The laundry is like a Dr Seuss book - it's here, it's there, it's everywhere! Clean, dirty, not quite sure. Big socks, little socks, always odd socks. No washing machine in the apartment. Quarters and effort required. But thankful for the brilliant sunshine and zero humidity, great drying conditions.
Unlike in the baby years when all those tiny baby clothes were hung on indoor racks and I was 'helped' in my task by little hands and a dehumidifier stopped our house growing so much mold and the windows steaming up!
The giant clothes I don't have to worry about, he does those himself. But I like to pair his socks and put them away for him, it's just a little thing, a way to be a wife. I sigh over his inability to ensure the dirty socks make it into the laundry basket, but it's just a little thing, common to most men I'm sure.
