Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Therapy.

I'm not a big fan of chores. So much so that I mostly avoid them. Obviously. But there is one chore that I love, that I look forward to, and that I have selfishly claimed for my own. Not that there is a mob (or a Randy) beating down my door to get to do this chore or anything.

Folding the kids' clean laundry.
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Fresh out of the dryer. Warm and soft. Sweet little clothes ready and waiting to be played in and slept in.
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It's my therapy. I prefer to fold their clothes during naptime or after bedtime so I can enjoy it. So I can sit and reflect. I think about what we were doing the day they wore this outfit or that t-shirt. I assess which of their clothes are almost outgrown or what has changed from "going out" clothes to "play at home" clothes.
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I mourn that there are almost no onesies left in the laundry basket, and that very soon all of Sylvie's clothes will have a "T" after the size number instead of "months". And all too soon Elliot's won't have a "T" on them at all.
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Tiny undies.

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Less than 3 weeks until this shirt will be retired. *sniffle*

I fold each little item, matching outfits together and pajama shirts to pajama bottoms and stack everything in it's category. I turn the jumble of tangled clothes in the basket into neat organized piles ready to be put away in their dressers.
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All folded and ready to be put away. The ones on top get hung up in their closets.

And sometimes along the way, my tangled disorganized thoughts just might get folded, and stacked, and put away neatly, too.

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