There’s the main dirty clothes hamper in the laundry area.
But there’s probably a messy pile of dirty clothes on the bathroom floor as I write this. Even though I scooped them all up once already today.
There’s also a dirty clothes hamper in Jacks room and his Grammys room.
These are the coats and sweaters gathered on a chair or two in the kitchen.
Also, the many used kitchen towels on the counter near the sink.
Oh, and some stray items on the patio chairs out back, hats, sweaters, blankets etc.
The central collection of clean laundry consists of every piece of laundry I resent the most. I keep this pile hidden in my bedroom.
Then there are Jacks clean clothes which live in the laundry basket on top of his dresser.
All of these piles get dealt with eventually just never at the same time.
Clothes get washed daily, but I loathe the putting away of laundry.
It runs in my family; my parents had laundry piles. Three kids and a dirty laundry pile that covered the entire floor of the laundry room.
We used to chuck dirty clothes on the messy pile and wait for them to end up on the neat heap.
It’s a cycle of laziness indeed; I am not blind to the obvious. But I can hardly bring myself to care. It’s just so damn tedious washing, sorting, folding, hanging, all in their proper places. It’s a never-ending nightmare.
Why hasn’t a machine been invented to accompany a washer and dryer that eliminates the need to fold and hang clothes manually?
(Actually, I think one has been invented…)
The bottom line is I’d rather wash all the dishes because I fucking hate laundry.
And no, my husband takes no initiative in the laundry department ok. I recall my leaving the house for lunch with the girls once last year, and I got a phone call from him because he didn’t have a clean towel because all the towels were dirty. Part of me felt like a failure, the other part of me slapped the shit out of that part and told her to tell him to “WASH SOME FUCKING TOWELS THEN!”
Jack is closer to being a two-year-old, then he is to a one-year-old. A fact which continues to boggle my mind daily. Where did this big boy come from? He was 30 pounds at his last baby well checkup.
It seems like another lifetime ago that I was counting his breaths as his tiny 3-pound counterpart slept the day away in an incubator. I measure time by those days in the NICU, Jack then, and Jack now. This boy fought so hard to be here with us, that these seemingly simple moments of watching him, watch his favorite cartoon, or read his favorite book, are worth documenting.
On the calendar you may have been early, but in my heart you were right on time. ~Author Unknown
It’s wet outside. I realize that this is California, and I should not be complaining about the rain we are in such desperate need of, but we are cooped up in the house all day with a cranky toddler who’s got cabin fever, and this is only the middle of January.
All that being said, we have been able to get outside for short periods here and there when it is not actually pouring, but it is always cold and wet and slippery everywhere. As a California transplant born and raised on Oregon, I should feel right at home with this weather. Truthfully I have been spoiled by California’s sunshine, but I am enjoying how lush and green everything is, and our lawn is growing back.
Jack is not one for rainy day “activities” though he does enjoy playing with his toys and coloring. He also spends much of his time running laps around the inside of our house, all the while laughing/and or screaming maniacally. The boy is absolute hell on wheels, but he is just so amazingly beautiful and smart, and hilariously cute. His father and I truly are living the dream.