There are so many cycles in life we go through; cycles of bad relationships, financial woes, depression, job satisfaction, etc. However there is one cycle I just for the life of me, no matter how hard I try to understand, can NOT grasp. Which cycle may that be? Oh the ever fabulous one that unless we become nudists we will never be able to get rid of, the laundry. You wear it, throw it in the hamper/floor/wherever, sort, wash, dry, fold, put away only to repeat again. There are times in life I think I have got a handle on it. Nope not me. There’s people out there who only have a load left to do, everyone’s drawers and closets are full; they are happy. Nope not me again. There is the more often than not days where I’m constantly struggling to stay afloat rather than drown in the stuff around here. Right now I’m struggling against the current and there is no life guard in sight to save me. Everywhere I look it’s there. It’s on the couch waiting to be folded because my bed is covered in the unsorted socks from the last 5 loads; it’s on the floor in the bathroom, creeping out the door from my bedroom. I can’t hide from it.
I have tried to include the older kids help and it always ends up a disaster with me having twice the work. The last time they assisted bubbles were threatening to escape the washer, too many clothes were shoved into the dryer to actually dry and then my favorite bra was shrunk with bleach spots. After that fiasco I stripped that chore from their list of to-do’s. It wasn’t worth struggling to get them on the same page as me if it meant that my beloved bra’s would be destroyed.
Now that I’ve taken back control there is just too many clothes in this house. ‘Tater’s constantly changing her clothes a million times before heading to school and leaving them on the floor with the dirty laundry. I finally got tired of doing the sniff test to sort and just wash all her clothes together. Monkey still has accidents on our potty training adventure, especially if I lose track of time during afternoon nap and let him sleep too long. I constantly feel like I only do the surface cleaning of laundry, ya know the basics that’s needed during the week; socks, underwear, jeans, bras, t-shirts. I never get to all of it. I’m lucky that Lil t’ is the clean freak of the family, doesn’t change his clothes but once a day and is at least willing to help bring his clothes to the washer for me. But that’s the extent of what I can get out of him. I would love to say I miss The Man’s help now that he’s gone, but let’s be honest, he was worse than the kids when it came to getting help. If I hadn’t known better I almost think he planned our very user friendly washer and dryer to die last year so he could get me the front loaders that were too “complicated for a man”; just so he would have an excuse to not help.
Speaking of which, I absolutely miss my FL’s. I see them every day sitting in the back of the house, calling my name whenever I do a load of laundry with the small rinky dinky stackables that came with this rental. I can’t wait till I can use them, hug them, and enjoy them again. I loved the freedom of the FL’s, these stackables limit me to the amount I can do, plus the dryer takes six years to do a load.
As I’m sitting here typing this post up with Monkey complaining about how big my butt is and he can’t fit in the recliner with me, the tv just turned off. I blame Lil t’ who is notorious for doing things like that in the middle of a show, nope not him. Ask Monkey if in the midst of his butt squeezing in the chair if he did it, nope not him. I then think to myself as I get up, “did I sit on the remote again”, nope I didn’t. That is when I see the only remote that controls the TV sitting under it on the entertainment center across the room from us. I am completely dumbfounded now as to how it happened. Everything else that’s plugged into that surge protector stayed on. Lil t’s theory is ghosts, to which Monkey yells “No ghosts in my butt tonight”.
The randomness that pops up in this house never ceases to amaze me and I will (NOT) master the vicious cycle of laundry.