More Laundry

So, yeah, the laundry is never ending. I can’t wait until the girls get old enough to do it by themselves, but until then I’ll take what I can get, which is Alexa folding clothing in her own way, and putting it away in drawers. On the other hand, there’s Maddie, who knows what clothing is hers, but who will more than likely throw them on the floor if handed them. Then she will smile, point to them, and say, “Mine.” While it’s cute, it doesn’t really get the clothes put away.

So, yeah, the laundry is never ending. It sits in the dirty clothes bin taunting me. And then once it’s clean it sits in the laundry basket haunting me. And I know what you’re thinking. I should just put it all away… BUT I DO. And it doesn’t seem to make a bit of difference. I fold, and I hang, and I put away, but it doesn’t seem to matter because there’s always more. Take for instance the load of darks I just put away. I was so proud of myself until the bell went off, signifying a new load had just been dried. And the cycle merely continued. No longer was I proud of myself. And I wished, not for the first time, that my children could just do it themselves. Maybe even just the socks.

So, yeah, the laundry is never ending. A new basket is sitting right in front of me on the little table, talking to me in a language I know too well. And it must be listened to before it multiplies. Again.

Sam