I do the laundry in my house.  I do this not because my wife used to do it and she deserved a break, I do it selfishly because I want to be make sure my clothes are ready for when I need them.  I want to fold them a certain way, I know, I’m weird, but it works for us.  I also had a few times where I told someone to not put something in the dryer but they did and it ruined the piece of clothing.   Basically, if you want something done your way or done the way you like it just do it yourself.   I’m sure my wife loves not having to do the laundry too, so I will take all the “good guy” points I can get though. I screw up in so many ways so doing laundry is an easy way for me to put some points in the good guy column.

I buy the laundry detergent I like (whatever is on sale) and the kids complain about whatever kind it is I buy.  Because they are kids, and nothing I buy is ever good enough…So, I tell them I bought Tide or something I know they like and they never go down in the basement to check so the little lie never really hurts anybody.  

If you are the laundry person in your house I know you feel my pain.  Folding kids laundry is the WORST.  Folding normal size clothes is fine, because there are maybe 20 pieces to fold.  Folding a load of kids laundry feels like you will never ever stop folding, and then you stack up the clothes and they fall over and you have to start again.  

My kids are older now so I am folding less pieces of clothing, but it comes with new challenges.  They are all around the same size so I have no clue whose is whose anymore.  I try my best to pile them up, I try my best to guess correctly, but I always get a few wrong.  I do have this policy where undees and socks of theirs just get put in a basket and they are forced to pick out whose is whose. I’m a guy with 3 beautiful women living in my house.  I assume they all wear long johns as underwear and refuse to see or believe anything else, so tossing them all in a basket and forgetting they exist is how I get thru my day.

My youngest though is my kryptonite when it comes to laundry.  Her way of picking up her room is to just stuff everything in her laundry basket.  I have washed clothes of hers that I KNOW she didn’t wear.  Her laundry basket is always full and I am always doing laundry.  It makes NO SENSE.  She also leaves the tags on all her clothes.  Not the actual tag that she rips off but the little plastic thing that stays after you rip the tag.  I have this touch sensory thing.  I had the wife throw away a rug once because it just sent a shiver up my spine every time I walked on it.  So, these little plastic tags FREAK me out.  I can’t imagine having that on my clothes.

I find them on every article of clothing she owns.  She gets a new sweatshirt or whatever basically ever other day because she has two grandmothers who just can’t say no to her.   She comes home, rips the “tag” off leaving the plastic tag thingy puts it on and goes about her day.  

I used to wash her clothes and see that tag thingy.  By the way, if there is a word for this tag thingy just keep it to yourself.  You can sleep well tonight knowing you are smarter than me, but I refuse to call it anything other than the tag thingy.  Anyway, I would wash her clothes see the tag thingy rip it off and then tell her I did it and ask her if the tag thingy bothered her.  She would say no and I would be left questioning humanity, questioning if the world really is round.

She’s almost 12 now so this has been happening for years.  In the last few years though I question her less and less, I don’t remove the tag thingy anymore.  In fact, when I see them I smile, laughing to myself about how something so small, something so insignificant can make me think of one of my favorite people to walk this earth.  She’s one of kind, everyone who knows my Kiley knows that, but I get to see all that uniqueness every day.  I get to be a small part in her story.  

As I always say, I’m the luckiest guy in the world.  Big connections, big moments you share with people are great, but to me, it’s the small ones, the “tag thingys” that make our stories unique.  They are the ones worth writing about…