I've been thinking quite a bit about our move in just over 2 weeks - pondering deeply, you might say - but I haven't exactly officially "started packing" yet. Part of me is still living off the high I got when I packed a few things away before we put our house on the market. The other part of me keeps getting distracted by the ENORMOUS MOUNDS OF LAUNDRY everywhere that I keep moving from one surface to another, somehow expecting the piles to diminish in size during the shuffle. So yesterday morning I mustered 2 ounces of determination and proclaimed to the heavens that I, Christy Mobley, was going to fold and put away at least one load of laundry, whatever the cost!
So we head off to my room where I sit Elsbeth on the floor with some toys, give Andrew the job of putting a new roll of toilet paper in my bathroom (one of his favorite tasks), then I grandly dump a giant basket-full of rumpled clothes onto my bed. The Fiery One doesn't scream immediately when I put her down and The Precious takes off after the toilet paper. I fold a pair of underpants. Andrew runs in with the package of toilet paper, grabs one and runs off, leaving the other roll next to Elsbeth, who, having already dumped the toys out, begins shredding the unprotected roll. I fold a pair of pajamas. I am then summoned to look at what a wonderful job Andrew had done replacing the toilet paper - I tell him how amazing he is. Elsbeth continues shredding. I fold a pair of socks. Andrew clunks out in a pair of my high heels and I stop to take a picture (see top photo). Andrew leaves shoes in the middle of the floor and climbs up on the bed and starts jumping on it and all the clothes. Elsbeth decides we've been apart far too long, pulls up on my legs and demands to be held. Upon noticing Andrew leaping about, she then requests to get on the bed as well and has a jolly good time flinging clothes hither and yon and dropping them behind the bed. I stand there guarding the sides of the bed and refold the same shirt 12 times. I pause to take a picture so I can blog about the experience.
"You're the Mom, right? You're bigger than they are. Why did you let them jump on the bed and fling the clothes around in the first place?"
So we head off to my room where I sit Elsbeth on the floor with some toys, give Andrew the job of putting a new roll of toilet paper in my bathroom (one of his favorite tasks), then I grandly dump a giant basket-full of rumpled clothes onto my bed. The Fiery One doesn't scream immediately when I put her down and The Precious takes off after the toilet paper. I fold a pair of underpants. Andrew runs in with the package of toilet paper, grabs one and runs off, leaving the other roll next to Elsbeth, who, having already dumped the toys out, begins shredding the unprotected roll. I fold a pair of pajamas. I am then summoned to look at what a wonderful job Andrew had done replacing the toilet paper - I tell him how amazing he is. Elsbeth continues shredding. I fold a pair of socks. Andrew clunks out in a pair of my high heels and I stop to take a picture (see top photo). Andrew leaves shoes in the middle of the floor and climbs up on the bed and starts jumping on it and all the clothes. Elsbeth decides we've been apart far too long, pulls up on my legs and demands to be held. Upon noticing Andrew leaping about, she then requests to get on the bed as well and has a jolly good time flinging clothes hither and yon and dropping them behind the bed. I stand there guarding the sides of the bed and refold the same shirt 12 times. I pause to take a picture so I can blog about the experience.
"You're the Mom, right? You're bigger than they are. Why did you let them jump on the bed and fling the clothes around in the first place?"
I have no idea. Stop interrupting me with silly questions.
Then, with me standing right there "guarding," Elsbeth dives head first off the bed and lands on her face. She begins SCREAMING. This upsets Andrew and he begins SCREAMING. I grab up injured baby and determine that the fall most certainly did not feel good but has not caused any permanent damage. I walk both crying children around the house and outside 'til they've decided life is again worth living. The mission to do anything else laundry related (ever) is aborted.
So, let's look at the final score:
Positive Accomplishments: 6 folded articles of clothing
Negative Accomplishments: Toys and shoes scattered across floor, shredded toilet paper roll, clothes dropped somewhere behind the headboard, baby with big goose egg on forehead and scraped up nose
The moral of the story, ladies and gentlemen, is that, if you're me, you should pretty much just pack up everyone as soon as possible every morning and leave. Sure, you won't actually get anything done, but it's unlikely that the house will continue to degrade while you're gone.
And that is just what we did on Wednesday ... and we had such a fun morning. We went to one of our favorite parks and discovered, much to our delight, that there was another park 3 blocks away with it's own fabulous play fountain!
We were all happy and soaked and cool by the end of the visit, and there were no injuries to report.
