Then there is me. Whenever I try to cook a meal in 30 minutes, it just doesn't happen. You see, while Rachel is cooking she doesn't have a 4 year old who demands a bandaid right that moment because she is going to bleed to death from a minor scrape. There is no 6 year-old who really wants to help cook, especially with stirring the boiling water on the stove. A nine year old who announces he just spilled milk on the family room carpet. An 11 year-old who has to cook 1 hour every week for his class at school and seems to want to cook on the most difficult night of the week. There is the 13 year old who wants to eat before he heads out to soccer practice and the husband who will walk in the door from work at any moment. Last, but not least, my kitchen doesn't stay clean.As reality set in, I realized I wouldn't trade her places. I wouldn't trade all this for anything.