So hubs and I had a conversation this weekend about laundry. I don’t mind doing laundry. I like the feeling I get when all of the clothes are clean. That feeling lasts about 6 minutes. It begins when I put the last warm piece of folded laundry in the appropriate person’s muck tub, but it quickly disappears when I realize that there are probably socks hiding underneath couches, underwear under a bed, and a sweatshirt in the living room with some Indian curry on it. And those are just my clothes. There are 5 other people living here with their own dirty laundry lurking in dark corners of their toy boxes.
I’ve never thought of myself as a fussy person. I like to believe I’m laid back and all cool about stuff. But when hubs told me this morning that he thought we should start having the 3 big kids fold laundry, I started hearing voices.
“They’ll fold your t-shirts wrong!”
“They’ll wad up your jeans and put weird creases in them!”
“They’ll make a mess of your sweaters!”
“THEY’LL DO IT WRONG!”
Yeah, I suppose I’m a bit inflexible when it comes to folding laundry. But since it was laundry day (most every day is laundry day to be fair, though), I decided to give it a whirl. #3 balked a bit when we told the three of them to go fold laundry, but #s 1 and 2 jumped in and did it without complaining. When they asked how to fold different things, I just told them, “in half and then in half again,” figuring that I’d probably refold my stuff when I put it away, and they’d probably wad theirs up when the put their stuff away.
They ended up folding three or four loads today and I have to admit, I kind of liked it. I haven’t yet looked at the stack of stuff in my laundry basket, but I’m thankful for two things: 1 – my clothes aren’t sitting around in they dryer getting more wrinkled, and 2 – I didn’t fold them.
Hmmm – what household chore should I foist upon them next? They already clean their shared bathroom. I don’t care if they do a lousy job in there because I never see it. Dare I start them on the dishes?