harriedmom.com

My laundry room has exploded and there are clothes everywhere. Some are clean and folded, some sit in the dryer anxious for care, and then there's that load, nice and dank, in the washer. Oh, and the piles on the floor—those I wade through to get to the top pile, the one closest to the washer screaming "It's my turn! Please wash me!" I could cry or throw a tantrum about how I hate doing laundry, but since it's Friday, I'm taking the easy way out. Just shutting the door. Out of sight...