This just might make me a bad wife

Saturday mornings are so satisfying.

I spend five days a week at home alone all day. Five days that I change almost every poopy diaper. Five days that I handle at least two out of three feedings (an adventure with twins), that I fight to get MiniMe to take a nap, that I referee every tantrum. Five days of reminding kids to pick up after themselves and picking up after the ones who can't do it themselves. Five days of children's television, Candy Land, and crayons on the floor. Certainly five days of hugs and smiles and laughter, but also five days of tears and hysterics and rants.

So on Saturday, The Hubs usually lets me have most of the morning to myself. I do my classwork, I catch up on blogs I haven't read during the week, I sometimes get to write a post or two or work on an article. I drink a full cup of coffee uninterrupted. If I'm not feeling too lazy to go back upstairs, I might have two cups.

The most gratifying part of Saturdays is listening to The Hubs complain about the fifth poopy diaper he's changed before lunchtime. Or knowing that he waited too long to feed Twin B--who can go from laughing to full blown conniption fit faster than you can open a jar of baby food--and is paying the price for not catching the signals sooner. I know he is the one sitting through another episode of Oswald or Little Bear or Blue's Clues. For just those few hours, he is referree, maid, cook, circus performer, and bottom wiper.

I love that for one morning, he does for just a few hours what I do all week. I love that it's difficult and frustrating. I love how tired he gets doing it all.

Maybe it makes me a lousy wife, but I absolutely love it.