Laundry Room

If you know me in real life, you know that I had a pretty tough week last week.  Several different things hit me all at once and I was left feeling as if I had been run over by a truck...maybe not so much physically, but definitely emotionally.

I wouldn't really use emotional to define the person that I am.  Dan comes home with stories about co-worker's wives and what they guys at work deal with and I don't even compare...which I think I should get some sort of compensation for...I kid, I kid.

I have talked to my wonderful man several times over our almost 8 years of married life together about the way dirt clothes should be put in the hamper...to make my duties easier.  I can usually look past the forgetfulness and whistle while I work, brush it off, and forget about it.  This past week, not so much.

When it came time to do a load of laundry for the day, I began carrying it out to the washing machine.  I placed item after item into the soapy water, and then I came to a pair of pants...inside of another pair of pants...and the socks still attached inside of both the legs.  I knew deep breathing would not work.  All of my sanity was out the window.  I slammed the laundry room door and that is when I let out a scream (as a 3 year old would)...mind you, all of my children were playing nicely in the playroom and they were oblivious to what was going on...I would never act like a child in front of my kids...well, almost never.

With my husband on the other side of the door laughing and trying his hardest to compose himself and me in the laundry room sobbing with the door closed, I am sure it was quite the sight.  He waited a minute and then opened the door, with a big smile on his face, and just opened his arms.  And that is all it took, just him opening his arms, to make me feel like everything was not so out of control and it was all going to be okay.

My Dad always said that I would need to find me a patient man...and it's a good thing God took care of that.