Real Mothers don't eat quiche; they don't have time to make it (who ever makes quiche ... I don't even know what that is. Does it have Macaroni in it? I can make that.)
Real Mothers know that their kitchen utensils are probably in the sandbox (is that why I found a teaspoon on the front porch this morning? Last night Kaci was chewing on an egg beater ... no idea.)
Real Mothers often have sticky floors, filthy ovens and happy kids (yup, yup and yup, although my husband promised to shampoo the carpets this weekend -- the twins love to throw food like Spaghetti, and milk and um, yeah).
Real Mothers know that dried play dough doesn't come out of carpets (I don't know about play dough. Just spaghetti)
Real Mothers don't want to know what the vacuum just sucked up (why vacuum? They just mess it up again. Actually, vacuuming in my house means John gets out the shop vac. It sucks up whole food better)