Heaps and heaps of it.
To be exact a weeks worth of laundry with three accident prone (I admit it is from my genes) kids.
I am looking at eight loads of fun.
In Switzerland, apartment dwellers must abide by a laundry schedule. Each tenent in my building has half a day one day a week to get all their laundry done.
At precisely 6:30 a.m. I made my way down to the laundry room on the ground floor of our apartment. I switched the afternoon (my usual time) with the neighbor above us. His wife is on vacation with their four children. He works during the day. So, I offered to switch with him since I am such a nice person.
“Why am I so nice?”, I asked myself at 6:00 a.m. as I painfully kicked back the blanket and crawled out of the bed on my way to the coffee machine.
An hour later, I am sitting here typing away listening to Mr. Pie softly snore (even if he says he doesn’t) with two little girls laying beside him. He doesn’t allow the children in our bed.
Funny how each morning I wake up forced to untie myself from little arms and legs. I don’t mind. They will grow up before I know it. I have all these mornings to cheerish each time I nuzzled their sleepy faces and cuddled them closer to me. Besides, I can remember sneaking into the warm comfort of my parents bed each morning when I was a child.