Little laundry
And when I say "little," I'm referring to the size of the clothing, not the amount of laundry to be done at any given moment. It's truly a job that is NEVER done.
But the sleepers are warm and soft and sweet fresh out of the dryer. The piles of little underpants bear Buzz Lightyear and Diego and Hello Kitty. At the end of a day spun with so much chaos, it is soothing to kneel in the den and fold warm, neat stacks of fleece footie pajamas and striped onesies, and remember (more easily in the quiet after-bedtime glow) the littleness of the bodies sleeping upstairs, whose clothes I keep clean
(and who will pee in these jammies tomorrow.)
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