
I have ignored the laundry for two weeks.
This is what happened, one typical day, previous to my laundry strike:
For half an hour, I folded, folded and folded. Then…the straw that broke the camel's back: I had folded DIRTY laundry. (can you see me visibly deflate?)
I dislike (we've taught our kids to be mindful about using the word hate) folding laundry.
Really, folding my own- delicates, small shirts, manageable-size pants, and easy to match socks (pink goes with pink) - is no problem.
The frustration arises when I get to my husband and sons' piles: turning 40 white undershirts into perfect little squares gets monotonous.
Re-matching 12 pairs of slightly different black socks requires deep-breathing. Turning pants with a 34 inch inseam in to a neat rectangle, with creases intact, requires origami-training.
And how do you fold a kids' sweatshirt when the hood is as big as the body, but the arms are twice as long?
Even the way 3 pairs of toddler PJs won't lay in a nice stack, but instead keep flopping to the side and unfolding ..nearly puts me over the edge.
To top it all off…when I've finished building my little laundry turrets…like sandcastles on a beach, my boys inevitably start jumping on the bed ….toppling my masterpiece like waves crashing in.

Don't even get me started on the time I unloaded a dirty dishwasher…putting every last sauce-crusted utensil neatly back in its place.
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