Two dog collars and seven ratty towels clunk around in my washer.
The day my one-year-old daughter slammed her bedroom door for the first time (probably not the last) in an act of protest, a show of force, against her mother -- I wouldn't let her stick her face in a plastic bag of 30 diapers -- would be the same day that my husband took the bull by the horns and decided we wouldn't take the dogs in for grooming anymore, we would bathe them ourselves. Dog grooming is expensive.
Signs of the times. Signs we made the right choice. Signs we are serious about watching our budget and that our daughter seriously needs her mom home.
The room's full of sleepy wet dogs and grinning grownups listening to the washer go.
This is our little life now.
There's nobody I would rather do laundry with than this kid:
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