When Clark and the kids left for school and work, the house descended into silence. It was a bit disconcerting to move so suddenly from the chaos and pandemonium of a morning routine to the calm stillness that revealed an empty house.
I twiddled my thumbs for about five minutes before I decided on what to do first.
From Maya, Brooke, and even Clark’s casual comments, I gathered that I was some kind of housewife. I never in a million years would have thought that such a title would belong to me.
In fact, up until this point, I admit that I’d looked down upon women who claimed to find purpose and fulfillment in picking up after disobedient children and sloppy husbands.
I’d viewed their chosen paths as a cop out, an affront to the countless feminist movements that had struggled to get wom
