When I was a young wife and mom with two littles under the age of three I was still trying to figure out how to be a homemaker. I grew up with the images of June Cleaver and Laura Petrie as my standards and my role models. Now, I know some women might look at these icons of 1950s and 1960s suburban Americana and feel less-than or see them serve as nagging reminders that not only did they fail to measure-up, indeed they fell far short of the lofty ideals of what a homemaker and wife should aspire to be. But, not me. Perhaps it is the romantic in me or my Pollyanna nature, but I saw, and still see, these women as lovely embodiments of all that is possible and yes, desirable, when it comes to fulfilling my role as keeper of my home. None of my household chores felt like mundane enslavement. Certainly, Erik never demanded that I stay home or keep the house and raise our girls in a certain manner. Never did I feel as though I had to have my husband’s laundry cleaned, pressed and re