The Good Wife

So that my children are grateful for their lot in life, I have a lot of conversations that go like this:

(at the dinner table)

"Who made that food you're eating?"  "Mommy."

"I see.  And who's going to give you a bath after dinner."  "Mommy."

"Hmmm.  And who bought the pajamas you're going to put on after your bath."  "Mommy."

"Oh.  And who made the bed that you're going to get in after bedtime stories."  "Mommy."

"Well . . . what about all these toys in your bed?  Who got these for you?"  "Mommy."

"OK.  And who's going to kiss you goodnight and tuck you in."  "Mommy."

"Wow.  So Mommy works all day and earns money so she can buy you clothes to wear and toys to play with.  And then, after you go to bed, she stays up and washes your blankets and folds your clothes and cooks you food and cleans up the kitchen and bathroom after you.  That's a pretty sweet deal."

They usually get the point.  Amy works a hard job, full-time, without a nanny, and without cheating the kids in regards to affection or attention.  Nor am I given short shrift, not when she's locking down cooking and laundry and cleaning and ironing for me.  (I get hugs and kisses, too.)  I feel lucky.