5 children, 6 towels = 1 confused mother
One of our children, and we haven’t yet managed to find out which one it is (if you’ve read the ‘pick your battles’ entry, you’ll know why), insists on getting out a new towel every time he/she bathes. Now, the general rule in our house is you reuse your towel – not for months on end or anything like that, but at least 3 times, 4 max. The children hang them – no that’s not accurate – throw them carelessly – on the radiator and then the next day I fold them all and put them in the airing cupboard ready for their next bath or shower.
Now, 4 of our children have totally grasped this eco-friendly concept; one has not. He or she is determined to ruin the planet and my geniality along with it. Every day after bath night, I find not 5 towels but 6!! The worst part is, most of the children are not even here to confront. They’re not back until Friday; if I mention it on Friday, a full 3 days after this atrocity has occurred, then my outrage will have subsided and I’ll just come across as petty and nagging.
And so, once again, I find myself waging a losing battle. I know it’s daft, but there’s something important at stake here. For me that extra towel represents another 5 minutes of my life lost to the loading, unloading, folding and very occasional (okay almost never) ironing of laundry, a never-ending cycle of monotony to which nobody, not even P (because not even he can be trusted entirely with the whites and the delicates) can fully relate.
I can handle the fact that the children prefer to screw their clothes up in a ball and chuck them in the laundry basket rather than hang them in their wardrobes. I can understand why not one child extricates the belt from the loops. I can even overlook the existence of wrappers, pebbles and small pencils in the washing machine (where exactly do these small pencils come from anyway? I’m sure our children don’t play golf). But the towel … well that’s just nonsensical. It’s no more difficult getting out a towel from the end cupboard than it is getting one out from the first cupboard, where the clean ones are kept. And it’s because it makes no sense and because no one will own up to it that I’m incensed by it. I think I have the rage. Boy H was wrong; it’s not a stage. It’s more like a child-induced state of helplessness.
What gives you the rage? Please tell me I’m not alone in it being induced by petty offences like an extra towel. Leave a comment below! (491)