'Working mum argues brand issues, saves a child's life and collects children from school on time' and says its all in a day's work...

I made a work call the other day outside the girls' school, the baby was strapped safely in the car sucking on something soggy. I'd sent the girls back into the school to hunt shoes, readers and other debris from a day's education when a pre schooler escaped the compound and wandered into the street.

Its a busy road, with 4-wheel drives a plenty (this is outback suburban Sydney, after all, and you never know when you are going to have to cross a raging torrent of shoppers or school children) not to mention buses and trucks.

I first watched with half my attention as this dexterous small child manipulated his way out of the child-proof gate - at precisely the moment that the person I had been trying to catch all day answered the phone. It was a call I couldn't blow. I kept talking.

The boy started to wander along the row of waiting cars calling out 'grandpa'. I followed at a safe distance - safe for me, not for him. I didn't want him to get hurt, but I sure didn't want my call peppered with children's cries, completely blowing my professional cover.

I had half an eye on him, half an eye on my son in our car, the phone was pressed to my ear. I had to keep talking. This was an important call. Someone else would intervene with the boy, I was sure, the place was packed with parents, but I would stay with him until they did. They didn't. Perhaps they were all catching up on important work calls too.

I kept chatting. As the boy got closer and closer to the curb, my voice got more and more bright and breezey and intently conversational. I don't know what I was saying, but I was convinced that if I continued to talk, the person at the other end wouldn't suspect that I was just about to throw myself between a bus and a small boy. And if I continued to hold the phone up as I went down under the bus, perhaps I could complete the call before the wail of sirens drowned out the conversation and gave the game away.

The boy did exactly what I was dreading - he squeezed his way between two tightly parked cars in an attempt to check out the drivers side of what was evidently his grandfathers car. I talked faster - couldn't stop. If I tried to catch my breath the person at the other end might hear the screeching of brakes or a thud of impact.

It was time to intervene. But did it have to be save the child or save my career? Surely I could do both! I am a woman, after all, a mother, no less. I can save the world and argue branding issues with industry-leading gurus if I have to. At the same time. My left foot shot out, and curled around the child's neck. I hooked him and dragged him back on to the pavement.

Still making my case for the power of a well-thoughout brand, I positioned myself firmly between him and the road, and herded him, weaving between distracted parents and over tired children, and pushed him with my body back through the gate into the arms of his waiting grandparent.

I took a deep breath, summed up my argument and ended the call. I couldn't help thinking that when superman saved the world, he got to change his clothes first and wasn't expected to keep filing stories for his paper - at least until the bad guys were firmly put to rights and the vulnerable safe and secure in the arms of loved ones.

Not so super mums.