"Mooooommmmm!" Lucy came out of her room, holding up a pair of Max's boxer briefs. "These? Are NOT mine."
"Yes, honey, I can see that."
"WHY are they in my room?"
She flung them through the door to Max's room. "MAX! These are yours." She was pissed. I have no idea why. I don't mind finding other people's laundry in my room - but damned if I'll spend 20 minutes looking for a specific shirt, only to find it in my son's pajama drawer.
So the era of one person dealing with putting away all of our laundry is over. OVER. Sam tried it for a while, mostly because he was the only one who actually agreed to take on the chore. I didn't mind washing the clothes, but then they would lay around - for days - waiting to be put away. I think he mostly put the clean laundry away so that he could sit in his armchair, which is our usual clean clothes depository.
But no more. Our last conversation went something like this:
"Honey, why is my beach coverup hanging in the closet?"
"I didn't know it was a beach coverup."
"Um, okay. Why is LUCY'S beach coverup hanging in my closet."
"I didn't know it was Lucy's. Or a beach coverup."
"Oh. Okay." I said, as I rummaged around looking for the aforementioned shirt that had gone missing. "Honey, why is my sweater hanging up? Did you just hang up all the laundry in the closet? We have other places to put clothes. Like the drawers."
Max overheard our conversation and came out of his room with a pair of my jeans. "Looking for these?" he asked.
"No. I mean, yes, I was. But not at the moment, I gave up on those last week."
"Here ya go." he tossed them on my bed and went back to his room. I raised an eyebrow at Sam.
"What?! At least I put it away!"
"Well, that is true, and I am super grateful. Except that once you put it away, I can't find it again. It's making me crazy!"
"Making YOU crazy? Your clothing isn't even identifiable. Not only can I not tell whether these teeny tiny jean things are yours or Max's, I cannot figure out what article of clothing most of your stuff is, never mind where I am supposed to put it. They're skirts, they're shirts, they're skirts AND shirts, they got no sleeves, they got one sleeve - how the FUCK am I supposed to hang up something with one sleeve? Men's clothes are not complicated. There are no questions. You can tell - immediately - what it is. And you can tell my clothes are MINE."
"Okay, okay." I went back into the closet and pulled out another handful of clothing - 4 dresses and a shirt, all piled on one droopy wire hanger. Sami went down the hall to the kitchen, and then turned around. "I love you."
"What?" I yelled from deep in my closet.
"I LOVE YOU!" I could tell from his voice that he was smiling, content in the knowledge that he would never have to put away laundry again.
5 hours ago