Wednesday, January 4, 2012

I Hate Laundry

This is a thoroughly random, useless post but how better to start 2012 than to offer up a completely and utterly useless whine?  Laundry.  I'm sick of of it.

My dining room table has been transformed, as of late, into a collecting place for tons of family laundry.  As least it's clean.  That's the bright note.  The gloomy side is that the table sits directly in my front entry way.

So Bri, my dear friends and blog readers ask, why do I not take care of it?  This is a fair question.  An honest question.  One which deserves a fair and honest response, so here it is...I don't give a shit.  I'm done with it.  I am done.

For the past ten days I have been collecting and washing, sorting and folding.  Methodically - logically.  I'll wash the towels after the boys have showered.  The sheets will be washed the morning after they go back to school.  If there's a storm coming in - I'll place their flannels on the bed, the kids will stay warmer this way.  I'll get all the underwear on Monday morning so I can bleach everything together and so on and so forth. Then, I'll have two appointments back to back, I have to get to the grocery store, the dogs barf, I can't get to the folding, I'll dump the towels on the table, another couple of days will go by, I'll start another load, no one takes their folded clothes upstairs, and the madness continues.  STOP!!! 

Can anyone see the problem here?  Even when I place the clothes in laundry baskets I can't express the depth of my disappointment when these same baskets return with dirty clothes on top of the layers of neatly folded laundry down below.   I've heard such suggestions as, have my children do their own laundry.  Yes, yes...lovely.  LOVE TO, however; been there done that.  Unless I hover 24/7 over what my boys are doing in every room of the house, calamities can and will occur.  The last time I let William wash his own clothes (and this was after showing him several times how to sort, pre-treat, and load the machines), he decided that he knew better than mom.  He almost destroyed my brand new washing machine.  My Aspergian sons think they know everything about machines (another blog, another day).  Never again. Next time he does his own laundry, it will be at a laundry mat.

So you see, I am stuck.  I am stuck with a formal dining room that is no longer a formal dining room.  Instead it's a collection of chairs with shirts hanging off the backs, piles of unfolded underwear, and closed shutters to protect awkward glances from unsuspecting neighbors.  When my dear friends show up to watch football, I don't apologize any more.  They instinctively know that instead of a dining room, I have a laundry room.  What a sad state my life has become.

"Hey, Mom!"

"Yeah, Austy...?"

"Can you bring me some underwear?"

"No can do, buddy.  I'm watching the football game with Dad and Ms. Suzanne."

"But I'm in the shower!"

"Sorry, dude.  Maybe next time you'll put them away for me.  We won't look."

"But I'm wet!"

"Towels are down here too.  Sorry dude...better hurry then, it's cold isn't it?"

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