things Again-istan-y for Dad Duty. Which has been...great. And in many ways it really has been awesome to have a House Husband, what with all the karate and baseball and t-ball and such.
And then I can go to work and not feel terribly guilty and the IHPs are thrilled because Papa fixes way better things for dinner than Mommy does...foods that are happily lacking in green colors and are replaced with things that are pepperoni colored. And clearly, he's exponentially more fun in the snack department:
Me: "What did you guys have for a snack today?"
Me: "What? Like, ice cream sprinkles? You know you can't have ice cream for a snack."
Lefty: "We didn't. We didn't have ice cream. We had sprinkles."
Me: "Yes, but what did you have with the sprinkles?"
Happy: "Uh, a spoon."
Lefty: "NO! Two spoons."
McLovin has also taken do doing some of the more rote chores around the house, like making the children breakfast, packing lunches and emptying the dishwasher. [Editor's Note: Truth be told, I don't think I've emptied the dishwasher in about three months. -Kate]
But, for several years now, McLovin has been banished from the Laundry Room. See, he was a bachelor for too long. And he only ever had to do laundry for himself. And why do three loads of laundry - whites, lights, and darks - separately when it's just as easy to do one giant one and be done? Which explains how his white t-shirts all became a lovely shade of murk, and --after a particularly shocking discovery in my washing machine - why he's not allowed near any of my clothes.
But after rigorous retraining, he decided that he could handle laundry, provided that I sort everything first. There was just one thing we forgot about.
I left for work one morning last week. He sent me updates all morning on the status of the laundry situation:
"Had to wash Happy's sheets. Gross."
"Where is there more bleach?"
"Is dark pink in the Darks or Lights? It's pink. But it's also dark pink. I'm vexed."
"We need more of those bouncy things. My clothes never had static electricity until I married you."
"DONE! You're welcome."
Done? Whuck? It was noon. Oh schmidt. He combined them all. He threw them into one mass orgy of colors and fabrics and had sheets and towels hot-tubbing it together and my lacy underwear doing tumbles with his sweat socks.
I fired off an e-mail:
Me: "Honey...that's amazing. How are you already done? Please tell me you kept everything sorted the way I sorted it...please."
McLovin: "Yep. Didn't mix anything up. I might have accidentally missed a pair of your underwear and threw it into the dryer, but those damn things are like Kleenex."
Me: "Well, it's official. You're the laundry dude now. You beat Randy."
McLovin: "Randy? Is he the guy you're always bitching about? He's the one that folds everything, right?"
Me: "Huh? Folds everything? I'm confused."McLovin: "By the way, we need a bigger laundry basket. Maybe three of them."
Oh god. He thinks Randy folds the laundry. There were nine separate loads when I left the house.
I came home to this:
That's to say nothing for the mountain that was on my bed, nor the fact that it looked like my dryer had upchucked all over my laundry room. I did what any self-respecting Mom after a 12-hour work day would do. I piled the bedroom laundry on the Geriatric Gimpy Beagle's chair, and closed the door to the laundry room.
When I got home from work the next day, Nanny said something about "mucha ropa" in the house and something that sounds like "doblado" which I think means folded, but it could also mean that I just doubled her salary. Which is totally fine, because everything - EVERYTHING - was folded and put away.
I celebrated with a bowl of sprinkles...
(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2011