Laundry: (n) clothes or linens that have been or are to be laundered, endlessly, forever and ever.
It is a sad thing for me to admit that an awful lot of my Facebook statuses make reference to laundry. Of course, an awful lot of them are about Coffee Heath Bar Crunch ice cream, which may or may not have something to do with my expanding waistline, but for now I’m consumed by laundry. This Thanksgiving break has been simply wonderful; our time with family and friends was relaxing and fun, the food was fantastic, and being home for four straight days has been supreme. But during those four days, the amount of laundry I’ve done has been insane. I’ve run through about a third of a 96-load container of All, and yet there doesn’t appear to be a single empty hamper in my house. I’m staying up late writing this tonight because secretly, I’m afraid the laundry I haven’t washed will eat me if I go to sleep.
Part of the culprit is my sweet little daughter. She changes clothes about three or four hundred times a day, according to her mood and/or what she is playing at the moment. “Look, I’m a princess!” or “Hey, let’s play school. I’m dressed up to be a teacher” or “I would like to go outside, but there is NO way I can wear this!” or “I’m dressed just like Mommy going to work” (this last one was recently said while she was sporting pink galoshes, some very tight Capri-length leggings that are supposed to be worn under a skirt, and an obviously too-small tank top with rhinestones all over it that didn’t remotely cover her belly…why? Why is this like Mommy going to work?). She loves clothes, and being our only girl, we pretty much let her get away with changing clothes whenever it strikes her fancy. Add to this all of the clothes worn to school, church, football and soccer practice, the clothes worn on the preload shift at UPS (which is a sweaty, stinky shift, if you ask me), and the clothes worn by a three-year-old who would rather wear his food than eat it…and it makes for lots and lots and lots of laundry.
I feel a little bit distressed, and a whole lot boring, that I have so much to say about laundry. Everyone has to wash their clothes; it is not exciting, it is not life altering, it is not going to make me rich and famous and loved by all. My oldest two boys complain when they don’t have any clothes clean, but they also complain when I make them put away all of their clean clothes. They would much rather stuff the whole clean pile in the hamper, cover it with a dirty shirt and some socks, and then complain to me that they don’t have anything to wear. This is part of the vicious cycle of laundry. I cannot win; I will never be done because unless I do my last load of laundry completely naked while everyone else in the house is also in the buff, there will always be that last load to wash. And while this might be satisfying once, you can guarantee that would be the day the Publisher's Clearing House would (finally) show up on my doorstep hoping to surprise me...not knowing that the real surprise lay behind my front door with a house full of naked people hoping to finally, once and for all, get ALL of the laundry done.