little ol' wifey

I'm not a proper wifey. I try sometimes. More often I embrace our relationship for all the silly, perfect ways it works though, because I'm blessed to not be married to a proper husband either. Oh sure, he works with his hands and is handy as all get out. He literally walked in the door last night with a wet paint brush and immediately began touching up door frames. But he also does all these typically "wife" duties:

• He likes vacuuming. He's the one who brought a vacuum into our married life- no need to add that to the registry. He doesn't just have any old vacuum either. His is green and he uses all the attachments for their appropriate purposes. I'm not exaggerating. 
• He likes doing laundry, because he likes his shirts folded a certain way.
• He cleans our bathroom more often than I do.
• When Jake makes dinner there are crockpots and fresh made bread involved. When I make dinner- like last night- it involves left over quinoa, a can of beans, and a microwave. I'm a rice&beans, beans&quinoa, beans&couscous kind of girl. What can I say? 

Yup. And you know what? I don't mind taking out the trash, scooping the cat's litter box, and remembering to write the rent check. So, even though I sometimes feel as if I'm shirking some of this whole "wife" thing- like when painter-handy-muscleman husband gets home and all I have to offer for dinner is reheated quinoa&beans- then I remember that he and I said "I do" for a whole lot more than fulfilling gender roles. We're a team, goshdarnit, and teams fill in wherever they're needed.