Occult Suspense for Mothers Boxset: The Nostalgia Effect by EJ Valson and Mother's by Michelle Read (2 ebooks for one price) Read Free

the potatoes boiling over.

TWO
     
     
     
    I wish I were a morning person.  I wish I were a morning person.
    Hmmm.  Fairy godmother must not be on duty yet.  I rolled out of bed and into my house shoes – magically, I think – because my brain usually does not function properly for at least an hour after I wake up.  I rubbed my eyes with the back of my fists like a sleepy toddler and headed for the bathroom.   Not only was there a “school-ager” in the house now, but I also had a job to start getting up every day for.  This morning thing would definitely take some getting used to.
    I was used to getting up whenever Violet came into my room and turned on cartoons.  She would usually lie there while I pretended to watch it, actually drooling on my pillow for another half hour, and we’d get around to eating breakfast at nine o’clock or so.  What would I do when I had something to wake up for every day?
    Today, I supposed, would be practice.  I needed to be at the school at eight to meet with Charlotte and go over everything my new job would entail.  I was pretty sure I was excited.  I mean yes, excited.  Definitely.
    Yawwwn . . . stretch . . . moan.
    After all, I’d been invisible for the last five years.  Of course I would love to show everyone (mainly myself) that I’m able to do something besides rot at home.  That may sound harsh, because I do love my job as a stay-at-home mother.  It’s just that when you do the same thing, day in and day out, sometimes you wonder where it’s getting you.
    Like most mothers that don’t work, my entire day consists of doing laundry, washing dishes, dusting, vacuuming, making beds in case someone comes over in the middle of the day (which they never do), and making breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  Well, Captain Crunch makes breakfast, but two out of three is still work. 
    Then there’s the most tedious, daunting task of the day:  picking up after my five-year-old Tasmanian devil, who streams through the house dragging everything she owns around after her.  And each day when my husband gets home, I don’t usually catch a “Hey, the house looks great!” or a “Thanks, honey, for the doing the dishes again today.”  He hugs us, kisses us, and sits down to relax after a hard day’s work.
    Invisible.
    I understand, somewhat, his lack of enthusiasm.  I don’t have the most glamorous job in the world.  But it’s not just his lack of interest in what I do eight hours a day that bothers me, it’s everyone .  Most of my friends have full time jobs, and the few who don’t have jobs— don’t have children.
    Some of my working friends back in Stillwater used to call me on their lunch breaks and tell me everything they had accomplished that day.  Always talking details about some big project the boss trusted them with, or a crazy deadline they were worried about meeting.  I would Uh-huh and Oh, wow at the right times, while scrubbing the toilet or cleaning bananas off the wall.  Then they would remind me that they were “working” or “busy” and had to get back to their “job”.  I honestly think they pictured me with my feet propped up eating bon bons all day and watching soap operas.
    Also , like most mothers that don’t work, I’d been feeling guilty.  Like I’m not providing for my family in a tangible way, and I often wonder if my husband resents me for not pulling in a paycheck.  Of course, when the subject would come up for discussion, we would always agree that the benefits of raising Vy at home far outweighed what I might earn by being away from her all day; but I sometimes wondered if he ever secretly wished for me to help out with the income so that we could have more stuff .  Or live a little more luxuriously.
    I understand that moms have a tendency to feel guilty either way, not being home with their children . . . or not earning money.  So now that I have no excuse not to work while Violet is in school all day, I thought I