One thing I have become ever more intrigued by is mom-bloggers. Listen. I love you. I love your passion. And I get where you're coming from. Not too long ago, that was my life. My whole existence. But now...I find myself reading your blogs and saying that's not me, that's my husband. So here's a shout-out to all the dads that for whatever reason fit in that stereotype.
My husband...does ALL the laundry. Not some. Not a little. Not his. He does ALL the laundry. Every piece of washable material that moves through our house gets washed by him.
It's an agreement we made a while back. I do dishes and he does the laundry. It works. 90% of the time he is doing laundry every single day. And he doesn't complain when I'm too tired or lazy to do the dishes. He doesn't nag me. He doesn't say a word.
Weekends...yeah we don't have them. I work all weekend. So that mean he gets up with the kids on Saturday and Sunday when he really wants to sleep in because he's had a stressful week and he just wants a break.
Mornings? He takes care of it. I'm out the door by 6. So he gets himself and the kids ready every single day. He doesn't complain. It's just what he does.
Showers? Bedtime? A lot of the time he does it alone. Either because I'm exhausted...and hello obviously my feelings mean more than his (sarcasm). Or because I'm already in bed. He does it.
I'm lucky. I'm blessed. Call it what you will. He is the absolute love of my life. My better half. My reason to get out of bed each morning. Because no matter what, I want to make him proud. I want him to joyfully proclaim that I am his wife, the way I joyfully proclaim that he is my husband.
Because I know, deep down inside, not just anyone could love me. Not just anyone could take this life and make it work. But he does. He's the real hero.