Laundry

Laundry will be the death of me. I'm certain of it. I can wash it. I can dry it. But for some reason, folding it and putting it away eludes me. It does happen, but it takes a near act of God, or hosting playgroup. That will do it too.

Folding laundry is often a family event and this is how this week's event went:

I sat down on the floor and put the baby on her blanket next to me. The kids each found a spot on the floor and I started chucking their laundry at them. (It's more fun if you throw it at them and attempt to make it land on their heads.) We then endured a few rounds of children chanting, "(Name)likes to wear, dirty underwear." There were variations and much protesting by the person named that they do NOT like to wear dirty underwear. Then there was O declaring loudly when she found an item of clothing that was hers. There was gnashing and whaling of teeth by K when I informed her she had to put her clothes away.

At one point I stopped and looked up and realized all six of my children were joyously, rambunctiously and loudly enjoying the weekly laundry folding. I think it could best be described as organized chaos. The boys were throwing a pair of shorts back and forth, each declaring that they didn't own them. L was on her head, as usual, and E was intrigued by all the noise.

I have to say that for about five minutes, I didn't mind folding laundry. But don't worry, I got over it quickly and am officially back to not liking it again. Blasted laundry!!