You know how it goes. You finally wash, dry, fold and put up all the laundry for the week, and then you turn around and there's five more loads to be washed.
Chloe decided to help me today. I appreciate her willingness to help, but it makes the job 10 times harder. Today she started going through the laundry piles, and she held up Jason's shirt and said, "Daddy." And then she found my shirt and said, "Mama." She continued to rifle through, and then she found this little treasure.
She finally figured out how to "wear" it.
The only problem was that she couldn't figure out how to make it stay on. Those things are rather hard to fasten.
So eventually, what was once the "I'm-wearing-my-mom's-undergarments-and-this-is-super-fun" playtime, turned into "I-can't-figure-this-thing-out-so-I'm-going-to-throw-a-tantrum-and-dramatically-throw-myself-into-the-wall-and-then-fall-onto-the-floor situation."
And so I hid the bra from her, and she eventually began running around the house with a much more wearable piece of clothing over her head.
Yep. That's her dad's underwear.
With my super padded 34A bra, Jason's whitey tighties, and Chloe sporting both, I think I've officially embarrassed three out of four members of the Lashley family today.
Stella, beware. You're next, kiddo.