February 29, 2012
Here’s the thing – I don’t like housework. Not so unusual, I know. However, this tends to be problematic because I am blessed to be not just a wife, but also a housewife, and not just a mother, but also a stay-at-home mother.
God bless my husband, with whom I am incredibly in love, he is so patient with me. He breathes a silent sigh of relief when he opens the closet and finds socks that match because I’ve finally done laundry. He never complains that he’s the one who vacuums because the vacuum we have drives me nuts (really, what vacuum isn’t supposed to pick up hair?). And he is truly elated and very grateful on the rare occasion he comes home to discover that I’ve not only made dinner from scratch but it’s ready when he walks in the door.
And God bless my children, for whom I have more love in my heart than I ever imagined possible, they are oblivious to my shortcomings. They look at piles of laundry and see mountaintops to climb. Recyclables on the kitchen floor that haven’t made it to the bin in days make great musical instruments. And their favorite protein is fried spam.
I know I’m not a total failure and yet I know I can do better.
My hope, my goal, my job, my duty is to provide my family with a happy, healthy, faith-filled home where they know comfort, security and love which allows them to be the happiest, healthiest, best people they can possibly be.