There is always laundry at my house – clean, unclean, it sits everywhere in piles. I don’t think we’re particularly messy, but it is not possible to take care of housework and keep three little ones content. One has to take precedence over the other. My sweet dad tries to help by folding. I wish he wouldn’t. When I see the piles he’s worked on, I can see how much he is deteriorating.
Sorting is one of those developmental milestones for toddlers, the ability to group like with like. Ironic, right, as the kids acquires these skills, my dad is steadily losing them.
Prior to becoming ill, he could, of course, sort laundry and fold shirts with military precision. Now? Ay caramba, I can tell when he’s folded clothing because of the muddy quality of how they all kind of lie on top of each other. Whe I ask him a question, he nods and looks away, which makes me realize he must fake his response often, not really following what’s going on around him. Still, some moments are better than others. Like we can still eat together and really talk, so all is not lost. That’s the part I want to keep my eye on, what’s working, what’s good.