hands me his business card.
"Does your company accept financial donations?" the woman asks. "Perhaps our company could help the cause."
"Thanks. I'm sure we could use the extra money but our ethics committee won't allow it," I say.
"Won't allow it? Why not?" she asks.
So I apologize and come clean. "OK, the Logan Agency is actually the Logan family, and the director of family operations is my official title for full-time stay-at-home mom. I declared myself director in order to command more respect in the workplace."
My travel companions appear perplexed. Finally the woman smiles.
"My husband will love his new title," she says. "He's been staying at home with our children for six years and he's always asking for more respect."
The man looks thoughtful. "I fear I've been a bit negligent," he says. Then he chuckles, "I must give my wife a raise - and my mother a severance package."
