Ramblin’ Prose

In the crush to get my research paper done for class and getting the house ready for Herb’s parents, who were coming to visit, I was doing some serious multitasking the other night. While the kids ate dinner, I headed upstairs to fold laundry. “Mommy, you should sit down and rest,” Abby said. When I told her there was simply too much to do, she promised to come upstairs and help after she finished eating.

I was surprised when both of them showed up a few minutes later. I was making a dent in the mountain of Herb’s laundry, but I still had a lot to do. Abby started on a T-shirt, and Camille happened to pull a pair of Herb’s underwear out of the pile.

“Eeeewwww!” Camille said, holding it up like a rotten banana peel.

“Honey, it’s just daddy’s underwear. It’s clean. Fold it like this,” I said, demonstrating.

Abby picked up a pair and took a closer look. “It has a pocket in it! What’s that for?” I explain the mechanics involved, increasing Camille’s general sense of horror. Abby, unfazed, started folding away. Camille, however, turned her attention to socks.

“Mommy, I don’t mind helping you,” Camille says. “But I can’t do Daddy’s underwear. It’s just disturbing.”