When I chose to be a stay-at-home mom, I thought I knew what I was in for. But three kids under seven? Chaos. Exhaustion. Endless laundry. My husband, Mark, called me a parasite once — said I had it easy. So I vanished for a weekend, left him the kids and a schedule.
By Sunday, he was wrecked. The house was a disaster. The kids were feral. And Mark? Humbled.
Now, when he starts to slip, I just smile and say, “Remember your Mr. Mom weekend?”
He shudders, grabs the mop — and I sip my coffee. Hot. All the way through.
