Hilarious Laundry (Really)...

Nothing cracks up Miss5 more....

Than me putting the wrong clothes in her drawers (!).

Oh how we laugh.

I am not sure why? But it is quite simply, and consistently, one of the funniest things in her life.

Miss5: 'DaddyDaddyDaddy' <Comes in holding a black t-shirt, mine>

'Look what I found?' <Is already giggling>

Er… gold? <Is still waking up>

Er... <Eyes finally start working>... a t-shirt?

'Well hahaha' <Is almost gasping for air>

'Haha Ha HAAA haaa... This isn't mine!' <Unfurls t-shirt>

So smegging what?

Yes that's my t-shirt, my best one, for interviews the R2D2 one

'But you put it in my clothes drawer!!!' <Doubles over a bit from laughing> <Tears streaming out of eyes>

'Mummy! Mummy! You won't believe what Daddy did'

Mrs. Amazing: 'Oh no not eBay again? We have enough damn Transformers!'

Mrs. Amazing: 'Is it laundry related? If it is, I care not'

Mrs. Amazing: 'No? What did he do?'

<Lots of Miss5 laughing... etc>

<I go back to sleep>

I think the worst I've done is confuse Boy8's jammies for Mrs. Amazing’s tights.

Which, if you are going to get it the wrong way round, was the right way round.

Too small is way better than too large...

Oh! Wait! This isn't one of your bras!!!

This is a ten-man tent, with porch, kitchenette and twin toilet facilities, silly me!

Ha hahaaaa... ha... ha... ... ... ha....

<Gets a look, that hurts and starts melting my eyes>

Oh… shiiiit dear

<Runs... but is caught and beaten savagely with socks and pants>

(Can be easily confused with a bra by an idiot)

Oh and sometimes I mistake Boy8's shorts for my pants (underwear, not trousers, my trousers are bigger than his pants that by at least twice, maybe thrice, maybe even frice… er...).

But really I feel these are minor errors. Caused by a busy man trying to do his best, in a world of clothes and fabrics. He doesn't understand or give a crap about.

As Edmund Blackadder (II) once said:

"I am one those that is quite happy to wear cotton, but has no idea how it works"

However, over the last year or so that has changed.

Clothes wise I have been learning a lot. Washing, drying and most importantly in our house, putting away the mountains of laundry the three monkeys seem to consume daily.

Laundry has become my job. I’m in charge of it.

Yeah let that sink in for a moment. It's true. I own it.

I think, without sounding too cocky, or blundering down the road of braggarts and fools... I think I have become, and I think it's fair to say... not utterly incompetent at it.

Yeah I know, I can't wait to tell the lads down the pub either.

<Squeals Does well hard battle cry>

I know the laundry is my job for one clear reason..

Because I have become the 'Keeper of the clothes knowledge' and all it’s associated perks and powers. Oh the glory!

I am asked where clothes are and amazingly, and totally against the grain, I seem know where they are.

Even Mrs. Amazing asks me where stuff is...

Mrs. Amazing: 'Do we have another school top for Miss5?'

What's wrong with that one? <Points at Miss5's school top in her hands>

'No pocket on it'

Sooo... is that a problem?

<Both Miss5 and Mrs. Amazing nod very seriously at me>

FINE!...

[Enters laundry mind-palace (it's a real thing, trust me) and retraces in mind every piece of clothing I have washed this week]

no no... they're my jeans... Boy8's t-shirt... Babyboy1's Bat cape... my Bat cape... Mrs. Amazing's knickers <blushes but loiters> <takes a few pics>... Miss5's -PHUQ the Police- rainbow top ... YES! there's one... white school top with pocket in it...

[Leaves laundry mind-palace]

[Steals a pen on the way out]

<Eyes flicker back open>

<Mystical voice>There is one downstairs... in the orange basket...

<Wistful with slight lilt in it,  voice> near the bottom...

And now... rest I must...

<Goes back to sleep Becomes one with the force>

Work helps, weirdly.

It helps because it makes me leave and enter the house at the same time every day.

Which means that if i put on a full washing machine cycle, then it's done next time I come back into the house. I don't have to wait. Yay!

I don't even have to hear the machines going!

I just start the machines, empty the machines, and magically when next I'm home they are done! Brilliant!

I just shuffle the laundry along the line of machines and set them on their way again.

Remembering, of course, to reset all the buttons BabyBoy1 has or is changing behind me.

In truth I think I used to be scared of laundry.

And a bit lazy. Yeah lazy mainly.

I claimed I was worried I would get it wrong and ruin everyone's clothes. Lack of knowledge became my shield and my ignorance meant I would have a sit, and just let Mrs. Amazing get on with the enthralling task of laundry on her own.

Then, obviously, moaning when I couldn't find my clothes, or a pile of clothing fell on me etc...

Generally being a bit of a twat about the whole affair.

Why on earth did I think laundry was Mrs. Amazings job, not mine?

Why on earth did I refuse to learn how to do it?

I do not know. Honestly. But these thoughts seem dumb to me now.

Shame on me.

<Hangs head>

(Hi… Nice to meet you all… Is that my seat over there? Thanks… <Sits>

Do we get tea? Biscuits?... Oh cluck it...)

But luckily, that isn't true anymore (It's lucky for me by the way, not Mrs. Amazing).

We have three children. They wear smeg loads of clothes. My daughter has lovely dresses.

Not sensible black t-shirts like me. She has lovely dresses, colour important dresses.

Made from bizarre and probably made up materials.

And BabyBoy1 can get through entire outfits hourly. Poo, milk, wee, poo, chocolate, mud, poo, glue and milkypoo.

It is not longer acceptable for a fully fledged member of Team Parent (yay!) to lack basic laundry skills. Or even medium laundry skills to be honest. And... it was never acceptable.

Each child needs to have clean enough, flattened enough clothes everyday

(except naked days).

I am glad I have finally dragged myself out of the tar pits and stepped up.

Laundry <Cool knife like noises> style!

RARRRRR!

What was my laundry break through?

It was when I stopped being scared of it...

<Prods clothes> IT moved!?

Is it meant to do that?

Mrs. Amazing: 'Get in there and separate those colours' <Is shovey>

EW! But the smell is horrible, how on earth can anyone cope with this?

Mrs. Amazing: 'It's only your clothes'

<Coughs> Can't Boy8 separate his pants from his trousers? Ewww... <Splutters>

Mrs. Amazing: 'You’ld think...'

Mrs. Amazing: 'Mind BabyBoy1's top from earlier'

OH NO ARGHHHHH <Passes out>

Instead I just started flipping, flamming, flopping (?), doing it.

That's when I started getting better and learning.

Which is what Mrs. Amazing did forty thousand a few years ago, when she was young.

There have been mistakes.

Big laundry mistakes. Mrs. Amazing dress was ruined. It was hard to watch her cry.

One of my cooler t-shirts shrunk a tiny bit, I was pretty inconsolable for months.

Despite my best intentions every now and then I still get it wrong and I have to tell someone their favourite clothes are now, tiny, pink, blue, grey, larger (?) or that everything is covered in glitter. Again.

Basically I have to tell them I smegged it right up.

I got it wrong with one of Miss5's dresses.

She was fine about it. It was me. I was furious with myself. I really concentrated and made sure I did it right.

Yet it still went wrong. Poop.

I love the dress because it has robots on it. Miss5 looks damn cool it in, and she clearly feels damn cool wearing it too. Mentally I made sure I gave it my full attention.

I washed it perfectly. Despite it being pale and black.

But it came out looking good. I dried it nice too.

Then with just the final part to do, I messed up. I managed to iron some black gunk onto the fabric, which may or may not come off.

I was so cross with myself.

Stupid. Stupid. And twonky.

(It’s probably not going to happen.. But if i did find myself walking down the aisle... Hells yeah)

So...

Still got some learning to do then. Don't press the descale button on the iron just for laughs for starters.

But I've time, and lots of practise to come.

As the kids get bigger, they're clothes will get bigger too, and more complex I am sure. And I'm not always going to be able to tell the difference between theirs and ours.

There will be mistakes. I'm not that great at it now anyway.

I hope Miss5 still finds it quite so funny in the years to come  when I mix up her clothing.

I’m sure she will not.

Miss15: <Hold up my blue pie-eating-trousers, the baggy ones>

Miss15: 'You think I could fit into these???' <Is outraged and insulated>

You have been eating a lot of cake lately…

oh… dear...

<Is beaten with pants and socks and trousers>

I Am Not Late...

I've started running.

I am fed up with having a bigger rack than Mrs. Amazing.

Actually that's a lie. I love the rack.

I am not running. I'm jogging. Ew.

Running would be good. Running is what I am striving for.

I want to be able to just run, fast and ideally in a sexy way, without having to warm up. That fit.

I don't want to become a K(ilometer) monster and endlessly discuss distances. I just want to be able to chase (my) children and play at their speed, without becoming a big sweaty mess that needs gas and air, and a sit.

Running is what I picture myself doing...

[17:29:22 at work]

<Is doing calf stretches>

Boss: 'So we need that super important work in the next five minutes'

I am all over it like a fatty on a cake

<Does lunges>

[17:29:36]

Boss: 'What?'

I'm doing it right now

<Bounces>

It will definitely be done on time

<Crouches>

[17:29:55]

Boss: 'Well, it certainly needs to b...'

[17:30:00]

<Runs off like the roadrunner leaving me shaped hole in the wall>

Beep Beep!

(I was wearing my coyote ears at work today… I also work within sandstone…)

Really, I am currently jogging.

Sometimes limping to be truthful. Sometimes leaning against stuff and taking deep breaths. Sometimes wondering why I can see fairies everywhere, and then realising they are normally called 'spots before the eyes'.

Sometimes I feel quite healthy and good about myself.

Yes really.

<Eats earn't pie>

When Boy8 was a mere Boy4.

We met a nice OtherBoy4 and his Dad. I got on really well with the Dad.

We agreed on lots of things...

Thundercats?

'Awesome. LOTR?'

Life defining. Star Wars?

'Life defining. Board games?'

You mean Un-board games!

'Oh nice. Cheese?'

As essential as oxygen. Pie?

<Shows pie t-shirt>

BROTHER!

<Hugs>

The only issue was his size. He was a big fella.

Not in bones, or height or anything. He clearly liked to eat.

In a wrestling match I would lose, always. If we played see-saw it would be crap, I would get cold up that high. We could not lend each other clothes, except when I was attending clown school and he wanted tourniquets for his fingers.

Fitness wise he was doing bad. It was his choice. Not medical.

Obviously I cared not about his size. Boy4 cared not too. OtherBoy4 cared not obv...

... Except when we played, physically.

We were all at soft play together.

I chased the boys and smashed my knees through the UN-padded tunnels, I climbed, I leaped, I dived into the ball pit and got told off, I let the boys knock me over etc. All fun stuff. I got hot and sweaty and had a right laugh.

OtherDad sat drinking coke. 
He would not fit through tunnels. He could not run. He could not, physically, play like that.

That sucked for everyone.

But that was years ago.

They moved away. And I now I have Boy8, Miss4 and BabyBoy1 who all need their Dad to chase them, run with them, carry them and teach them the finer points of crick-ball (cricket played with a soft football)...

<BOING>

Boy8: 'Nice hit Dad'

<Starts running between wickets>

<Miss5 Runs after football crick-ball>

Boy8: 'Reckon you'll get at least six for that...'

Cheers man... <Gasps> ... I agree <Pants>

<Miss5 stops running to poke something>

Four! <Gasps for air>

Boy8: 'Yeah... you'll make six easy'

Five! <Gasps more>

Boy8: 'Come on, run man RUNNNNNN!!!'

<Uses last of breath up...> S....i....x!

Boy8: 'Well done Dad, right next ball, hope you're ready...' <Bowls next ball>

What?... <Gasps>... Wait...

<Is clean bowled>

<Miss5 and Boy8 high five>

<Hangs exhausted head>

Many years ago, before children. (B.C.)

I had a very lovely boss who ran at work.

And no I don't mean he went to the gym, or left at lunch time to exercise.

He ran in the office. There were long corridors, and rather than walk down them. He ran.

In a suit. No matter who was watching. He care-ethed not.

I always thought that was very cool.

And now I do it.

Well not in my office, it's too small for that. But when I get about. You know to buy comics buy cake and pie do important Dad stuff.

I run.

I don't wear exercise clothes, or optimum sports equipment. It's just the clothes I am in. Work clothes, home clothes, bat clothes. It doesn't matter.

I have become a chancer exerciser. 
If I am alone and walking, I jog run. I do wait until I am a fair distance from Miss5's school before start though. And of course out of sight at work before I gasp off and then have to lie down.

But I still do it.

(Run!! RUN!! There a fashion designer loose and they are attacking everyone with colour and non-symmetric patterns! ARGHHGHGHGG!!!)

I get a lot of funny looks.

I think it's because I am dressed incorrectly for what I am doing. It's like turning up for golf in normal tasteful reasonably priced clothes. You stick out like a sore thumb.

The uniform for running is stretchy, skin tight, luminescent, patterns, urgh, clothing.

Anyone know why? Lumo for night, right got that. But the rest?
Are the colours meant to scare people off?

I tend to be running in jeans and jumper, and big coat, and hat, and gloves (it is UK March).

I get funny looks because I look late.

Kids run and no one notices.

They run all the smegging time...

BabyBoy1

He doesn't ever walk, unless he is made to.

BabyBoy1 either stands and wobbles about or... HE RUNS, with arms flailing about, as though David Cameron the boogie man himself is chasing him. 
Although with a lot more joy.

Miss5

She currently has two speeds. Awful, painful, mind numbing, dragging, eye ball cleaning, slowness. Being lapped by snails and BabyBoy1. URGHGHHG

Or RUUUUN! I need some glue RUUUUN! I need a cup RUUUNNN! Upstairs RUN! Downstairs RUN! I need a wee...
RUN GIRL RUN!

Boy8

Weirdly he seems to have slowed down at home. He moves around the house like a ghost barely breaking a sweat. Flopping from room to room.

Especially when he has a job to do. The need to run in him is fading.

Except when he's outside or the whiff of competition in the air. Then he runs.

He runs like they're giving out free Lego, sweets, plastic noisy crap, and rubbers (erasers).

He's quick too. But no stamina.

Heh heh.

They all run like loonies...

Without a costume change. Or fuss, or loser special designer water bottles.

They do it because it's fun. It gets them places quicker.

That's what I want.

I want to run for fun...

(NOW… NOW!… I AM DRESSED TO RUN…. <Coughs>)

So if you do see a 30-Lots man limping running past you.
In full work clothes. Don't mock. Don't try and trip him. That’s mean.

Cheer! Pass him pie and a cup of tea. And Chocolate.

Try not to stare too much.

He may be doing this for his kids, so he can keep up with kids.

He may also be late for work.

<Runs past gawpers>

Gawper1: 'That oldish, yet still handsome, idiot man limps jogs slowly past here every morning...'

Gawper2: 'Does he? Ohhhh...'

<Time passes>

Gawper2: '... wonder what he's late for?'
<More time passes>
Gawper1: 'Well... Not a haircut!'
<Both piss themselves laughing>