Sorting

     Sometimes I wish I could complete my To Do list during regular business hours but desperate times call for desperate measures.  My current day job is keeping Israel's fifteen month old skull intact despite his continual, almost obsessive efforts to crack it open and keeping Dorothy's tantrums at bay by feeding her curiosity.  There's also keeping the big three from killing each other, keeping them current at school, and keeping abreast of what they presently are and are not eating ( and at some point Enzo needs an eye exam).  This pushes housekeeping into the Hobby category.   Hobbies, as you know, are done during one's free time.  My free time is the fleeting moments when my family is sleeping and I, miraculously, am not.  Were you an insomniac fly on my wall you would occasionally find me washing floors, or toilets, or dishes in the middle of the night.  Last night you would have buzzed into my bathroom at 2:30 am and caught me stuffing laundry into the washing machine.  I promise I was quite a sight with my pink plaid flannel pants sticking out of my fuzzy Tinkerbell bath robe; my snarled hair attached to my back by static electricity, except for my bangs, which were standing at attention.  My motions might have worried you.  You might have thought the zombie apocalypse was upon us.

     You probably would have heard the same crinkling sound in the washing machine that I did at that very moment.  You might have wondered if I was planning to address the crinkle or planning to ignore it and launch the wash cycle instead.   Seeing me eventually sigh and thrust my arm into the washing machine would answer your question and you'd wait patiently as I rummaged around finally pulling out this:

     We'd have shared a nice laugh about sorting our laundry into whites, lights, darks, and soup from now on and wondered together just how long that soup mix had been in the hamper and how the #^(% it got there in the first place.  That would be the end of our exchange though because Dorothy would have overheard us and woken up and I'd have to punch back in.  Dorothy would absolutely need to know how DO dinosaurs say goodnight at that very instant and off I would shuffle, leaving you to deal with the onion soup.