There must be a moral in this somewhere.

Here is the story I promised.

In order for you to understand it, you need me to set the scene a little.

It was mid- summer 1992. I was about 35 weeks pregnant with baby number three, but I was still working.

People would ask me why I hadn't left at the typical 34 week mark, but I replied. 'I've got two three and a half year olds at home. Here, it's air-conditioned and I get to sit down. Where would you rather be?'

That wasn't the only reason though. I had only just resumed my duties seven months before.

Yes, you do the math.

I suspect it had something to do with the fact that we'd gone out and bought ourselves a sorely needed new bed with my first pay cheque ... (koff nuff said.)

So, faced with the prospect of a new baby in seven or eight months and a house that was already too small for two toddlers and us, we had to make a decision. We either had to move - or extend the house.

We weighed up the pros and cons: we liked the house, it was a nice neighbourhood and our neighbours were great, so we decided to stay. So, instead of paying out 10 grand just for the act of moving house, we opted to put that money towards an extension.

If we did some of the work ourselves, we figured we'd be able to add a bedroom and family room, and to also re-jig the kitchen/dining area into a more family friendly layout.

It was still going to be a huge drain on finances, current and future. I'd not been working, except for a brief locum, since the boys were born, so things had been tight for a while. But we decided to bite the bullet and increase the mortgage.

So for the next six months, every cent I earned was poured into extending the house. I honestly don't know how I juggled it all, now that I look back at that time. But each day I'd come home from work at around three, relieve the child carer I'd employed and, once the boys were down for the night ( say at about 8ish), Vaughan and I would do whatever jobs needed to be done in readiness for the builders the next day eg painting etc.

My days were compartmentalised to the nth degree: working, family, building, sleeping.

I recall we were painting something late one night and we realised it had been our Anniversary that day.

I said. 'Oh It's our Anniversary! You didn't get me anything, did you?'

To which he replied 'No, you didn't get me anything, did you?'

Me: 'No. Well that's good then.'

Him to me 'Happy Anniversary. Hand me that paintbrush.'

End of conversation.

Now we fast forward to where the story really starts,

I needed to make some curtains for the new bedroom, so that we could finally move in. A friend at work offered to help me make them, and since I'm no sewer, I was eager to accept the offer.

With our tight schedule, I had to choose the curtain material after work and that meant taking the boys with me.

This was my first mistake.

One of the department stores in town was having a sale on curtain material and hardware, so I parked as close as I could get - about two blocks away - and trooped in. Now I should point out that this department store does not have an elevator - being very old fashioned - and the curtain section was on the second floor. I admit that if the sale had not been so very good, I would have said, sod it, I'll go somewhere else.

But I was watching my pennies and the next store was even further away from my car.

I don't recall how I managed to get the twin stroller up the stairs. I think I might have unloosed them and let them clamber up the stairs, then popped them back in at the top.

That was fine for Chris. He tended to sit quietly anyway. Nick was another matter. He hadn't been diagnosed with ADHD at this stage - that was still another 4 years away. But he was VERY active this day and didn't take kindly to being strapped back into the stroller At. All.

I recall seeing him straining at his fastenings, grunting 'Nick.... off... Nick.... off.' which in Oz is not a polite thing to say. I had to tell the shop assistant that his name was Nick- and that he wasn't telling someone to 'go away'.

I decided to let him loose for a while, since there were no other customers about, and I couldn't concentrate on ANYthing with him carrying on like that.

And that was my second mistake.

Before I knew it, he was trying to climb a cushion mountain and about to tumble off. So it was Mum to the rescue - as usual.

Unfortunately he wasn't prepared to go back in the stroller quietly and fought me the whole way - so I gritted my teeth and finished the transaction as quickly as I could, while trying to hang onto a squirming child.

I'm sure that the sales staff wished me in Hades at this point.

Then we had to get ourselves back down stairs.

What a procession that was!

Nick and Chris were both crawling backwards down the stairs, bums up and heads down. I came next with bags of things. Then two sales assistants descended: one with the folded up stroller and the other carrying the curtain rod.

At the foot of the stairs, while I was setting up the stroller, Nick darted behind a jewellery cabinet with an open sliding door. He shoved in his hand and grabbed a bracelet box - which neatly slammed shut on his fingers, clam style.

Boy, did he yelp - and then shook it off.

Served him right too. He got no sympathy from me, I can tell you.

But I was beyond embarrassment by now. I just wanted to get home.

Now please remember that I was very pregnant - and my brains were pretty mushy by now - plus it was stinking hot outside.

We left the store in the late afternoon heat. Chris sat in one side of the twin stroller, the curtain paraphernalia was loaded in the other side and I pushed it along while trying to hang onto Nick's hand.

I had an idea that help might be at hand if Vaughan, who worked at a bank about a block away, could be spared. I figured it was worth a try anyway. At this point I had little to lose.

We headed in the direction of the bank, and Nick (the little scumbag) suddenly broke free as we approached the pedestrian crossing. A lady passer- by (to whom I will always be grateful) grabbed him as he flew by, preventing him from darting onto the road.

The lights then changed and we all crossed together, but no sooner than we were on the other side than Nick saw the bank's sign just ahead and dashed off again. The woman looked at me as if to say,'Do you want me to go after him again?' but I said. 'No. I know where he's going this time.'

Thankfully I was right. Nick screeched to a stop outside the bank - and I drew up moments later and politely tapped on the glass door. Vaughan came to the door straight away.

Unfortunately my long shot didn't pay off. He couldn't be spared. It seemed that I was on my own.

I remember making for a potential shortcut that would bring me out closer to the car park, but only if I didn't cross at the lights. Crossing properly was beyond me at this point. I simply picked up Nick and tucked him under my arm, then pushed the fully laden stroller (Chris and curtain rod) across the road, right through the tyre store that backed onto the car park - and didn't pause until I'd reached the car.

I remember puffing and blowing as I stuffed the two of them into their car seats and almost karate chopping Nick across the tummy to get him to bend in the middle. I can still feel how my glasses steamed up from the heat and the pure stress of it all - and lastly, I recall sitting in the driver's seat, looking at my flushed face in the mirror and wondering if I was about to go into labour for my troubles.

I don't remember how I got us all home safely, but I did - although I think it scarred me for life.

However, it was not all bad news. My friend sewed the curtains for me the next day and I put them up straight away. We all moved bedrooms too, and the baby's room was finally ready to go - which was just as well, because less than a week later, I did go into labour - at work.

But that's another story.