Laundry day. We’d let the dirty clothes stack up for too long, with my husband and I on alternating travel schedules. When we finally got it all done, it soared in a mountain over our ping-pong table, aka “world’s most awesome laundry-folding service.”. Folding was an impossibility due to the volume. So I assigned a sorting task to my youngest two kids, both teenagers. My daughter is neuro-typical. My son, “Clark Kent the WonderKid,” has ADHD and Asperger’s.
After a lot of moaning and groaning, off both kids – excuse me, young people, as they prefer to be called these days — went to pull their clothes out of the pile. Suz snuck away once to watch some show about sparkly teenage vampires, and I had to scold her once. Within half an hour, though, she had transferred her pile to the floor of her room. Not optimal, but she had reduced the volume on the ping-pong table, and from my inspection of the remaining laundry I could see she did a decent job.
And then there was Clark Kent.
He wandered into the game room, he meandered back out. I sent him in again, he repeated the process. Lather, rinse, repeat. Times ten. He sat back down at his laptop.
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