The Blasphemy of Laundry

I dislike laundry.

I try to live a happy life and enjoy all of it. But laundry … augh.

I can almost venture to say that I “hate” laundry … and “hate” is a word I really despise. But laundry, I think it might actually warrant a little “hate”.

I can’t figure out where this feeling comes from. My father was the “King of the Laundry Room” in our house. That man had a system, and kept up with it daily (I think even hourly) when I was younger. He could fold like nobody else on this earth … you could bounce a quarter off of his folded sheets (top and bottoms). But I definitely lost out on the laundry gene in my family. Because I do NOT like it AT ALL.

Maybe it’s the socks that mysteriously get eaten up by my machine. Maybe it’s the pure volume of laundry . . . Katie seems to think that I like it, because she SO ENJOYS changing outfits multiple times throughout the day. Phil seems to think I like it, too, because he manages to take all of his clothing off in one full swoop, which means there are surprise socks stuck in between the legs of jeans, and white shirts nestled tightly underneath dress shirts. Maybe it’s the loads that I’ve managed to do with Kleenex left in the pockets that produce millions of tiny pieces of Kleenex floating through the air like a snow storm the minute the dryer door is opened. Or perhaps it’s the loads I’ve done with PG’s chap stick or Vaseline lip therapy left in the pocket, where little wax stains are ultimately produced on MY new shirt (why is it that it’s always my shirt that receives the waxy love?) I’m really not a very good pocket checker … I mean, you never know WHAT might be in Ella’s pockets. She’s a girl, but she likes worms. I’ve got to protect myself a little.

I will admit that I am a MAJOR fan of laundry on days when a $10 bill is forgotten in a pocket here or there … but unfortunately, those days are few and far between (even fewer and farther since the ATM came into play. Darn ATM cards … they’ll be the death of me yet.)

Whatever it is, I have come to accept that laundry is something that will never go away, so I had better come up with some sort of way to deal with it. I remember the day we brought these babies home, not too long ago . . .

I even blogged about them. But I think I expected a miracle, as if these two lovely machines would not only put the laundry in on their own, but hang up the delicates and kindly fold everything else for me. All I would have to do is put everything away in their rightful places. Nope, my fantasy was short lived.

At what age do you think a child can do laundry? I remember that Brady Bunch episode when Bobby does the laundry . . . doesn’t he add, like, a whole box of soap into the machine and overloads it? Yes, I remember . . .

The Brady Bunch . . .image courtesy of TV Land.

No, I’m not ready for that. But my girls . . . hmmm . . . they are very mature. They surely would understand the laundry task, wouldn’t they? Hmmmm . . .

Yes, I hate laundry.

Are there any household tasks that have got you down? Please share in the comments . . . I’d love to know.