Read Online Elm Creek Quilts [09] Circle of Quilters by Jennifer Chiaverini - Free Book Online Page A

rules that had sprung up since her first two children passed through the preschool years.
    “I brought the wrong kind of milk.”
    “Buttermilk?” asked one of the mothers. She was an uncertain parent who often described her child’s development in terms of the dog obedience classes she had put her standard poodle through a few years before. “Chocolate?”
    “Spoiled?” said Karen.
    “No! Honestly, do you really think I’m that bad? I brought milk. Fresh milk, regular nonchocolate milk. However, I failed to select organic, BGH-free milk.”
    “What’s that?” asked the oldest mother.
    “One more thing to worry about,” said Connor, who regularly regaled them with magazine articles on subjects such as pesticide residues in applesauce.
    Janice smote her brow in mock dismay. “I thought I brought those children something healthy, but apparently it was not quite healthy enough. Tell me, where am I supposed to find organic, bovine growth hormone-free milk? And how much more than regular milk does it cost?”
    They all laughed, except for Connor, who looked ready to defend the food police, and Karen, who knew exactly how much that kind of milk cost and where to find it because it was the only kind Nate allowed in the house other than soy.
    “Some kids are allergic to dairy,” one of the mothers warned,then excused herself to chase down her youngest daughter, happily wandering from the playground.
    “I promise I’ll take soy next time,” Janice called after her. Then, all at once, every child seemed to need something: a push on the swing, a snack, a referee, a cuddle. The conversation broke up in a scramble of caregiving, as most of their conversations did. Few of their chats were as long in duration as this one had been. They had learned to converse in bits and snatches.
    Later, as Karen and Janice pushed their youngest ones on the swings, Karen told her about her morning with the coven of mean swim moms and her former coworker. Janice interrupted with incredulous laughter when Karen repeated Lucy’s statement that Karen did not work. “Oh, of course we don’t work,” said Janice. “We just sit around and let our feral children scavenge for food and clothing in the streets.”
    “When working mothers imagine our days—if they imagine them at all—they think of playdates at the park, hugs and kisses and peaceful naptime on spotless cotton crib sheets. Hours of maternal bliss and fully requited love. They have no idea what it’s really like.”
    Janice nodded emphatically and Karen did not bother to continue. Janice, mother of four and a half, already knew very well what life as a stay-at-home mother was like. That was one of the reasons they got along so well. Each admired the other for simply managing to shower, dress, and get out of the house once a day. Sometimes Karen felt as if Janice was the only person she knew who demanded nothing more of her.
    Karen adored her children. She loved them beyond measure. However, if pressed, if forced to admit the truth, she would confess that she structured her entire day around coordinating the boys’ naps so that she could have a half hour to collapse in a chair and catch her breath. Some days she could almost weep just thinking of the mind-numbingly repetitious nature of her dailyroutine. And while she claimed the playgroup was for the boys, it was really for her, because if she did not have a conversation with someone above the age of four at least once during the day, she sincerely believed she would go stark raving mad.
    Worst of all was the knowledge that someday she would have to give it all up.
    “Motherhood is the only job in the world where your every decision is questioned and doubted and criticized,” said Janice. “No matter what you do, no matter what choice you make, someone somewhere is convinced that you are doing irreparable harm to your children. And she probably has a vocal, militant group of like-minded mommies on the Internet backing her