And we are at number 3! Just one more to go before we are done.
This task is about imagining you are someone else. You will write an essay titled
Confessions of a ___________
Fill in the blank yourself with something that you are not. So if you are a soccer player, do not write about Confessions of a Soccer Player. Let’s be a little imaginative. Oh and please keep your imaginations tasteful! The word count should be between 300 and 500.
Now, it’s unfair for me to ask you to do something without actually doing it myself so here’s my confessions.
Confessions of a Stay-At-Home Mother
I was sitting around with my best friends, sipping tea and eating pretty little homemade cookies. My son, Jason, stumbled up to me, beaming and offering a flower he had picked from the garden. My friends smiled at the gesture and ooh and ahh as Jason dimpled beguilingly at them. After a while, he went off to read in his room. I picked up my cup as I listened to my friends gush over my immaculate house and my cute and well-behaved son. This was bliss.
This was also nothing like my life.
Dirty dishes in the sink. Unmade beds. Laundry half in the washing machine waiting to be hung up, the other half already hung up. Jason sprawling on the floor crying his lungs out because I said he could not have another ice cream. The telephone screaming at me to pick it up and me trying desperately to cook dinner before my husband came home. That was a losing battle. He was due home in about ten minutes and I had barely washed the rice.
I no longer know what it is like to have a good night sleep. I have no idea what is showing on the television these days. My only trips out of this prison are when I need to buy groceries or when I need to bring Jason to the doctor. Otherwise I spend all my time inside these four walls, trying to catch up with the housework that never ends. It is a cycle I cannot wait to break.
Some days, I wonder if I made the right choice in deciding to leave my accounting job to stay at home with my newborn. It seemed the right choice a year ago. I could spend time with my son, bring him up the way I wanted to and not have to be at work worrying constantly about who was looking after Jason. Thankfully, my husband was earning enough for me to stop working and so I did. My friends told me I was going to be a bored housewife and I just laughed it off.
“Ma … look!”
I turned from the stove and saw my paint-covered son with a crumpled piece of paper clutched in his grubby hands. With the amount of paint on Jason, I shuddered to think what would be on the floor in his bedroom. More work, I sighed to myself. Looks I won’t be sleeping much tonight.
Through the multi-coloured face paint he wore, I could see his eyes shining with happiness as he thrust the paper towards me. I took it gingerly and opened it up.
It was a picture of my son and I, surrounded by oddly coloured hearts. My heart melted. Maybe it was not so bad being a stay-at-home mother.
I glanced into Jason’s bedroom. Then again …