Last Sunday Rachel peed a great pee during stake conference, and she happened to be sitting on Andrew's lap at the time, lucky for me. Needless to say, Andrew's suit pants got a little wet in the process. However, since we had some other engagements requiring Sunday dress, he stayed in his Sunday clothes all day--hey, they air dried on the way home, okay?
Today when we were getting ready to go to the temple, Andrew couldn't find his dress pants anywhere. Finally he remembered that Rachel had peed on him last Sunday and came to the conclusion that they were probably in the dirty clothes basket. So he wore his dry-clean only suit pants, figuring he would be safe since we were leaving Rachel behind to be tended by Auntie Josie and Uncle Patrick.
When we came home this evening he put a load of laundry in, which I appreciate, even though it completely throws off my Mondays.
Monday is laundry day. I don't know why his Sunday pants didn't get washed this week. My only guess is that they were crumpled up on his side of the bed when I did laundry on Monday and I forgot to look before I did the laundry, so when we finally cleaned our room on Thursday, Andrew found his pants and upon realizing they were still dirty put them in the basket. Unfortunately, aside from diaper loads, I only do laundry one day a week so the pants just sat in the basket until now.
Not only did Andrew do one load of laundry, he also put that load in the dryer and then put a load of whites in. My husband is so amazing sometimes!
When the buzzer for the dryer went off, Andrew was working, so I went to get the clothes out. I wanted to get the whites into the dryer because I really needed to do a load of diapers. Those must be washed every other day or they just get too stinky.
I carried the biggest armful I could manage into the living room and dropped it ceremoniously on the floor, hoping that Andrew would notice. He looked up, and I smiled at him. Then I went to get the clothes that I had dropped along the way. I found two black socks of Andrews and a shirt. I folded the socks together and dropped them and the shirt on the pile of hot, clean clothes, smiling at Andrew again, partly because I wanted him to fold the clothes and partly because I wanted to see if he would notice that there was a pair of folded socks in the laundry if he happened to decide to fold the rest of the clothes for me.
He's a quick one and figured out that when I smiled it meant, "You should take a break and fold these clothes for me while I deal with the stinky, stinky diapers."
That, and he loves the feel of warm clothes fresh from the dryer. Who doesn't, really?
So, while I was moving the whites from the washer to the dryer, Andrew began folding the clothes. I had just finished moving the laundry over and had started transporting the dirty diapers, holding them out at arms distance with my nose turned away, when Andrew came into the laundry room.
"Ummmm," he began, "Did you fold a pair of socks?"
He looked really confused. My plan had worked--sometimes I just get a kick out of confusing Andrew on purpose.
"Yes," I smiled, and then laughed at him.
"Okay," he laughed, looking relieved, "I was worried that I washed a clean pair of socks!"
Like that even would have been a big deal...