I am the Duchess of Domestic Chores, aka the Laundry Queen. Before, when I was single and childless and insulated in my own private bubble of bliss (manicure, anyone? how about reading the entire Sunday paper in one sitting only being interrupted to refill my latte?), I did not fully realize how easy I had it. For gosh sakes, I only had to get ONE person ready in the morning-- Me! It was all Me, all the time. The Me Channel. And let Me tell you, Me does not generate that much laundry.
Enter scene: The Husband (with his laundry). Now add Tall and Short, with all THEIR laundry. Guess what? I now do laundry approximately 7 days per week. It is a law of physics that dirt is attracted to boys. Someone's clothes are always getting dirty! If I get lazy and skip a day of doing laundry, then the next day I will pay by having to scale the Mt. Everest of Laundry pile. Ugh. It is never-ending.
Tall is just getting into sports now-- soccer. We all know that can mean only one thing (no, not future sports scholarship to Harvard): more laundry. The most depressing thing is when I have been doing laundry literally all day and it is finally folded, and maybe even put away and then The Husband gets home from work and dumps the contents of his gym bag on the floor: voila! more laundry!
I would like to take a vacation from the laundry, and believe me, sometimes I do. Those are the days that I am sending my children to school in pajamas and I am in a taffeta ball gown to zip to the grocery store. If you see me or my kids grossly underdressed or overdressed for the occasion, it is due to a Laundry Crisis of epic proportions.
("Missing Obsolete Verve")