Monday
Jack
and I
ran a Fibonacci
sequence to calculate how many
pairs of rabbits we’d have in twelve months
if we started with one pair that birthed another after just one month.
At the end of the year, we’d have 377 pairs of rabbits—a whopping 754 bunnies hopping around our tiny house.
I’ve often said our laundry pile multiplies like rabbits. We should have counted dirty socks and shirts, pajamas and underwear. I’m sure there’s a formula that helps you calculate how quickly the piles grow.
I expect it’s something like the number of kids times the number of mud puddles in a one-block radius divided by the number of laundry baskets you own plus the length of a standard wash cycle, all to the nth degree, n being the number of people who live in your house, equals Mount Washmore.
After five days of denial, I finally had to deal with the rabbits. They were spilling over the sides of the chair I’d stuffed them in, falling off the blanket chest where I’d piled the overflow, lying prone on the floor. So I spent an hour and twenty minutes folding. (The socks alone took half an hour; I’m thinking of pulling a Simcha Fisher and letting everyone fend for themselves if they want a pair of matching socks.) But–at last!–my laundry’s done. For a few hours, anyway.
If you can figure out what kind of poem this is, I’ll give you some of my laundry. I’ll even wash it first—but you’ll have to fold and put away.
Anyone? Anyone?
ahhh… when math and language collide. I do so enjoy it. However, I better not find freshly laundered boy undies in my mailbox just for typing: fibonacci poetry.
fun!
Oh Jen, I’d send you a pair of boy undies in the mail just for fun, fibonacci or no 🙂
I love that the poetry itself is fibonacci! And these pictures are just so warm and colorful — I’m not sure how you took pictures of laundry and made them artful, but you did.
Laundry is impossible. I’ve decided that folding is overrated and stuffing is underrated. I keep plastic bins in the drawers so that the clothes can just be tossed into the bins, unfolded. A few squirts of water takes care of wrinkles. So what if we go outside with our clothes damp?
Also, all children socks should just be white. Cute pictures are great, but we have so many cute odd socks. My husband has taken to putting mismatched socks on the baby. It is my challenge to not tell strangers that I did not pick out her socks. We get to show off two cute sock styles on the same day! Win!
Andrea, you are my new favorite blog reader. The line about my artful laundry photos made my whole week. Thank you!
I have tried to streamline socks by making each child’s a different color, all matching. But there’s this wonderful thing in their lives called a grandmother, and she really likes buying them packs of socks in which every pair is a different color/style. I can still give away the twins’ socks that don’t match my color scheme, but Jane pitches a fit; she’s very attached to her socks. So, the sock pile returns with a vengeance every.single.week: one week post-laundry post, the rabbits are back in full force. I spent my childhood rummaging through piles of clean laundry for socks and shirts, and I turned out okay, so I figure my kids will, too. At least in the laundry department 🙂
My washer just died so I don’t need any more laundry, but I love your poem! The image of laundry bunnies cracks me up!
Will someone break my washer? Please? Then I’d at least have an excuse for why I’ve got piles of laundry all over my flipping house 🙂 (Actually, I really love my washer, and I’m sorry yours is broken, Lynn. Schlepping to a laundromat would be a lot harder than schlepping to the basement. I hope it’s up and running soon!)
Your post reminds me of this idea I came across recently that I fully plan to implement when my little one is old enough to fold socks…because i hate folding socks! http://www.imalazymom.com/2010/12/lazy-mom-tip-49.html
Wow. That’s a rocking idea. I still think the sock bin that everyone can rummage through is easier, though 🙂