My husband remarked a few weeks ago about how I’m “the housewife* he never thought he’d have”
(My goal in life has been to disprove Ludacris’s statement that you can’t turn a ho into a housewife, so I’m not surprised by my current state in life, but I digress)
It seems he didn’t expect to marry someone who bleaches his undershirts, wears aprons, and bakes bread.
But for all that things I do mystify him sometimes (“…but, why are the towels in the laundry? They weren’t smelly yet” “you made yogurt?“) he does love some of my habits.
Like my need to make baked goods
These are the best chocolate chip cookies in the world. My mommy’s recipe. I’ve never found a better chocolate chip cookie than this one.
It’s so good that I’m worried if I scale it down it won’t be right. So instead, we have 4 dozen cookies in our house. But I make them with whole wheat, so they’re healthy, right?
EVERY WALL in our house was a different shade brown when we moved in. There are seriously like a dozen browns going on. I’m fixing it.
But I think really, his favorite thing is that he’ll come home from work to find me excitedly saying “I made tortillas! And cheese!”
Because I do things like that.
And then I make tortillas
With WHITE FLOUR even (rare in our house)
and serve it all up with carnitas
And really, when I do things like this, I’d like to think that I’m not the sort of wife husband thought he’d marry it’s because I’m THAT MUCH BETTER.
(PS happy three years!)
*(If you’re a newer reader, I’m not a full time housewife. I’m a substitute teacher. But that means there are days where I don’t work. And instead, set feminism back 50 years. Barefoot in the kitchen and all that.)