On Top of Mount Wasmore (All Covered in Socks)

Today is Wednesday. Wednesday, in my house means one thing. Laundry day. I am the house laundress. Today the laundry is It.

I sort it.

I wash it.

I dry it.

I nag until some one else folds it and puts it away.

Laundry is like the Circle of Life, never ending and always in motion. One dirty item is replaced by a clean item is replaced by a dirty one. Dirty clothes that smell of boy sweat and grass are replaced with clothes that smell of Tide and Downy expressions lilac and rose. Only none of the animals in my house bow down when I raise up a once stained soiled object that is now clean and sweet smelling like they did Simba.

Lilac and Rose Downy had to be invented by a mother. A mother of boys who, in even the most lleisurely of tasks can come home reeking.

Tonight, the children will fold the clothes I washed. There will be socks - many pairs of socks, Socks that went into the washer a happy complete pair will come out of the dryer divorced, or at the very least, on a trial separation from it's mate. The estranged mate may or may not ever show up.

Yes. these are the days of my life.