Saturday, February 20, 2010
My husband is a really busy man. Clearly I am not as busy as I am blithering to you about the minutia of daily life for a mom/potter. Recently he said, “I want to help with the laundry, but before I can you just swoop it all up.” Swoop? I just looked it up: to seize or snatch something in a sudden swift attack. I thought the definition was going to have a little more of a Ginger Rogers graceful aspect to it, but either way, there is no swooping going on. I begrudgingly and methodically do laundry twice a week, 3 loads each time. I do not swoop. What I really hate is putting all the little clothes right side out. I’ll do anything short of complete asphyxiation to take my kids' clothes off right-side-out. They sit there blind and whining, little chins and noses smushed by collars, their massive heads stuck because I won’t flip the shirt. I wonder what would turn me on more: if my husband ripped off his and my clothes to make love to me or if he took them off and put them right-side-out first…mmm sexy.