(Photo Credit to TimelessTreasureTrove.com Where Frugal Got Fabulous)
I sometimes smell boy socks. It’s a dirty job, but someone has to yada yada. You know how it goes. Here’s the deal, though. When you tell kids to clean up their room, and most the mess is a hodgepodge of clothes both clean and dirty, all the clothes end up in your laundry basket.
Maybe that’s no big deal at your house. You’re always trying to make a full load anyway. Not at my house. Four sons, two parents, and a tiny European washer with the shortest clean time for colors at 1 h 20 m. The dryer will take two times longer, maybe three.
Therefore, I must smell socks. Boys will have a consequence for every clean sock they’ve put in the dirty clothes. I don’t smell underwear. As a woman and a mom, you’ve got to draw the line somewhere.
And don’t get me started on the odors seeping out into the hall. I’m sorry. Once you’ve made the room smell that bad, why would you continue to sit on the toilet for another 45 minutes?
Kristin King is an author of paranormal fiction. She blogs about travel, food, living in Holland, the occasional current event, and most anything except motherhood.