I hate laundry. It might be because it seems to be my never ending chore. There is always a pile in every bedroom. It doesn’t matter if I do 7 loads in one day, there is always a piece of dirty laundry waiting for me somewhere. It taunts me.
It started when Arleigh was a toddler. That was when she developed the mild OCD behavior of truly needing to change her clothes if she found any spot. If a macaroni noodle dropped on her shirt at lunch… if she happened to get dirt on her shorts at the park…even if she saw a water spot…you see what I mean?
Then there’s Hanan. Hanan is my very girly girl. She has a strong desire to change her ensemble with every mood swing. That happens about every 30 seconds. I’m constantly hearing, “Can I change?” I started making her give me reasons. “I’m freezing,” “I’m burning up,” or my favorite, “It’s really not appropriate,” are her recent go to reasons.
Then we have the baby to is happily mostly over the spitting up phase unless she eats too much which she does on a regular basis. Since we are done with the spitting up, we’re on to teething and runny poo. That means she goes through 2 or three outfits a day. Can you understand why laundry has become my arch enemy? I won’t talk about Ray’s uniforms because I avoid them at all costs!
Ray’s mom, on the other hand, lives for laundry. There is some sort of instant gratification for her to see the perfectly laundered load complete. Dirty clothes never sit for long in her house. I have a hard time understanding her obsession but someone else in our house my be developing a love for laundry.
Here’s Bria “helping” me fold clothes. Actually I think it’s more about emptying the basket and trying to refill it. In fact, in one picture she’s trying to eat Arleigh’s panties. I’m sure she’s going to love that picture when she’s 15.