The Laundry, It Never Ends.

I didn't always hate doing laundry. I used to take quiet pride in sorting the colours, separating the delicates, pulling items out of the dryer while they were still hot and promptly folding them so that they wouldn't get wrinkled. I was very particular about how my laundry was folded and put away. I think that last part is what got me into my current predicament. You see, I am the only person in my house who does laundry, and it is largely my fault. I used to care about how it was done (stupid, stupid!!) and now that I don't care so much about the how and have more appreciation for plain ol' done, I wish that way back when, I would have been less picky and encouraged my dear husband to help out with laundry duty. Hindsight - why must you always be 20/20?

As you can see from the picture (taken this morning), I have relaxed my standards significantly regarding my preferred folding technique and I am encouraging the next generation of Carefoots to learn to love all things laundry. Max is very good at taking everything out of the basket, but is more focused on trying to put on my leopard print nursing bra than getting down to folding. Cameron seems to dig sucking on clean socks (they taste better than the dirty ones) but has yet to figure out how to match them up. Not to worry, I'll keep working on it.

I was discussing my laundry issue with a friend yesterday, telling him that I had been put in the no win situation of a) doing laundry or b) going commando, because I had let the mountain of dirty clothes grow so high that I was literally out of underwear. He told me that he actually likes doing laundry (and dishes...but that's a whole other blog post). My first thought was that he should get his ass over to my house and get to work, but then I realized that he really has no idea what he is talking about as his kids are no longer babies, and I am willing to bet that he has forgotten just how impossible it is to stay on top of the ever growing laundry heap that kids feed incessantly.

So, let this be a PSA to all the young women out there who are just starting to cohabitate. Get your partner helping with the laundry NOW. It doesn't matter if his or her folded towels look like crumpled newspapers, and the odd load of whites ending up slightly pink is not the end of the world. Trust me, you'll appreciate not having to deal with a mountain of laundry that could be mistaken for an amusement park ride in mommy blog hell.