I Give Up... The Laundry's Taking Over
I'm confessing something huge here, so bear with me while I hide myself in shame and mumble a big, lumpy secret: I hate laundry. That isn't the secret though. It's the fact that in my walk in closet there is a mound of dirty laundry that is over-flowing the hampers and is now sitting squarely in the middle, just outside the swing of the door. Just enough room to get in and out, but not knock over the pile.
What? You haven't clicked away from this blog yet? What's wrong with you? Seriously. I live in filth and I spent my weekend twittering away at Target (to buy clean underwear and shirts of course!) and playing with my kids. Something I wasn't able to do last weekend since work took over. But don't pity me, really. The house? A pig stye. And here I am blogging instead of doing something about it. Friday, I finagled an entire hour to go grocery shopping. Stocking the pantry and refrigerator was enough responsibility as I could muster, beyond feeding, bathing, and nursing children (and husband. Well, except the nursing part. Bathing is also debatable).
I'm not asking for pity. Nope. It's the way I really live. And quite honestly, even with the stress level beyond normal around here (hell, my mom and I are in a bit of a tiff. And that hasn't happened since I moved out over 12 years ago), it isn't abnormal for a mountain of laundry to be hiding in the closet. Come visit, snoop. You'll find out the real truth. Or, of course, read my blog. It's not something I can keep hidden any longer. Especially when my son is begging me to do a load of laundry so he has pants to wear tomorrow.
Really, the washing and drying part is easy--it's just tossing it into machines right? It's the damn folding and putting away that gets my girt. I am sick of matching socks, tossing underwear in drawers, and (gasp!) hanging items that inevitably get tossed on the floor the next event I need to find something decent to wear for (which this moment, happens to be work tomorrow). And so, tonight, I'm tossing too-tight jeans aside, button-less shirts onto the floor, and trying to find ONE DAMN thing that is clean and fits appropriately so that I can at least look professional at work tomorrow.
I can't say I'll look anything like "put together" but at least I won't be naked. OR smelling something awful. Because, my husband, bless his heart, just started a load of laundry. Laundry, that for once, I won't be folding.
What? You haven't clicked away from this blog yet? What's wrong with you? Seriously. I live in filth and I spent my weekend twittering away at Target (to buy clean underwear and shirts of course!) and playing with my kids. Something I wasn't able to do last weekend since work took over. But don't pity me, really. The house? A pig stye. And here I am blogging instead of doing something about it. Friday, I finagled an entire hour to go grocery shopping. Stocking the pantry and refrigerator was enough responsibility as I could muster, beyond feeding, bathing, and nursing children (and husband. Well, except the nursing part. Bathing is also debatable).
I'm not asking for pity. Nope. It's the way I really live. And quite honestly, even with the stress level beyond normal around here (hell, my mom and I are in a bit of a tiff. And that hasn't happened since I moved out over 12 years ago), it isn't abnormal for a mountain of laundry to be hiding in the closet. Come visit, snoop. You'll find out the real truth. Or, of course, read my blog. It's not something I can keep hidden any longer. Especially when my son is begging me to do a load of laundry so he has pants to wear tomorrow.
Really, the washing and drying part is easy--it's just tossing it into machines right? It's the damn folding and putting away that gets my girt. I am sick of matching socks, tossing underwear in drawers, and (gasp!) hanging items that inevitably get tossed on the floor the next event I need to find something decent to wear for (which this moment, happens to be work tomorrow). And so, tonight, I'm tossing too-tight jeans aside, button-less shirts onto the floor, and trying to find ONE DAMN thing that is clean and fits appropriately so that I can at least look professional at work tomorrow.
I can't say I'll look anything like "put together" but at least I won't be naked. OR smelling something awful. Because, my husband, bless his heart, just started a load of laundry. Laundry, that for once, I won't be folding.
