We have a game in my house. It’s called “Let’s fold the laundry!”
Yeah. Sounds like a great game, huh?
Only, it is. I didn’t make it up. I was minding my own business and trying to keep clean, folded laundry in the drawers without allowing my girl to watch fourteen hours of TV, or teach herself to cook, while I was upstairs.
So, I suppose I set the stage. I dumped three clean loads of laundry onto my bed and added one toddler. She proceeded to try to throw all the laundry off the bed before I could fold it. One item at a time. Flinging her head back and giggling wickedly after each piece. When I didn’t respond right, she got right up to me, put her forehead against mine and said in her best mocking tone, “Ha, Ha, Ha!”
I threw the laundry back onto the bed. I may have aimed for her. I may have hit her in the face with a sock. Or two. She loved it. She dissolved into giggles and fell backwards onto the bed, then stood up and tried to throw the laundry back off the bed.
We’ve been playing this game for three weeks now. I fold my laundry at least twice., because folded pieces that are in reach are still fair game. I don’t know how long it will last, this invented game. I would have expected to be annoyed by the frustration, by the extra work, but I’m not. Who could be annoyed with a joyous, mischievous, giggling girl?
I could go on, but actually, I have to leave you with a short post today. I have things to do. I have laundry to fold.