Things I do and do not mind folding on those rare occasions when I do laundry

When I worked nights and Terry worked days, I used to do a fair amount of laundry. Which wasn't tough, considering there was just the two of us when we first got married.

Then, after kid #2 came along, Terry stayed home full time and took over the vast, vast majority of laundry duties. And that has been the way things have worked in our house since 1997 or so.

I will, on occasion, fold a couple of loads of laundry. It happens maybe once every 6 to 8 weeks.

The fact is, I am nowhere near as good at it as Terry is. And not just because she has more experience than me. She's just naturally better at it than I am.

As near as I can tell, she can neatly fold any garment ever produced.

I, on the other hand, can only consistently do a good job on a few items. Everything else tends to baffle me.

Thus, these two lists for your perusal:

THINGS I CAN FOLD WELL
- Socks
- Towels
- Bedsheets (but only the nice square ones that even a 5-year-old can handle)

THINGS I CANNOT FOLD WELL

- T-shirts

- Shorts

- Bras

- Fitted sheets

- Jackets/hoodies/robes/pullovers

- Random articles of women's clothing that I cannot precisely identify; I only know that, whatever they are, I do not fold them well

- Impossibly tiny scraps of fabric that pass for my daughters' underwear and that sometimes sneak into our laundry and make me uneasy to look at, let alone handle

There was a time...

There was a time when Saturday mornings meant Barbies and board games. I miss it.

There was a time when it wasn't at all uncommon for me to be awake at 3 in the morning changing a diaper. I don't miss it.

There was a time when every trip out of the house meant baby bags, car seats and snacks for little ones.

There was a time when everyone in the family believed fervently in Santa Claus. Including me, I think.

There was a time when helping someone with their homework didn't involve advanced math or Ph.D.-level linguistics.

There was a time - several, in fact - when I wondered how we would ever make ends meet (yet somehow we always did).

There was a time when the kids' high school graduation years seemed laughably far off.

There was a time when Raffi was the soundtrack of our long car trips.

There was a time when everyone was in bed by 9 p.m. and it was quiet. I really miss that.

There was a time when I could walk around the house without finding a single bra or feminine hygiene product on the floor. I think I really, really miss that.

There was a time when tee ball and pee wee soccer were the extent of our family's sporting endeavors. Now, thousands of dollars of athletic fees later, it's a bit more complicated.

There was a time when I was a 24-year-old father who had no idea what he was doing. Now I'm a 43-year-old father who has no idea what he's doing.

There was a time when I didn't have to worry about the top of my head getting sunburned because there was hair to protect it.

There was a time when I didn't know and honestly didn't care what my cholesterol, BMI and blood pressure were.

There was a time when someone dying at the age of 60 didn't seem to be that much of a tragedy to me.

There was a time when eating 4,000 calories a day meant I would probably lose weight.

There was a time when I was a newly married, 22-year-old recent college graduate with a beautiful bride. Now I'm someone who has been married for nearly half his life and is thinking about returning for a graduate degree who has a beautiful bride.

There was a time. It was a long while ago, but there was a time...

Friday's random thoughts

(1) My dad used to tell a joke that involved Native American women and, I think, Lewis and Clark for which the punchline was "the Indian-Nipple-Less 500." This is essentially all you need to know about my father's particular brand of humor.

(2) Incidentally, thought #1 is also all you need to know about why I'll probably never write a book. Books require thought, planning and structure. I have ADHD of the computer keyboard and am utterly incapable of spending more than about four sentences on a single thought. And this is the fourth sentence on this particular thought.

(3) Having a college freshman daughter is interesting in many ways, not the least of which is that I feel obliged suddenly to treat her like an adult. Which I should, of course, seeing that she'll be 19 in a couple of days. She comes and goes as she pleases in her own little car. She works a job. She responsibly attends classes and keeps up with her schoolwork. All very adult things. Then I find myself having to instruct her to hand wash  the salad bowl she takes to work because the dishwasher is − fairly obviously, in my eyes − full. And then dry it. And then put it away. And suddenly she seems 8 years old to me again (even though this is something many adults do). And those little moments, which two years ago would have frustrated me, actually make me smile now.

(4) I still don't fold a lot of laundry in our house (consistent with this blog post from last April). I have no real desire to up my folding output, either. But when I do fold a basket of clothes, do you know what the most satisfying thing to fold is? Bras. Really. Just go cup-in-cup and, boom, that baby is ready to be put away! It's a good feeling.

(5) Have we talked about my love for The Flintstones here before? I can't remember. Let me consult Google and see....OK, Google suggests the 'Stones have been mentioned here before, but never actually dwelt upon. I won't dwell upon them now, other than to point out a fairly consistent injustice that always bothered me. Remember those times when Fred, Wilma, Barney and Betty would go out for a little night on the town? They did it more than once. And whenever they did, the boys would change out of their daily caveman outfits and put on tuxes and tails. I thought they looked nice. And what would the wives do to get ready to go out? Put on earrings. Really, that was it. They just put on earrings. Same dresses as normal, same hairdos. Just a pair of dangly earrings and nothing else. C'mon, Wilma and Betty! At least try a little.