I hate laundry. The Nerd tells the girls not to say, “hate,” because it’s unnecessary and untrue – we may dislike something, but we don’t “hate” it.
This is false. I hate laundry.
I hate it because it is the perfect representation of my life: endless, repetitive work with no real progress. Dishes. Sweeping. Cooking. Mopping. And laundry. All day, every day, but not done. Never, ever, done.
I can motivate myself, at times, to do unpleasant tasks – like childbirth, by the “just get it over with,” mentality. Except that doesn’t apply here. That NEVER applies to laundry, because it will never be done.
So I may or may not put it off always sometimes.
I used to use army bags to carry my laundry to the laundromat before we had our own washer/dryer. This is *literally* how much laundry I do. Image via wikimedia commons.
I have marathon laundry days. Laundry gets tossed down the basement stairs in a pile all week because then company can’t see it it’s close to my laundry area. When it needs to be done, because I’m not buying more socks, I just accept the fact that my entire day will be spent sorting, washing, drying, folding, and sorting again. I could just do 2 loads/day, every day. But in my defense, Goo is the only one who does her part and brings her clean clothes up and puts them away. Everyone has their own laundry basket here. Do you know what they do? That grab what they need out of the basket and never actually put it away. Then clothes fall out, and rather than, you know, pick them up, they just throw them back downstairs to get washed again. BECAUSE MOMMY ONLY DOES 15 LOADS PER WEEK SO WHAT’S A FEW MORE?
There is virtually always a pile of laundry at the bottom of my basement stairs. I do this for your protection.
I was talking with a friend of mine about how, despite our best efforts, our children have slipped down our basement steps. They were completely unscathed. Why? Because we put safety first and keep a giant pile of cottony softness at the bottom of the steps, rather than the cold, concrete floor.
Imagine if I was one of those moms who’s always on top of things. Then what? My poor, innocent baby might have been scraped, bruised, or even worse.
Every day that I don’t do laundry, I do it with my children’s safety in mind.
You’re welcome, family.
