Laundry, Laundry Everywhere, Yet Not a Sock to Wear!

I.

Love.

Laundry.

Puppy Lovie Preparing for Her Bath

Okay, that's only half true. I love warm, clean laundry that's organized, folded/ironed and hung, and put away. I guess at that point it's not really laundry anymore.  The truth is, that I don't mind laundry when it's warm, clean, and still unfolded, unsorted, un-ironed, and not put away. Even though I know better, I insist on "laundry day" instead of "laundry every day."  I inevitably always end up in a cycle of scrambling to get sixteen loads done so that anyone in the family has even one pair of matching, clean socks to wear, followed by a week of consistent and gradual laundry care, followed by yet another week of paralysis and a mountain of laundry more intimidating than Mt. Kilimanjaro.  Repeat.

Mountain Ranges of Sorted Laundry at my Lovely "Laundry Desk" in the Garage

Besides this funny laundry pattern I can't seem to break, I've got other, deep running, terribly quirky, nonsensical laundry-isms, particularly that I don't really like other people doing the wash for me.  Yes, this includes my husband. Double yes, I know this is insane.  If you love following care tags, if you adore your line-dry rod (except when it inevitably comes crashing down onto the dusty garage floor), if you do not like your underthings to ever, ever, ever end up in the same load with your jeans, you may think twice about entrusting your laundering to a man, unless he is an anomaly and has a very keen laundry eye. This is not (at all!) to say that men are incapable of doing laundry. Obviously, that is not true. My very precise, detail-oriented husband laundered clothes for many, many years of his life prior to our matrimonial bliss. He's probably kept fewer stray red/blue socks from dying entire loads of whites than I have in my time.  Greg flies commercial jets for a living, and you will all be thankful to know that the washer and dryer do not phase him. If I'd allow him, more laundry would get done at our house. Simply, the compulsive side of my brain says that if one person is in charge of the laundry, there are fewer mis-sorting opportunities, and I don't expect a man to know from personal experience that a delicate bra and panty set shouldn't be dried in the machine. I didn't say it was rational, just that these are the thoughts that I think. Ain't he sweet for putting up with me?

Every month or so, my Dear Sweet will have tripped over the laundry mountain in the garage four or five too many times in a given weekend, bucks Mama's rules, and starts in on it while I'm at the grocery store.  This usually "works." Imagining all of my hand washables being machine washed gives me the willies, and Greg, knowing my particularities, won't put my laundry away for me. Remember what I said about loving laundry? I love it when it's put away. So I'm forced to get back into the laundry program. Drat! The Great Motivator, I'll call him.

Here's a fun laundry fact for the day: The number of linens that a tiny baby can soil in five hours is phenomenal.  It truly has to be experienced to be believed.  Between meal times, play times, bibs, socks, bath towels, sweaters, grocery cart covers, car seat covers, high chair covers, swimming lesson towels, blankets, crib sheets, crib mattress pads, changing table covers, hats, mittens, washcloths, and jammies, our girl can make a heap fast! What happens when they grow up and wear bigger clothes? What happens when you add more to your brood? My brain is liquefying just thinking about it. Let me say right now that I admire all mommies who have the wherewithal to manage the cloth diaper laundering scene.  We all have individual maternal strengths, and I'm not too proud to say that I have no business pretending like this is one that I could even barely manage. Thank God for disposables. One day, I'm sure I will have a landfill named after me, but this will be better than the alternative amount of crazy that I will avoid putting my family through.

Another tricky thing is that Piercy isn't the only one having outfit changes every day/few hours.  Being a mommy is proving to be a dirty business, and most days I end up covered in at least one of Piercy's meals.  Then there are workout clothes, around-the-house clothes suitable for cleaning or ...er... doing laundry, and decent clothes that I feel comfortable wearing in public (I'm done being caught on a regular basis totally slobbed out at the grocery store/library/bank/dry cleaners/post office/fabric store/Home Depot/etc. in this town where I've spent all of my 26 years). So there's that.

Folding, Folding, Folding

I know I'm not alone in my struggle against the evils of dirty, smelly clothes.  I can count on two hands the number of mommy friends I know who resolved to "stay on top of the laundry" for the New Year. Another girlfriend from college posted to Facebook last week that she'd just finished her fifth load of laundry for the day. Pop a top, raise your glass, and say it again, gals: You. Are. Not. Alone.

I'm completely sure that the more we share in the realities of life, the more honest we are about even these kinds of daily minutiae, the less we kick ourselves for falling short of living up to a completely unrealistic expectation for life.  The other day, Greg came home and told me that he was so proud of the way I'd kept up with the laundry lately.  I let him know that he just hadn't found my new hiding place for the dirties.

And speaking of great finds, I'll leave you with a parting thought brought to you by Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle:

Sweet Board Book from Auntie Seana

"I am a laundress." Well, You're Hired, Mrs. T-W!

Happy Laudering, my fellow Laundresses!