I dread laundry day at our house. It never ceases to amaze me how two kids, weighing probably fifty pounds or less combined, can produce so many dirty clothes in one week.
I’ve done some rough calculations on the math and have figured that I do about a half-ton of laundry every year for just the munchkins alone … probably double that if you factor in mom and dad’s clothes. Baby clothes always seem so cute when you’re in the store purchasing them; when presented en masse on the laundry room floor, the cuteness greatly diminishes.
I actually don’t mind the washing and drying of the clothes so much as the folding and putting away. If anyone knows of a laundry fairy that magically turn the mounds of clean clothes into ordered little piles in the kids’ dressers, please send them my way.
A few weeks ago, Chippy turned one. As I was getting him dressed for daycare, Bobo asked if Chippy was going to go to school naked. I sometimes forget how literally my child interprets some of the things I say, and I had to explain that “We actually wear our birthday suits every day, just under our clothes. You can’t just wear your birthday suit alone.”
The thought did fleetingly cross my mind, though. If that would eliminate some of the laundry from the pile, we might have to start a new tradition … at least around the house.