This Morning, and Laundry

One of Olivia’s jobs is to take her dirty clothes from her clothes hamper, 50 feet to the laundry room. When the laundry is done, she has to fold up and put away her own clothes. This is not to be mean, this is because if we don’t do this, then every piece of Olivia’s clothing, whether clean or dirty, it will be in the laundry every week. She doesn’t discriminate – all seasons of clothes, every piece of clothing she owns…it can be July and 100 degrees, you will find a winter coat and sweatshirts in the dirty clothes. So, the only way we found to prevent this is to make her put her own clothes away, because she hates it, and  we’ve  discovered it will get her to NOT put everything she owns in the dirty clothes to be washed.  Before I wash her clothes Friday evening, I ask her if this is EVERYTHING. “Olivia? Is this EVERYTHING?” “Yes.” “All of your socks, undies, pajamas, shirts, shorts, EVUH – REE –  THIIIIING????” “Yes.” (She walks away and I know she’s rolling her eyes, I choose not to smack her into next week for it, it is Friday, after all, we survived the week) Then I launder her clothes. This was Friday. Now we’re at Sunday evening, and there is a pile of Oliva clothes that has magically appeared by the washer. Clearly, my definition and hers of EVERYTHING are very different. I digress, I asked her if she had folded up the clothes I washed Friday. She says no, I tell her to go do it. She comes back 3 minutes and 7 seconds later, and says it’s done. I tell her that she better be sure, because I’m going to check. She sulks away, back to her room. We do this 3 times, each time she comes back faster than the last, announcing “I’m dooooooooooooone!!!!” Each time it’s a blasted lie and I know it as I hear her skipping down the hall to my room!!! Not gonna freak out (this is my mantra on many days). The excuses are as follows when I ask if she’s done – once she needs hangers, the next time she wasn’t using her cardboard foldy thingy that I made to help her fold, the next time she didn’t match up her socks. When it’s all said and done and she swears all clothes are put away, it is bedtime. I don’t go check. My mistake. I get up this morning and guess what?? There are clothes all over her bed. I almost lose my shit, ALL OF IT. I don’t though- I think to myself, “No, self, I will not lose my shit at 6 am – I will wait 12 hours and lose my shit when I get home, that way it won’t ruin my day”. I take a ridiculously deep “cleansing” (right) breath, and I go in her bathroom to fix her hair. I ask her if she brushed her teeth (pause: I’m looking at a DRY piece of kleenex in the sink, indicating with my super mom investigative powers, that she has not run any water in the sink this morning) she says she did. In my mind, not out loud (thank you very much) JESUS CHRIST!! IM LOOKING AT A DRY SINK!!!!!!!!!DOESN’T SHE KNOW I KNOOOOOOOW SHE’S LYING???!!! If she didn’t brush her teeth, which we know she didn’t, then she also didn’t wash her face….(anger mounting beyond my ability to control it, she’s been up for 45 minutes…what has she been doing?? By the way, she also doesn’t have a training bra on, she’s supposed to wear one) So I ask her about washing her face, she says yup she did it. “Really? You did? So how is this dry piece of tissue in the sink? The sink isn’t wet. You didn’t do it, and you just lied about it.” I leave the room. Then scream back that she knows she needs to put a bra on too – also, hurry up, I’m leaving in 3 minutes, and you’re coming with me, whether you have a dirty face, and smelly breath or not. So then, I did – and the world didn’t end.



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