Call me crazy, but I like laundry. I like washing the clothes. I like organising it into coloured piles and linens and washing each pile. Obviously putting it in the dryer is a no brainer, but I prefer hanging it all on the clothes line outside. I don’t organise the clothes line except to be sort of symmetrical, and with undies etc, on the inside. I suppose that is organising the clothes line. Whatevs. The point is, I have a system and I like it. I have taught/trained/brainwashed the kids into understanding the system, and even though they can’t or won’t put the washing into the appropriate sorting areas, they know not to mess with (me) the sysyem. They also know, emphatic pause, not to dump shit on the floor. Ahem.
Obviously, when on holiday, laundry sorting systems fly out the window. However, p a u s e, even the kids know that the large pile of presumably dirty clothes in a corner is the Dirty Washing Pile, and that is where stuff needs to go if it is to be washed. Husband bitched and moaned about his clothes not being washed, but let the record show that his dirty clothes had been put back in the suitcase. Wtf?
And yet, and yet. Nothing, be quiet. The boys knew what the conspicuous pile was, end of story. There are no written invitations issued for dirty laundry when on holidays, and I must have failed in my teachings/training/brainwashing if someone thinks there are invitations issued everrrrr.
Case closed.