There are 5 of us and I sort the laundry mountain like this: towels, more towels, kitchen towels and bibs and wet towels. whites, darks, jeans and multi-colors. Then we have the pink and red loads. Plus, one more load of this and that. And do you put all the baby socks in a little mesh bag? I do. But for some reason, I still end up with only one sock per pair. How did I do that? Where do they go? And how do I wash sweaty gross volleyball kneepads without ruining them. Everyone has their special instructions for folding, restringing hoody sweatshirts, and all the begging and pleading to not shrink their 100% cotton stuff. Lordy. It's too complicated! I need a college degree in laundry!
Drying is another great adventure. Dry this on inside out, dry this one on low and this on high. Don't dry this! This should dry flat, this has to hang. Clean the lint trap every time!
I am very glad I don't have two kids on the swim team anymore. They used two beach towels a day (morning practice and afternoon practice) then took showers - that's two more towels each. Swim season was a very busy laundry season!
The rule is... check your pockets! They all say "I did, I did!" Then I do it again before I throw anything in. I always get a collection of coins, gum wrappers, and guitar picks. Maybe the concept of taking things out of your pockets is lost in the "check your pockets" instruction.
I let my husband help one time. He did a load of jeans. We had to buy everyone in the family a new pair of jeans, some of us needed two pair. And we had to buy a new washing machine. He is more help if he just steps back. Stay away from the laundry, Mister!
You should see my laundry room. Actually it's a laundry NO room. It's just a walk through space between the house and the garage. It's just barely big enough for the washer and dryer and a little space to walk through. Plus two doors that both swing into the laundry "room". It's a busy little space. No room to store anything, no room to sort or fold. But that's where I do all the laundry, me and the toddler who climbs into the dryer and the dog who is our shadow. We all squeeze in there - and then I lock the doors so nobody opens them and slams into me giving m great big door bruises (experience speaking). We're like circus clowns stuffed in the miniature space battling the family laundry monster.
So, where are the baby's other socks?