I’m not talking about the daily cleaning that makes me feel a little dizzy thinking, “Didn’t I just wipe down the table? How is it already covered in syrup?”
I’m talking about cleaning things that are clean.
Or at least clean . . . in theory.
It drives me crazy to wash laundry that I know is probably clean, but somehow got mixed in with dirty clothes. (I used the word “somehow” but it really isn’t as mysterious as it sounds. I’m pretty sure it has to do with not putting the clothes away when I should.)
There are occasions, however, when I don’t mind the re-washing.
When my kids get into a pretending-to-be-animal-caretaker phase, I don’t make a bit of a fuss over re-washing the Tupperware that has been on the floor.
Mostly because I love watching their imaginations run.
But a little bit because I don’t want them thinking they need to sneak the now-contaminated Tupperware back into the cabinet.