I've said it before - I'm no housewife.
It's not that I don't want to be. I mean there is that very small part of me that would love to wake up every morning before the sun rises, put an apron on, cook a hot breakfast for the family, blah blah blah... and that's when I wake up from my nightmare.
It's just not me. At all. I have to make myself do laundry. And dishes. And pick up the house. And the bathroom. Because I love my family and I do have some ounce of decency and I don't like to (and will not) live in filth.
But I work full-time, go to the gym several times a week right after work, haul children to activities, participate in my own activities... so you can see that there just isn't much time to be June Cleaver.
Here is where I stop talking about how lame of a wife I am and start telling you how great my husband is.
Joey never makes me feel like all of those things that I just typed. I make myself feel them all the time, but he certainly doesn't. Instead, while I was at a meeting with a client (shameless plug - see this!!) on Saturday morning and then taking Ashton to her volleyball game, Joey was cleaning the house.
Top to bottom.
I came home and it smelled like Mr. Clean had been there - but with hair. I couldn't have been happier.
It was the perfect day.