When the Jones family moved into their new house, a visiting relative asked five-year-old Sammy how he liked the new place.
"It's terrific," he said. "I have my own room, Mike has his own room, and Jamie has her own room. But poor mom is still stuck with dad."
Late one Saturday evening, I was awakened by the ringing of my phone. In a sleepy grumpy voice I said hello. The party on the other end of the line paused for a moment before rushing breathlessly into a lengthy speech.
"Mom, this is Susan and I'm sorry I woke you up, but I had to call because I'm going to be a little late getting home. See, Dad's car has a flat but it's not my fault. Honest! I don't know what happened. The tire just went flat while we were inside the theater. Please don't be mad, okay?"
Since I don't have any daughters, I knew the person had dialed my number by mistake. "I'm sorry dear," I replied, "but you've reached the wrong number. I don't have a daughter named Susan."
"Wow, Mom," the young woman's voice replied. "I didn't think you'd be this mad."
While I was dining out with my children, a man came over to our table and we started talking. He asked where my kids go to school. I told him we home-schooled them. With a raised eyebrow, he asked if my husband is the sole breadwinner for our family.
I said, "No, I also work, out of our home."
Then, noticing our two-month-old son, he mentioned that his daughter had just had a baby, and he wondered what hospital our son was born in.
"He was born at home," I answered.
The man looked at me and then said, "Wow, you don't get out much, do you?"