Before I had children – no, wait, it was much further back. Before I was married, when I was responsible only for myself, I used to say things like “I have to do my laundry,” or “today I am doing the laundry” or “God, I ran out of quarters again.”
I spoke about laundry like it was a finite task. I could do my laundry in one day, unless the crappy machines in the apartment building or the dorm or the laundromat around the corner were crappier than usual. (Incidentally, if I ran out of quarters, I could rely on an illegal trick my friends and I discovered in college. Does everybody know this trick? A playing card nestled in the quarter tray of one of those pay machines triggers the wash cycle just as well as the coins did.)
Now laundry is an endless affair, a way of life instead of a chore. I do at least one load a day, if not more, and on the weekends I often crank through several loads. My problem is that when I run out of energy, what suffers is the folding and the putting away. Then the clean clothes pile up in my bedroom, often on my bed, where Stewart will come at the end of the day and reduce the fresh pile to a trampled mess on the floor with one sweep of his arm. It’s not his fault – I am the one who left it there – but that only makes it worse.
My laundry efforts go in cycles. For many weeks in a row I keep it up rather well. Everyone has clean clothes and the dirty baskets and hamper don’t overflow. But after a while I start to wonder about the point of it all. Much like all other household chores, it seems so futile to spend my time cleaning clothes that will be dirtied again as soon as I turn around.
So the laundry piles high, and I step around it, or banish it to the garage where the washer and dryer sit, waiting for me to attend to them. This can happen for many days before I finally give in and acknowledge the need for my work to begin.
Last night I finally sorted all of the dirty clothes. Sorting makes me feel better. But then I surveyed the mountains and felt overwhelmed. Where do I start? The answer was – anywhere. EVERYTHING was dirty, and we all needed EVERYTHING, so it didn’t even matter.
Today I am on my own all day with both kids. I decided to make it a game for me and Kyle. He helped me load the washer and I will let him help me with unloading the dryer and starting all over again. It’s a nice day so I may put a drying rack outside and have him help me drape a wet clean load on it. These things are all new to him, so maybe they will actually be appealing.
After all, do need to leave the house in unsoiled clothing. It should also not smell, or be too holey. Wrinkles are an entirely different matter. Ask me how long it’s been since I actually used the iron.
My laundry is also endless. My hubby jokes he is going to install a coin slot on the washing machine to make himself some money. So not funny. Since I am the one who does the laundry. I tell him then I will charge him a service fee for washing and putting away his clothes. And if I’d known that card trick for the washing machines back in the day when I also had to use the apartment laundramat, I’d be a rich woman now!!!
How funny I wrote about “the socks” of laundry today. And laundry is the biggest pain in the ***!!!!! And yes my clean clothes often make it into the dirty hamper as well….oh the cycles of life.
Came across your blog and thought I’d say hello!
Lyns
You are not alone. After children, laundry becomes a completely different animal, alive and reproducing at breakneck speed.
I couldn’t even tell you where my iron is. Seriously.
Seriously, I was just trying to explain this to someone. There are only three people living in my house, but as soon as I get ALL of the laundry done, there are baskets upon baskets waiting for me.
I think I’m going to link to your post. 🙂
I’ve been meaning to comment for a while, but keep getting sidetracked. My first thought when I read this was, “Huh. I don’t mind laundry but I hate hate hate doing dishes.” I go through the same cycles with dishes that you described going through with laundry (doing it faithfully for a few weeks and then slacking off until there’s nothing left).
Let my little OCD anal retentive self tell you why I don’t mind laundry anymore. Take it or leave it, I don’t care. Two reasons. First, I bought one of those 3-bin laundry sorter do-hickeys and I sort my laundry right away as it comes off at night (or whenever it gets dirty with the kids). I used to not do laundry because there would just be sorted piles all over the floor until I finally had time to do it. No more. Also, I (in theory) do one load a day and each day of the week has their own load so it doesn’t build up. Monday is Alec’s work clothes, Tuesday darks, Wednesday towels, Thursday colors, Friday whites, and Saturday is rugs or anything else that has built up again and can’t wait. Some days I have to do 2 loads, like today because there were somehow more towels than usual (and also lately there have been a lot of wet underpants and clothing thanks to Luke) but usually I only have to do 1.
Also, my mental mantra has become “do it now.” I try to quick fold the day’s load at the beginning of naptime to get it out of the way.
There. I hope no one comes back this far and reads this because it’s a little embarrassing. But it works for me.