Some people go into a frenzy of nesting, cleaning and other domesticity in spring. Or so I have heard. Not me. I haven't even read the Saturday paper yet, much less had time to fold yesterdays washing. There were other more important things to do. Like sit in the garden and drink beer and eat peanuts and gossip with a friend from accross the ditch while trying to prevent the little one from falling from great heights. For example.
Here is the washing and my neglected sewing. I'll have to do it tomorrow, I guess. The folding, not the sewing (who knows when that will get done, if ever). Little one who bumshuffles around the garden will be running out of clean trousers. Folding. Relentless. No fairy is going to do it while I sleep. Or drink beer. Or read novels. Sigh.