I am becoming a CAREER MOTHER. That is not a career woman, but a mother that is taking her role far too seriously. Jack is now eleven and in his final year at primary school. I had never been one to believe in extra work at home, actually, I really wasn't that keen on homework. He's a bright boy - now I know all mothers say that, but he is. He's going to be sitting exams for secondary school, with the hope of getting a grammar school place somewhere, anywhere, between London and Manchester.
So we've been doing practice papers together.
Oh, how I wish I'd started this pushy mummy lark so much earlier. Why, oh why, did we sit and enjoy the Simpson's together. I should have begun, like, when he was eight, because we are climbing mountains barefoot at the moment. I really should be seeking extra work, or contributing to the second book, or a novel, which I am doing sporadically but no way near enough to storm on with it. All of my time is taken up with school applications, applications to sit exams, exam revision and generally keeping his ego intact, his work ethic high, his spirits even higher, and his enjoyment of the whole process in completely unrealistic realms.
Right now, he is at the kitchen table, a Tobias Wolf book in one hand, a dictionary in the other, completing a 'definitions' excercise.