This morning, the aroma of baked oatmeal filled the house.  The kitchen was completely clean (which, honestly, isn’t it’s normal state first thing in the morning).  Three older kids were diligently getting ready for the day.  There was a freshly washed tablecloth on the table.  Our baby girl was happily playing.

And none of it was my doing.

Sometimes I wonder if I ever give the impression of being on top of things.  I don’t think I possibly could.  I really hope I don’t.  Because the reality of my life is that my husband takes care of me, and so many things that one might assume are on my plate.  It’s not always quite as apparent as this morning.  I felt particularly icky last night, so Tim took more of my tasks on himself (willingly, lovingly, diligently)…but I get the feeling that the everyday things he does for me are more than what’s considered normal.  He regularly gets the kids up and going in the morning.  He makes dinner when I’m not feeling well and he cleans up after (with help from kids).  He puts laundry away and lets me go for walks and manages our garden and helps with grocery shopping and gets up with kids in the middle of the night and makes Friday school lunches.  Plus so much more.

And it isn’t because I am incapable or unwilling (though, admittedly, I can be less than thrilled about some tasks…especially when nauseous), but rather simply that he loves me and wants to serve me however he can.  He keeps our home running smoothly, and as much as I know that isn’t really how it’s “supposed” to be (or, at least, not how I imagine it should be), I am so thankful for my reality that is a daily reminder to me of how blessed I am to have my husband.