It was Mister’s birthday last week. The poor guy is just dying because he is in his forties. I know! It’s super old (just kidding. I’m only a year and a half from the big four-oh myself).
I wanted to make his birthday really special so I gave him the best present I could think of (C’mon, you guys, I couldn’t blog about the other best present. This blog is rated PG-13.)
Don’t laugh! You can’t possibly understand how much I hate doing the laundry (and with six kids there is a lot of laundry). It has caused many a fight around here and Mister actually fired me a couple of years ago from touching his laundry (I don’t hang his things up the right way or dry stuff on the proper temperature. Whatevs! This was my response, “wait, you’re telling me that my punishment for shrinking your shirt is that I’m no longer allowed to do your laundry? All riiiiight!!!”)
The kids do pitch in quite a bit, but their version of “doing the laundry” is rather shoddy (sorting is optional, and delivery to a person’s room means throwing it on their floor, then walking over the top of it). So I will step in, ever magnanimous, and make sure it is done well. No, not just done well but done perfectly.
I’ll let you know in January how it went. If I haven’t worked my fingers into bloody stumps, that is.