I remember my wife whispering words like this to me:
“I know it’s silly,” one girl said. “I know. But…” she hesitated, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I really just want to be married. To raise some kids. To take care of a home.” She’s almost embarrassed by the time she’s finished saying the sentiment. As if admitting it has made any impressive strength and wit she had faded away into a pile of proverbial laundry and dishes. As if she’s ashamed for wanting something so “trivial” and simple. “Is that silly? I mean, it’s really all I really want to do.”
I hate that we live in a society where women feel like they can’t dream of just being a momma.
You can read more of Andrea Burke’s article here.
I dislike it when I have to keep quiet about something that is exciting. So here it goes, my wife and I are buying our first home!
Now, this isn’t just any old home. No, this is the home that has sheltered my wife’s family for decades. The house has no doubt seen many storms of both the physical and emotional; the house has no doubt been a place of great joy and deep sorrow. As we anxiously await the finalization of appraisal, survey, and other loose ends, my wife and I can only dream about our future in our very own home. To say that we are excited is to try and contain an enormous amount of energy in something that was never meant to store it. We are ready to put our own mark on the house and make it our home.