Monday, January 6, 2014


I'd love it if we could just call a truce. Me and my laundry.  We are constantly going to battle. I'm severely outnumbered, but refuse to give up.
I've enlisted the aid of the laundry chute that is located in the hall just outside Wes and Garrett's bedrooms and a few steps away from Brynne and Drew's rooms.  And as you can see I do okay with keeping this phase pretty well under control.
I'd love to blame my issues on all these stairs separating the clean clothes from the closets they need to be deposited into.  But with all the miles that I run and the fact that I am effortlessly up and down these guys more times than I can count in a single day, the excuse is too transparent.
I don't even have a problem with the folding and hanging of these items. It ALWAYS happens when they are still fresh and warm out of the dryer.  So on most accounts I'm winning this battle. My problem is that I just can't seem to bring it home.  As OCD as I am and don't like to leave anything out anywhere in my home, these little stacks seems to be the exception to the rule. I could leave them for a day or even two sitting neatly just as they are.  I wish they could magically place themselves all into their tidy little spots in the various drawers and shelves or right onto hangers waiting patiently arranged in the closets.  The battle between me and all my stacks happens daily regardless of how much help I enlist. Tonight it's one point for the laundry. I'm going to bed and leaving it all right where it lies.  I wish we could just call a truce, me and my laundry. 

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