I remember back in the days before I was married I was mildly-obsessive compulsive with certain things like loading the dishwasher, organizing pots and pans and my closet, etc. It got to the point where my roommates thought I would freak out if they rearranged things (thankfully, I didn't. I'm really not that nuts, I hope). Then I got married, and while I mellowed out for most things, I still though that my way of loading the dishwasher was the ultimate organization technique, and if you didn't fold clothes my way they would get wrinkly and you would be shunned by higher society.
Then, I had Tayvin.
He's an adorable, hilarious, messy, frustrating, whiny, handsome, hungry little toddler now, and I now have what I refer to as Tired Mom Syndrome. I could care less how my dishwasher is loaded, I'm just thankful that the pile in the sink is getting lower. What's that? You're going to sweep the floor so you don't crunch half a box of Cheerios into oblivion? Thank you! Just be careful of the peas he threw over by the fridge.
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