We Don’t Talk About the Laundry

We Don’t Talk About the Laundry

I don’t know what it is about laundry that is so awful. Maybe because you need to have it done, you have so much of it, and you’re never done with it. The demands of laundry can break a person. I’m convinced that laundry is how world conflicts began and I have to say, it’s a major social issue that the world is not talking about enough.

It’s never done.

It’s like Sisyphus and his big rock, only it’s laundry.

In a round basket.

If you fall behind on three loads you’re eight weeks to catching back up.

It multiples like Gremlins.

Twelve items in.

Turn on the water.

897 articles of clothing come spilling out and the end of the cycle.

Most of them are single socks that appeared out of nowhere and match none of yours.

Then, there is the matter of putting it all away.

When I tell my family they have laundry to put away, everyone mysteriously fades into a wall or thin air, like a ghost. The aforementioned laundry is never discussed again. Like a skeleton in our family closet, no one wants to talk about it.

“Shhh, we don’t talk about the laundry. It’s listening.”

This year, I had a basket of clothes in my room that had been accumulating laundry since last summer.

We went on multiple vacations in rapid succession.

These were clothes I didn’t have time to put away during last-minute washing before we dashed out the door for the next destination. So, they got tossed in this basket which became an unofficial catch-all for everything. Everything that didn’t have a home or for everyone who didn’t want to put it away. By “everyone who didn’t want to put it away,” I mean “me,” because no one else seems to know where their clothes come from or where they go.

The basket was so full it overflowed onto my floor and next to the overflow were neatly folded stacks of more laundry that didn’t get put away before bed. There are few things more dreadful than be greeted by a pile of laundry sitting on your side of the bed at 10:00 pm.

Looking at the pile was exhausting.

There was a point where I seriously considered just loading the basket into the back of my car and driving it to Good Will just to get it out of my house.

We’re called to serve others right?

Would anyone even notice if I did it?

Not one person came looking for a single item of clothing that might have been in that basket and if they had, no one would’ve been brave enough to go through it. Not just because they might get caught and have to put some of it away, but it was scary. Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of accumulated baskets? The laundry knows!

That basket was the safest place for me to hide anything in this house.

The idea of emptying that basket and all it’s miscellaneous items was beyond daunting.

There was so much of it.

Clothes on the bed at bedtime? Toss it in the catch all basket.

Lost the motivation you had when you started the laundry? Toss it in the catch-all basket.

Want to do it later? Toss it in the catch-all basket.

Decided you don’t need New Year’s Resolutions, anyway? Toss it in the catch-all basket.

It was my own fault.

I don’t know why I do this kind of stuff to myself.

Eventually, I mustered up the willpower to put the basket away—it wasn’t that long ago, and it took two days of actual strategy and process to do it. The sock pile alone was massive.

  1. Sort by girls and boys socks.
  2. Sort girls by family member.
  3. Sort boys by family member.
  4. Sort above individual piles by color.
  5. Sort them by size.
  6. Find their buddy.

Game. Set. Match.

It felt good to get it all put away and to see my floor again.

I promised myself I wouldn’t ever do it again.

I know, right?

Yesterday, I noticed on the footstool of my bed a small stack of clothes.

Then, on the night table a stack of 4 shirts.

Laundry multiplies.

Like Gremlins.

Four shirts washed.

97 articles of clothing stacked by the bed.

error: Content is protected !!