Febreeze

Hubby and I were doing our usual morning shuffle, trying to force three kids out of the house who usually don’t want to go.  He had picked out clothes for the boys, and I picked out Darling Daughter’s outfit.  (It’s best when I pick it out, because then she matches and doesn’t look like a boy).

I put her in this cute Hanna dress with jeans.  I could not find the Hanna leggings for the life of me.  They are probably stuck somewhere in our always-full laundry baskets that sit undisturbed in the laundry room for a week (or sometimes weeks) before being washed.  I went digging through the laundry basket in her closet.  Yes, sometimes I stoop this low.  There is not enough time in our day to get everything done.

I found a perfectly “clean” pair of jeans for her to wear, except for one piece of oatmeal stuck on them, which I promptly picked off and put into the trash.  I dressed her, and we went downstairs.  Then it was shoe time, and as I sat her in my lap to put her shoes on I realized that she smelled.  Or rather, the jeans smelled, somewhat like mildew, which makes no sense, unless something in her laundry basket was wet and set upon them. 

I looked for Hubbyand asked, “Can you bring me the Febreeze?”

Yes, I confess: I febreezed my Darling Daughter’s pants.