That being said, thanks to the move and the packing, I'm facing some nine million loads of laundry. (Okay, maybe not nine MILLION loads... but I'm on my FOURTH bottle of detergent and I'm only about halfway done.) It seems like all these things just creep out of the corners of my house- dirty stuffed animals, sweaters that were misplaced, blankets that needed to be swapped out for the summer anyway... I've even found pot holders in
Even worse than the laundry is the stuff that seems to follow it around. I've collected broken crayons, drill bits, odd coins, dead flowers, a rubber ducky, and other odds and ends from pockets as I've gone. I'm not certain why my seven year old had some paint swatches in the back pocket of the jeans he wore two summers ago or why I found six matching buttons to a shirt that isn't currently missing any buttons, but I do enjoy the sense of order that comes from consistently washing/folding/and sorting the washables.
|I wish I could print these out and sew them into my Husbeastie's clothing. The man is dangerous- we've lost two washers to his domestic black thumb.|