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My husband and I fold laundry together. It’s one of the only chores we can share and still enjoy each other’s company, not only because it’s the only household job that neither of us has passively and purposely fumbled to get out of, but because we joke around a lot while we’re folding, like we just met.
The conversation is also mixed with nostalgia.
“When did our baby start wearing size 12 jeans?” We hold the boys’ pants up to ourselves and observe how close they are to towering over us and asking for the car keys.
“I remember when those used to fit James.”
It’s one of the few times that we stop and take a gander at our stuff and think about what we’ve created together.
I hold up a pair of Skye’s man underwear. The waistband is shot. I hold them up and shake them out and they still look pathetic.
“Look at these ratty tatty unders I’m folding. You know your marriage is built on love when you’re folding underwear like this.”
He reaches around to the open drawer behind him and pulls out a...[continue reading HERE]
Amy Kehoe