For my scintillating Friday night offering, I'm going to talk about laundry. I know, fascinating.
As I was tossing a load into the washer, I caught myself, yet again, silently cursing the activity. In the same moment, I realized my frustration was more pronounced than in the past. Not that I've ever loved doing laundry, but I usually don't notice it beyond the fact that it's another thing I need to get done. But my ire was raised. Why?
And then I figured it out. I hate laundry in the winter. The clothes are... more. Long sleeves, more pants, heavier material, and sock, oh heavens, the socks. There are a million times more socks now than in the summer. And everything is inside out and therefore more difficult to get folded and put away.
I'm sure you're all going, "Duh, Julie. You are the master of the obvious." Well, yes, yes, I am.
I'd also like to mention my daughter is the queen of the mysterious stain. I pulled a first time worn, first time washed pair of pink leggings out of the washer and noticed that the seat and crotch were blue. BLUE. Why? Did she sit in paint? She said no, and I'm inclined to believe she would remember. Has she been squashing smurfs with her tush? I have no idea.
You've probably figured out what my kickoff to the weekend has been. It's all party, all the time around here.