Laundry ... the pile that never ends
I just finished 6 loads of laundry.
There are 19 semi neatly piled stacks of clean clothes on my bed. A neighbor recently commented to me, "I bet you do laundry every day". Well. . . yeah! I mean, when you spend the afternoon throwing rocks into a pond with three boys, what do you think?
It wasn't that bad at first. All three boys obeyed my instructions to: a) not get too close to the muddy banks, b) stay out of the culvert, and c) avoid the fire ant piles at all costs.
Well. That didn't last very long. According to my 8 year old, he was desperately trying to follow rule c) which necessitated breaking rule a), which in turn led to a slip and a splash into the water. Then, since "I'm already dirty" led to the breaking of rule b). I turned around for literally 30 seconds, and I couldn't see him. He entered the culvert (which is like a really big pipe) and apparently didn't hear my frantic calling of his name. When he emerged, even more filthy than before, he was truly bewildered at my purple face and angry countenance.
Since one little monkey just has to follow the other, I was soon chasing my five year old out, who explained that he "wanted to check on the alligator" and threatening my three year old with cessation of all desserts for the next week if he followed his brothers' example.
I herded them home, leaving a trail of wet, muddy footprints for my neighbors to follow and not-so-privately comment about my parenting techniques. In an instant, my laundry pile acquired three shirts, three pants, 9 socks, and four pairs of shoes (my shoes were muddied during the rescue mission).
Later in the evening, I was enjoying a few quiet moments folding the laundry while the kids were engrossed in a Scooby Doo DVD. I was filled with a sense of pride and accomplishment when viewing all 19 piles of clean, folded laundry. (hey, I'm a stay at home mom. I'll take whatever I can get.) Bored, or apparently worrying if Mommy was lonely, my three year old wandered in. Close on his heels was my five year old, worried he might be missing something. I warned them both to stay off my bed, and went to answer the phone, which started ringing.
I returned from my 20 second trip to the next room to answer the phone and discovered both boys apparently hadn't heard my warning about staying off the bed. My formerly clean, folded and sorted laundry was all in a pile on the floor. On the bed was my five year old, poised to take a swan dive into the pile. I heard a muffled murmur from inside the pile, and discovered my three year old swimming in my clean underwear.
Mama said there'd be days like this, but I don't think she reckoned with my three.
There are 19 semi neatly piled stacks of clean clothes on my bed. A neighbor recently commented to me, "I bet you do laundry every day". Well. . . yeah! I mean, when you spend the afternoon throwing rocks into a pond with three boys, what do you think?
It wasn't that bad at first. All three boys obeyed my instructions to: a) not get too close to the muddy banks, b) stay out of the culvert, and c) avoid the fire ant piles at all costs.
Well. That didn't last very long. According to my 8 year old, he was desperately trying to follow rule c) which necessitated breaking rule a), which in turn led to a slip and a splash into the water. Then, since "I'm already dirty" led to the breaking of rule b). I turned around for literally 30 seconds, and I couldn't see him. He entered the culvert (which is like a really big pipe) and apparently didn't hear my frantic calling of his name. When he emerged, even more filthy than before, he was truly bewildered at my purple face and angry countenance.
Since one little monkey just has to follow the other, I was soon chasing my five year old out, who explained that he "wanted to check on the alligator" and threatening my three year old with cessation of all desserts for the next week if he followed his brothers' example.
I herded them home, leaving a trail of wet, muddy footprints for my neighbors to follow and not-so-privately comment about my parenting techniques. In an instant, my laundry pile acquired three shirts, three pants, 9 socks, and four pairs of shoes (my shoes were muddied during the rescue mission).
Later in the evening, I was enjoying a few quiet moments folding the laundry while the kids were engrossed in a Scooby Doo DVD. I was filled with a sense of pride and accomplishment when viewing all 19 piles of clean, folded laundry. (hey, I'm a stay at home mom. I'll take whatever I can get.) Bored, or apparently worrying if Mommy was lonely, my three year old wandered in. Close on his heels was my five year old, worried he might be missing something. I warned them both to stay off my bed, and went to answer the phone, which started ringing.
I returned from my 20 second trip to the next room to answer the phone and discovered both boys apparently hadn't heard my warning about staying off the bed. My formerly clean, folded and sorted laundry was all in a pile on the floor. On the bed was my five year old, poised to take a swan dive into the pile. I heard a muffled murmur from inside the pile, and discovered my three year old swimming in my clean underwear.
Mama said there'd be days like this, but I don't think she reckoned with my three.
Labels: children, family, humor, kids, laugh, laundry, parenthood
posted by Kirsten at 11:54 PM
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