La-dee-da

Some days I truely appreciate being a stay-at-home Mom. Like when Hubby comes home from working until eleven, and then wakes up at oh, the butt crack of dawn the next morning, and goes to his real estate job until the early afternoon. Then the front door opens and there's this breath of stale air and all of the sudden slacks and a button down shirt have been carelessly tossed on my duvet and the wadded, wrinkled jeans disappear from the floor. Then the front door closes and I assume it must have been Hubby. As he heads for the Air Force base working his swing shift, those are the days that I appreciate my Victoria's Secret flannel pajama pants and Mossimo tank.

I appreciate his hard work and dedication, I do, but I can't tell him that. Gosh, think of the power he'd have! Oh the horror. That last thing the world needs is my Hubby higher up on his high-horse! I just smile and exaggeratingly glance at the checkbook with a heavy sigh. There, that should keep him in line!