Momservation: Is there any other animal species that will turn their offspring's stinky, crusty socks inside-out for them on laundry day?

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I don’t think enough complaints about laundry can be written. After all, laundry is never ending so shouldn’t my gripes be sorted along with the lights and darks?

I thought cleaning bathrooms was the bane of my existence, but you can put off bathrooms with a good tub of Clorox Wipes® for weeks. Unfortunately, continuing to purchase extra packages of underwear and socks only buys you so much time before people are drying off with toilet paper.

No, laundry is my arch nemesis and skidded underwear its most lethal weapon. Actually, make that my son’s soccer socks – I really need to contact the military to see if those qualify as weapons of mass destruction.

As it is, I think I should be able to file for disability or at least get hazard pay for my parenting duties associated with laundry. I’m getting carpal-tunnel syndrome from spraying stain remover on ALL my son’s clothes. The kid spends more time brushing his teeth than he does with his feet on the ground.

And I’m not naming any names, but let’s just say someone in the house needs a refresher course on how to wipe a bottom. Either that or I’ve got to change the kid’s diet because it’s producing end results that just can’t be contained.

Please, don’t get me started on pocket surprises. I actually screamed aloud and hit my head when I staggered backward the other day. I thought someone had saved a giant booger in their pants, but it turned out to be a little squishy cow pencil topper.

What I wouldn’t give for a day when I don’t have to think about laundry. I’ve even had fantasies about it – drifting off to sleep, the clothes that still need to be folded at my feet, dreaming of a nirvana where clothes don’t get dirty and stinky crusty socks don’t need to be turned inside-out.

As I float along in my fantasyland in a pointless laundry basket, children are eagerly folding and putting away the Immaculate Collection clothing. Wrinkle-free pants and shirts are being joyfully hung by helpful husbands. Underwear and sock drawers are bottomless and pit-stains are nonexistent. And instead of owning a washer, dryer, iron and plethora of “h.e” safe cleaning products I am released from the bondage of laundry to frolic in a field of daisy’s with Orlando Bloom.

Okay, see you guys later. This is a whole other fantasy now and I’m not sharing Orlando.