Laundry. As a family of five, we create a lot of laundry. Not me, seeing as I don’t have time to shower or change so I just wear the same thing over and over. But Sean, every damn day he wants a new outfit like he’s some kind of princess or something. Every morning he needs a t-shirt and pants for the gym (can’t be the same as what he wore to bed god forbid), he uses a towel, he needs an undershirt and boxers, he needs a button up for work, and pants. On top of that the man always wears socks.

Evie, who actually does think she is some kind of princess, chooses her own outfits most of the time now. You’d think that’d be simple, pants, shirt, undies, socks. Sure, simple enough. Until you blink, she’s undressed and all the clothes of the previous outfit have disappeared. So now she wants an entirely new outfit. Sometimes, this whole process happens without my knowledge. She runs up asking for a cookie, just in case I’ve changed my mind in the last ten minutes, and head to toe she in a new outfit. It would be far more work to try and find every piece of the previous outfit, force her out of the new outfit and put her back into the original one. New outfit it is.

Oh shit, a tiny raindrop landed on her top, new outfit it is.

The girl in the movie has on pink, new outfit it is.

Millie pulled on my sock and stretched it, new outfit it is.

By the end of the day when I force her into her pjs I’ve most certainly lost count of the outfits. The house is such a disaster that I walk around piling it all up and literally throw it down the basement stairs where it will lay in a pile until I decide to do laundry.

In the middle of the night, Evie will stare into my soul and will my body to wake, she will be in new pjs.

Smiling at me, completely unaware that she is creepy as fuck, “mommy, I like these ones,” she said pointing to her new pjs.

Millie monster is a messy ass human being. Having Evie for a first child really screwedwith my expectations. Everything Evie would shy away from and cry ew gross about, Millie wants to bathe in. Yogurt, rub that shit on my face. Spaghetti, what a lovely new accessory. Paint, wow, these colors really bring out my eyes. Any and everything can be and should be “worn”. She changes a lot.

Little Liv pie, couldn’t be any sweeter, but if that damn baby doesn’t start keeping her poop inside her diapers, I’m going to sell her on eBay. Every day, at a different time of day, you see this little smirk on her face. Oh how sweet she’s smiling, wonder what she’s thinking. You pick her up, and now your arm is covered in the brightest yellow poop. Her entire backside, covered. Sometimes up to her hairline, and down to her knees, covered. This bitch has the biggest poops ever, EVERYDAY. It has been at least 36 days in a row with a blowout. Doesn’t matter what size or brand diaper, diapers are no match for her. To make matters worse, these explosions always stain. So as a result, I buy more clothes.

At least twice a week I attempt to make it into the basement to start the laundry process. I have spent the last half hour collecting it all from around the house. Sean’s will inevitably be on the floor right in front of the laundry basket, Evie’s sometimes hides hers under her pillow. I throw it all on top of the mountain at the bottom of the stairs. Typically I debate for a few minutes grabbing a giant stuffed animal and riding it down the stairs into Mt. Sockdom but I decide not to jump into a giant pile of all the evidence from earlier struggles that week. Once I’ve safely made it to the basement without falling on the random clothes all over the steps I cry a little. I can now see the massive amounts of shame I’ve hidden away all week. Piles are everywhere. I throw it all in front of the machines, load as much into the wash as possible. Not as much as the machine “recommends” but like as much as I can and still be able to shut the lid. Recommendations are really just asshole men who design these machines and laugh around a big wooden table at us mothers who are the ones who are going to use the machine. Yes, that’s sexist, and probably not accurate anymore, but this is the story I have to tell myself as I over fill my laundry machine. Those assholes are just trying to hold me back. Stop me from living my life. Jam in some more clothes. I pour in too much detergent, and walk away feeling accomplished.

Image result for laundry gif


After a couple hours, when the clothes are just nearly dry from siting in the washing machine, I transfer them to the dryer. Throw in some extra dryer sheets and set the timer. A couple days later I’ll remember that I started this process, and go back down to re-start. After a few Oh shit- the laundry days I will have successfully put all the clothes from washer to dryer, only to realize that all of the baskets upstairs are now full with new clothes from the last few days. I ignore them, because honestly, ain’t nobody got time for that.

 I make several trips upstairs carrying baskets that weigh more than Sean. I pile them all onto my bed and there they will wait until Sean gets home from work. See here is the truth about laundry. I actually love it. Laundry is my perfect excuse to step away from everyone. “Sean, look at all of this, I have to fold all of this now. I’m so stressed and overwhelmed.”  Don’t smile Julie, don’t smile you’ll give it away, don’t look to eager. “I’m just going to start this while you and the kids eat, I’m sorry, but if I don’t start it now I’ll never finish before bed. Haha sucker…

I fix myself some coffee, or pour something to drink in my wine glass. Fancy people drink real wine right now but I don’t have the energy for a wine headache. So I just use my fancy stemless wine glasses and happily sip my grape juice. Finally, some alone time, just me, these clothes, my juice, my comfy bed and whatever I want to watch on TV. Sometime around 10:00 I claim to be done “folding”.  Sean thanks me for taking care of everyone and folding the clothes so nicely. I smile and accept his praise. Before settling into bed for the night, I walk around bitching about all of the clothes all over the house. “How is there this much laundry already, I just finished it! I’m going to have to spend all tomorrow doing laundry again!”


Image result for folding laundry gif




song of the day: I’m still standing Elton John


Coffe mug:



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