It starts like this, with at least 6 loads to fold.
"Why do this to yourself?" you might ask. I have no good answer. Logic does not prevail in these parts, on this day. Nonetheless, I have much to fold.
So, I get on with it. Set my tunes, thank you Google, and start by pulling the unfoldables. It's the undies and the undershirts that can go straight from the basket to the drawer. Next, I like to pull the big, bulky items so that I feel like I am getting a lot done in a little bit of time, Todd's jeans, towels, sheets, and the like.
After that, I am left with the real chore, the shirts, pants, and worst of all, the socks. This is where the risky behaviors start. I fold and stack and fold and stack. It's edgy, and I'm throwing clothes around like a laundry ninja fairy. Then, before I realize it, I'm gambling with the work of the day.
The stacks pile up towards the heavens from my clothes folding hell. I power through the baskets, folding and piling and stacking. The stacks of neatly folded clothes teeter, tip, threatening to fall. I pause a moment thinking, "Too many? Should I start a new pile? If this falls over, I'm going to be ticked!"
I notice that one pile is leaning against another. This is not a good sign, instead, an indication that something bad's about to happen. I should take my clothes and put them away before my pile falls into the tub or knocks the boys' clothes into the tub with them.
Oh, reader, are you just noticing that I am folding and stacking on the side of the bathtub? Are you wondering why in the world I would chance such a thing? Do you think I should send the boys to get the stacking baskets that are labeled with their names and bought for just this reason? Well, good reader, you are wise.
Maybe I'm a daredevil. Maybe I only do my chores when there is such a risk factor as to have to redo all I've just done. Maybe I am leading such a boring life that this is the only moment of my day that I found to write about.
For now, I'll just keep folding.