I just spent the evening washing, drying, and folding laundry. We had a friend's little girl over for the weekend and, of course, as little girls are wont to do, the young ladies felt it necessary to try on every article of clothing in my daughter's drawers. When they were done with that, they went for the closet. In between trips to the clothing, they decided to rearrange the toys and whatnot. I should have taken pics. It was insane.
More than once I assisted in cleaning up that room so they could actually see the floor. More than once I was knee-deep in pink crap. More than once I half-expected the baby to come crawling out of there w/ hair bows and makeup on his little chubby face. More than once I wanted to hide under my bed with the cats.
I now sit here on my couch, while my husband plays XBox, surrounded by mountains of clothing yet to be put on hangers. Above my head. I am not kidding. Both sides. And in front of me is a very well packed rectangular laundry basket full to the top of neatly folded little girl clothes. Her big brother's clothes, you ask? Oh, his 3 pr of jeans and 4 shirts are neatly folded in one of the square baskets. With room to spare.
Tomorrow: Reorganize dear daughter's clothes. Again. The same as I've done the last 40-eleven times.
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