A few days ago, I described how my sons were helping me out with laundry. Tonight I folded as I talked with my mom on the phone. G wanted to help "ball socks" (he can't), so I'd roll a pair at a time, then send him to deliver it. By the time he returned, I had another folded pair waiting for him. After he delivered all of Daddy's socks, I sent him to his room with a full basket of his laundry.
I took a break in conversation with Mom to review laundry-delivering procedures. I reminded him that he was not to dump the entire basket on the floor of his room. I reminded him that socks, underwear, shirts, and pants had their own spots. He was to put them where they belonged. He agreed.
G took a considerable amount of time putting his laundry away. He returned with an empty basket. I asked if he had put everything where it belonged. He admitted he had not. I handed him a pair of socks and made eye contact. I maintained eye contact as I explained that he was going to put those socks and all the other socks in the sock basket. I told him to return to me afterwards. He did.
I then handed him another pair of socks and a pair of underwear. "Put these in the sock basket, these in the underwear basket, and all the other underwear in the underwear basket."
I was proud of myself for walking him through the process. I was also proud of how I ran my boy's energy out on a rainy day.
At bedtime, I noticed a pair of clean undies on G's floor. I returned them to an all-too-empty underwear basket. Then I noticed the rest of the stack of clean underwear spilling out of the top of his dirty clothes hamper. Underneath them was the entire stack of clean clothes--socks, shirts, and pants--that I'd sent him to deliver.
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