Thoughts From The Laundry Pile

I used to love doing laundry.  In fact, when my husband and I were newly married and purchased our very first washer and dryer, I did a little celebration dance at Lowe’s as we left just because I was so excited.  (Yeah, I know.  That’s how bad I had the newlywed bliss.)

But things have changed.  And now, well, the dancing looks a little less like celebration and a lot more like the groaning that comes with pms or being awakened in the middle of the night by a sick child.  (i.e. I don’t like it anymore.)  Somehow the prospect of pushing that ever-loving start button and emptying the soap as the water runs through doesn’t thrill me anymore.

I think it’s because it’s so . . . perpetual.  I mean, unless I do my laundry naked and make my family do the same, I will always have something to wash.  And, seeing as how that’s just wrong on so many levels and might cause problems for my children somewhere in their futures, I won’t be doing that anytime.  Ever.  I’d rather have perpetual laundry.  But that still leaves me with, well, perpetual laundry.

Don’t get me wrong, I do love clean laundry.  Slipping into clean sheets at the end of the day and sniffing in the comfort of the clean — ahhh.  Nothing like it.   And, well, nothing beats clean jeans.  Am I right?  Well, not at first, I guess, since they kind of shrink when I dry them and then I have to stretch them out again so they fit my butt.  Okay, maybe many things beat clean jeans.

There is, however, one thing that I do love about laundry. . . it begs for multitasking.  Because I put in some laundry and then have at least 45 minutes before I have to touch it again. 

So Friday, while the washer and dryer were working overtime to get through that big ‘ol pile of laundry that I let sit for way too long, I read a book.

Hmmm… maybe I do like laundry.