Click, click, click, the buttons on jeans hit the side of the dryer over and over again.
The first load of laundry for the day is almost done.
Never mind the fact that I've been wearing the same pair of dirty jeans for the last 4 days. That part doesn't matter. And there's no talking back in this house.
The smell of baking cookie wafts through the clean kitchen which has already seen clean dishes be put away, and newly dirty ones put in the washing machine.
Perhaps I thought the dishes in the washer were clean last night and put them away, not realizing until the middle of dinner, with guests, that they were actually dirty. Every good woman makes a few mistakes.
The cookies are for the new neighbor, we're hospitable here.
One window is cracked while a gentle breeze blows in and the front door sits wide open with a big black Labrador laying in front of it soakin' up the rays.
"Come on darling", I say softly to my curly headed, four-year-old daughter who's playing quietly in her room listening to Bach, "it's time for pre-school". I quickly dress her in a Janie & Jack ensemble and scramble to get her the car; only the best for my babies.
Ok that part is a lie. I don't have a four-year-old. I don't even have a daughter. And if I did, she'd be wearing Target specials and probably playing in the dirt. But not today.
Today, I'm the perfect little housewife.
Yet, at this moment I'm only a housewife to a very grateful mama, but I'm looking to change that.