Earth Day, laundry, and other very important matters

Today, I’m giving a shout out to Earth Day with a picture of my favorite T-shirt.  

Unfortunately, my poor t-shirt was worn through my period of nursing the boys, so it does not look like this anymore.

It doesn’t even look close.

It has now entered the pile where all of my saddest shirts go – the dust rag pile.  

But then I feel good because I recycled.

Okay, that’s all on Earth Day, because everyone reading this post is probably a much better giver to the Earth than I – John and I go through about 20 diapers a day with the boys and I feel so guilty about our trash bags I don’t even look at them any more (plus, it ensures John always takes out the trash, so it’s a win-win). I thought about cloth diapers. For like a second. And then I thought about cloth diapers, two babies, John at work, me on maternity leave trying to nurse, and I almost tore my hair out, and that was before they were born. So, to save all of us from my insanity and bad hair (my hair looks really awful when I start going crazy – I pull on it a lot and it gets all strangly from me twisting the ends) I decided we’d go disposable. (My friend Kortney has stuck with cloth and I thought of her as a queen before she made that decision, and now that she’s stuck with it, she’s truly my hero).

Okay, now I’m really moving on. 

To laundry. 

It doesn’t get better than this post guys.

We go through a substantial amount of laundry in our house. About four loads a day (okay, so another reason we’re probably not Earth Day gurus).  John does the majority of this laundry, so looking back, I probably shouldn’t have argued with him at all, but there’s no rhyme or reason to my blow ups, so I will share this embarrassing one with you in hopes you too, have some weird blow ups with your significant other and then I will feel better about mine.

A while back, I think my laundry was scaring him, because my laundry has zippers and straps and hoods sometimes (this isn’t my rob-a-bank clothing in case you’re wondering, just my hoodies for fall days) and so he would leave it in a pile at the end of my bed where it could no longer intimidate him.

And when I would do laundry, I would fold his clothes and put them away.

And finally, one night, I got angry about my pile of laundry at the end of the bed, sitting there looking all wrinkled and sad. And John came in as I was angrily making our bed and said, “What’s wrong?”

 “Look at this!” I said pointing at the pile. “Look at my sad laundry! I put your laundry away and fold it and everything! And you throw mine in a pile at the end of my bed!”

And then I said it.

“You need to respect my laundry!”

Oh how ridiculous. This folks, is a sign of a woman who needs a break (and a man who needs a break from a crazy woman).

Well, John, bless him, somehow managed not to laugh in my face when I said this.

Or yell at me about how he does the majority of the laundry anyway so if I wanted it folded to do it myself.

And he even decided he would start folding my intimidating laundry; when he doesn’t know where it goes, he puts it in neat little rows on my side of the bed.

Ahhh. Thanks, dear, for putting my laundry away. And loving me even though I say things like “Respect my laundry!”

Until tomorrow…