Its ironic that while I'm in my pjs in my bed at noon recovering after a hard night of nursing a newborn, calling my husband on the phone to update him after I balanced our checkbook online, that my 18 month old can walk in and hand me a raw stick of butter and a bag of smashed bread--right over my rather recently cleaned sheets.
And I respond to this messy demand for lunch by laughing to my husband "And they say Ann Romney never worked a day in her life as the mother of five sons!"
