"I'm a workhorse, Baby."

That's what he told me while shovelling sod when everyone else was taking a break (including myself.) We were dating, maybe engaged. I don't remember. But I do remember sitting on the grass looking up at him framed by the blue sky with the Bountiful Temple in the background.

And it's true: That boy's never gonna let us starve.

My husband. He helped Luke clean his room. He let Luke help him do the dishes. He cleaned all the countertops and even the stove. (That right there is cause for a big, slobbery french kiss.) (Ew, gross, Carrie!) (Sorry, too much information.) Then he cleared away the dumping place (the "high countertop." It's higher than the other countertops.) He put the slipcover back on the junked-loveseat. He straightened the family room. He cleaned our room. He fixed the broken chair. He fixed the broken bed. He took the boys outside to play. He set the table. He cleaned up the baby. He gathered us together for family prayer. He put the baby to bed. He did dinner dishes. He would have vacuumed, but I had 6 piles of laundry on the floor, equalling 9+ loads of laundry.

I did laundry. I ran a couple of errands. I didn't finish either job completely. He's going to the grocery store for me tonight and I'm still working on the laundry.

He just came in to see what I was up to. He said, "I was going to take the garbage out before I go."