In the first three loads there was a total of two socks…that matched (ok, there’s a record right there). In the fourth load, there were twenty-nine. Note the odd number too. Not only that, but when I had the odd socks left over after matching, I pulled out my odd-socks-bag and ended by taking out one and putting in three. Sigh. Every few months I go through the bag and toss socks that have obviously had irreconcilable differences with their mates (who are now probably living out their dissolute lives at the Motel 6 south of Miami Beach.)
Adjoining the laundry room would be a family closet (a la Duggars). Things would be hung according to size, style and season. There would be room on high shelves for (matching) sterilite containers for seriously out of season (or baby) clothes. There would be nothing on the floor. Likewise in the laundry room. Except, perhaps, a drain.
As it is, my stacked washer and dryer are two inches from the back door; the other side of the “hallway” containing a three-section hamper for sorted clothes. There is a six-inch shelf that contains detergent and another that contains stain-remover and dryer sheets. (Two more tiny shelves contain my purse and keys.) There is exactly enough room to walk between the washer/dryer and the clothes to get out of the door. The folding is done mostly on my bed and the children either fetch their stacks or I put them on their beds. Each bedroom has a child designated to bring out the dirty laundry and sort it on a daily basis. The system works reasonably well. But one day…!