Thanks to Elizabeth at Half-Changed World, I discovered this essay by Ayelet Waldman called "A woman needs a repairman."
There are words to describe women like me (including lazy), and many of them are embarrassing. But I feel about my husband the way Waldman does about hers, "I am a damsel in clogged drain distress, and he is my knight with shining plunger."
I love having a partner who can fix the hot water heater as easily as he changes lightbulbs and kills bugs. But this isn't sexism. Gary isn't just bigger, stronger and handier with a screwdriver than I am, he is more of a homebody. He grocery shops, cooks, cleans, does the laundry and pays the bills. He takes Colter to school and brings him home. He manages our son's basketball practices, piano lessons, guitar lessons, religious school, homework. He paints (canvases, not walls -- although he does those too), writes, and creates dragonfly sculptures out of a paper clip and some nail polish. He does it all. He's a domestic God and I worship him for it.
Sometimes I feel guilty that I don't help more, but usually I'm too tired by the end of the day to do anything but say, "Thank you." Sometimes I worry about what would happen if Gary broke an arm or leg (they'd have to hospitalize me and Colter just so we would survive). But mostly I find his ability to care for us -- and the pleasure it brings him -- incredibly sexy.
If that makes me less of a feminist, then I'm willing to live with that. As long as my husband is living with me.