When we first got married, I wanted to be the “perfect” wife.

I would wake up early in the morning, brew a fresh pot of coffee, cook eggs, hotcakes or biscuits, turkey bacon, oatmeal or grits, and a nice side of fruit.

I also made sure the table was set and that I wasn’t walking around looking like a zombie. I didn’t put on a full face of MAC makeup, but I did untie my hair, wash my face, brush my teeth, and put a little shine on my lips.

Over time, as our family and “To Do” list grew, the big breakfast got smaller. It was cereal for the kids and toast for him. That freshly brewed cup turned into instant coffee or nothing, depending on how my morning went.

“Can I have breakfast?” he asked one day. Thinking nothing of it, I popped two pieces of bread into the toaster. “No, I mean a hot breakfast…like you used to make," he added, “Why don’t you do that anymore?”

My first inclination was to point to our three children sitting at the table smacking on Wheaties, the pile of laundry needing to be folded, that long list of errands and chores demanding to be completed, and the inbox full of emails begging to be returned for my sole proprietorship.