Book Club : White Picket Fences Essay
White picket fences. Apple Pies. Book clubs. Block parties. School plays.
It’s hard working out of home, you never really seem to stop. One day bleeds into the next. You wake up and your day is the same as the one before. And the children. My beautiful children. Never. Stop. Caring for a seven and nine-year-old my hands are always full. My job is ensuring the family runs like a well-oiled machine. But this means I am in charge. I 'm the enemy. Bearing arms full of laundry. Commanding hand washing and teeth brushing. The teller of bad news after the nit letter has been sent home. This role of mother places enough pressure on a woman, let alone living in an estate like this. One must always maintain a certain appearance or you soon might find book club discussing your recent weight gain or regrowth, over their colossal margaritas.
Sticky kisses. Bear hugs. Cheesy grins.
At the end of the day, makes it all worth it. I forget the years of eye-watering nappy changes, gag-inducing vomit and what seems like a never-ending trail of toys and half eaten food. But with happy children and Jonathan by my side. I can conquer the challenges my job entails.
I try my best to keep them all happy. The children’s welfare is my top priority, of course, besides pleasing Jonathan. Occasionally these two can clash. For example, Jonathan did not approve of the architectural genius, that was our fortresses made of blankets and furniture. His visible distaste, often as offensive as…