Laundry: They Both Wear a Size 8

When Casey and I first got married, we went through the same adjustments all married couples go through. We each tiptoed through our everyday routines to learn how the other operated on a day-to-day basis.

We had a little hiccup the first few days after being married. That darn tube of toothpaste is such a controversial object. I maintain that it is absolutely appropriate to squeeze the tube of toothpaste from the middle. My wife argues that it is almost sacrilege to squeeze a tube of toothpaste from the middle; instead, the tube must be squeezed from the bottom and gradually worked towards the top.

Eventually we worked through our toothpaste differences. I still squeeze the toothpaste from the middle and Casey squeezes it from bottom and it all works out in the end–literally.

Another area of our marriage we’ve worked through is laundry. It took my shrinking a wool sweater, which resulted in the disappearance of my wife for a day after she threatened divorce, and my wife’s shrinking of my favorite basketball shorts for us to learn that we each do our own laundry. Plus I’m pretty terrible at folding, and that’s really an understatement. I actually have a specially purchased folding board so that the clothes I fold are somewhat acceptable.

As bad as I am at folding, however, my wife is equally bad at ironing my shirts. There is no special ironing board that can fix that problem—at least not one I’ve found and I highly doubt my wife would be willing to point one out if such a thing does exist.

Even though we have our defined roles in who does what laundry, occasionally I end up having to do some for Casey and the girls. I do the best job I can, but sometimes I wonder it Casey would rather I just not touch the laundry no matter how desperate the situation.

Her biggest complaint? I often mix up Casey’s shirts with Addie’s shirts and vice versa. My wife gets a kick out of the fact that I often mix up their clothes, but I get a little sad each time I hear about it.  My little girl is growing up so fast that I now can’t tell the difference between her shirts and my wife’s shirts.

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More on Dadding:

My Crying Wife and the Sad Relief From a Missed Phone Call

Up, Up and Away: The Excitement of Watching Super Hero Movies with Addie

The Art of Hypocritical Parenting (or the Lack Thereof)

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