There is a monster in my house. It doubles in size each day, compounding into a treacherous, scary monster. Actually, we all feed it- I, my husband, and both of our sons. It doesn’t eat food, or animals. It doesn’t eat plants, fruits or vegetables. The monster is fearfully dubbed: Laundry.
Every other month or so (okay so it’s more like twice a year), I get caught up on all the dirty laundry in my house. It lasts for about six hours. Before I know it, there are four hampers brimming with that monster again. Somehow, a couple of shirts, pants, socks, and pajamas have morphed into what looks like that belonging to a family with quintuplets! I can’t even imagine what it would be like to have another female in the house!
I am criticized by my husband for my laundry separation methods. I of course have the whites and the darks, but I also have loads that are strictly “white with print on it”, red (which allows its distant cousin, orange to join in), gray (which takes in yellows, light blues and light greens), jeans, and darks. Don’t forget the body-touched towels, kitchen towels and floor cleaning cloths (I scrub the floors on my hands and knees-I don’t own a mop…but that’s another story all together!). Oh, come on it makes perfect sense to have those subcategories.
Oh yeah, I don’t own any laundry baskets either. The clothes must be folded or hung as they come out of the dryer. This eliminates the problem of having baskets of laundry sitting on the bed, sofa, floor, and not knowing if it is dirty or clean, or having to rummage through a basket of clean clothes to find a pair of socks. Also, when the clothes get folded or hung right from the dyer, you have the opportunity to hand press the wrinkles out right then and there. Okay, neurotic? Definitely; but it works!
I subjected my husband to these rules of laundry right before we got married, when he was unemployed for a short time. He had previously been forgiven the duty of laundry based on his color-blindness. It seemed like a great excuse to keep my neurosis to myself. He actually came through with shining colors! It did have a way of taking the sting out of his unemployment. It made me a little sad when he found another job so soon.
When the laundry turns into the uncontrollable monster, every other week or so, my husband puffs out his chest and bellows “show me how to sort the laundry and use the washer and dryer”. I’m not sure if he actually plans on doing it or if he just knows me so well that he knows I won’t let him do it. I do get satisfaction out of doing laundry. And I like the way I fold it.
You may be judging me on my overly neurotic color separation or the fact that I won’t allow my husband to generously lend a helping hand in taming the monster. I can’t say that doesn’t bother me; just not enough to make me change my ways. Don’t sit there so smugly; we all have dirty laundry!
Actually, I’m sure that this all stems from my childhood (doesn’t it all?!) Growing up, all laundry could be found in clothes baskets. It didn’t matter if it was clean or dirty, it was in a basket. There were clean baskets and dirty baskets, but you couldn’t tell them apart unless you did a sniff test. The clean clothes weren’t folded, just a rumpled mess.
It may not come as a surprise to you now, that I DO NOT OWN ANY LAUNDRY BASKETS!!!!! Nope, in my house, the clothes go from the hamper to the washer to the dryer to the drawer or closet. No baskets needed! It’s just that simple.
Enough blogging, back to the monster…all of you!
