When it comes to me and sheets, folding is a bit of a relative term.

I do try, but the end result looks more like wadding. 

I’ve been doing my sister-in-law’s laundry since their house sold, and this week they brought their sheets. 

Washing them?  No problem.  Sheets make a big load but dry quickly so I feel like I’ve really accomplished something. 

I got them out of the dryer, checked all of the little corner spots where socks and handtowels hide, stretched out my arms to begin folding . . . and suddenly felt very insecure. 

I tried the trick I saw Martha do on Oprah years ago and tucked the stretchy corners inside one another.  Maybe it helped, but the end result was still a wad. 

I realized that I was only doing this to impress them.  I truly don’t care if my sheets are perfectly folded.  I have a method that I found in a magazine a year-or-so ago that totally works for us. 

I fold the sheets as well as I can, and then I put them inside one of the set’s pillowcases.  They may not stack beautifully in the linen closet, but my linen-closet stacks always fall over anyway.  They do end up wrinkled, but I just can’t fathom caring about wrinkled sheets. 

So rather than moving the furniture in the living room and spending an hour tucking and smoothing, I chose to be okay with the way we do things, and do it that way for them. 

Of course, while writing this post, I checked to see if Mama Laundry has instructions on how to fold sheets.  Of course, she does.  Hers are pretty, but I’m okay with my way.

This is part of letting them into our lives.  Our real, not-so-pretty-sheet-folding lives.