Mr. Mom

I've got the best husband in the world.  His philosophy is that if I'm happy, he's happy, and not begrudgingly either.  And I'm glad he's got that attitude because while I'm working summer school, he's at home with our kids and uses the time wisely by taking care of business.  For example, he learned how to use the washer and dryer the other day.  He also scrubbed a toilet, which he hated but I loved pointing out that it's his teaching the boys to stand and not sit that there is pee all over it.  I vote for sitting!  And dabbing dry!  Hey, drippy is drippy no matter what part it's coming from.
Back to my story.
This also has included meals.  Greg is NOT a cook.  He has proven competent with a few things, but he doesn't read recipes...at all.  I hate cooking.  I cook well enough, even to where my oldest daughter who moved out has expressed a longing for it, but my three remaining kids are food critics that use only one star for rating unless it's a pancake or a bowl of oatmeal.  Either way, I went on a cooking strike since they were so particular and couldn't choke down the healthy stuff I made for them.  Fine with me--it's all yours Greg.
I also give him a small to-do list before I leave for work.  Actually it's a "I'd love to have this one thing done when I get home" list...so it's only one item long and DO-ABLE.  so......
I asked Greg if he'd do the floors while I was at work.  They were miserably dirty and I was miserable at the thought of having to come home and do them.  As usual, Greg happily agreed and I anticipated the lemony smell of cleanliness that afternoon.  And what a sparkle they were!  No smudges, no spots...just clean and ready for traffic.  I head down the hall that has a sharp right turn halfway through.  I'm always in a hurry so I hustle down the hall headed for my room and aaaahhhhhhh....my feet lost their grip and I had enough sense to grab onto the hall hutch and cling to keep me from going to the ground.  A sharp pain went through my shoulder as it wasn't supposed to jam like that onto a counter.  I steadied myself and walked a little further only to feel my feet nearly gliding to my room.  My first thought is--what did he do.  He swears he just used Pinesol mixed with water.  He then pointed to a squirt bottle he used.  It only had a little left in it so he didn't think it mattered.  Greg, I tell him, that's 409...it's a DEGREASER.  You DEGREASED my floors and now no one can grip and walk on them.  We have to hold onto the walls while we go down the hall.  And it's been like that for over a week now...back to needing another cleaning, but slick nonetheless.
He then proceeded to make dinnr every night, and by Saturday I told him I'd make a nice Sunday dinner.  My kids were giddy with anticipation.  I looked at their eager faces...what's all the excitement for?  You never eat what I cook!  Seems Greg had been feeding them chicken nuggets EVERY NIGHT.  Yep...oven baked chicken nuggets, and nothing else.  They were ready to start grazing on the lawn.  Ah-ha.  I had them.  I cooked a full meal and dessert all from scratch.  With trepidation I set it on the table in front of them with a warning...If you don't eat this dinner you will have nothing but chicken nuggets next week too!  You've never heard such praise and adoration in your life.  Even my pickiest and tactless child raved about it being the best he'd ever had.  Though they held their noises while they ate the green beans, they did it with smiles on their faces and twinkles in their eyes.  My mom tells me she did something similar when I was a kid.  We, my siblings and I, were never happy with the healthy meals she cooked so she went on strike.  But instead of handing the spatula to my dad, she doled out Snickers for every meal.  She said after a couple of days we were begging for vegetables.  And once again my mom proves in her subtle and passive-aggressive way that what goes around comes around.  Anyway, bottom line is that by the end of summer, Greg just might be wearing an apron and carrying around a wooden spoon, whether it's for cooking or threatening a spank.  As long as my clothes still fit after he washes them...I'm good.