So my husband and I were were racing to see who could put the clothes away the fastest – a race mostly of my making; though I think I may have told him about the race.

Maybe. Hmmm…..did I?

Anyways, I started to zoom through my pile and shot a glance over to the husband.

He was just talking away to the kids and listening to music. “Foolish move,” I muttered quietly, “music and those kids will just slow ya down. Ha, ha, ha, ha! suhckah.”

I turned back to my ever diminishing pile, when my eye glanced to the closet and I noticed it.

Those freaking hangars are hanging incorrectly. The clothes are dragging them to one side. And shoo – those pants don’t belong over there; jeans don’t go with the stretchy pants and dangit there goes those funky hangars again. And will someone please tell me what possessed me to place those two short sleeved shirts with the sweaters?

Sigh… the worst times does my OCD love to rear it’s ugly head; like when I’m trying to win a race that no one knew they were in but me.

Once I was done I looked to my husband with a defeated, pathetic look – until I saw he had still pieces of clothes left.

“Ha!” With everyone’s attention, I paraded around like a proud peacock; “I finished my pile before you AND I let my crazy run free.”

My husband, turned quickly on one foot, twisted his head to one side and responded: “what the crap you talking about? Have you lost your mind?”

The boy: “mommy done? Mommy play toys!”

The girl: “ha, ha. I farted.”

Yeah, they knew who was the boss