I have a deep, dark secret that I have not shared with pretty much anyone. I can’t believe I’m admitting to this, but here goes—I have twelve children and I’m only 29 years old. I know, TWELVE. Not just the two I have claimed here on my blog. Crazy, right?
What, you don’t believe me? Well, here’s the proof.
Laundry in photo may appear smaller than in real life.
See! That has to be the laundry of AT LEAST twelve kids because it would be absolutely ridiculous (and completely un-domestic) to have that much laundry lying around with only two children under the roof.
Oh, alright. I only have two kids and I guess the real deep, dark secret is that I haven’t done laundry in over a month (Or two. Let’s just say, I’m rounding down. Maybe by a lot). You see, laundry is the enemy. I’m sure we all have that chore that we detest and slide to the end of the list, right? Mine is definitely laundry. (I would say dishes falls into the same category, but since I’ve given that task to my husband with threat of never cooking again if he gives me lip about it, I no longer have dishes on my to-do list.)
Laundry is the least rewarding for me. A dirty bathroom can be cleaned in less than an hour leaving me with a happy giddy feeling every time I walk past. A nice swept floor brings joy every time I walk across it and my socks don’t get stuck to goldfish and blobs of play dough. But laundry? It takes FOREVER to wash AND dry one single load. And then I still have to fold, hang, iron, press, mend, darn and put away (or something like that). And that’s only one load. And by the time I get all the loads finished, there is more dirty laundry finding it’s way into the house. Not rewarding. Not motivating.
So I put it off until the situation becomes severe. Until the laundry begins climbing the walls (as can be seen in the previous photo) in a desperate attempt to find a loving home where wash and dry aren’t curse words. Until I put my son in a pair of pink leggings with butterflies and tell people he’s my long lost niece Brutus-ella, because it is the last pair of pants in the house. Until I start telling everyone my daughter dresses herself because I can’t find a shirt and skirt that even remotely look like they go together.
So what’s your dirty little secret? Toys stashed under the couch rather than put away? Giving your kids only finger foods because there aren’t any clean spoons and you refuse to do the dishes? An inch layer of dirt on the bookshelves you just don’t want to dust?*
*These are all hypotheticals to get your mind going, certainly not other confessions I’m making.
