Laundry Lamentation

This post is actually something I wrote 3 1/2 years ago. I was reading it in my journal and I thought to myself, "That's funny.  I'm putting that on my blog."  Since this laundry lamentation was written I have made several changes in the laundry and I no longer spend hours folding clothes.  I let the children handle their own folding.

Here it is:

I think we all have that one chore that we absolutely detest.  The one that we avoid with careful planning, that we put off, try to forget, and that visits us in unpleasant dreams to mock us and remind us that we have yet to accomplish the dreaded task.  For me, it is the laundry.  Not the washing.  My washing machine does a stellar job of getting the clothes clean with minimal effort on my part.  I am also very proud of my dryer for always getting the job done.  My only contribution there it to toss the clothes in, add a dryer sheet, and press start.  But, after running 8+ loads through on an average week, which would be more if I didn't have such a big washer, my steam sizzles out.  The daunting task of sorting and folding looms before me like a root canal appointment without anesthesia.  I try to dull the pain by watching a movie while I work, but it drags on and on and on, and when the first movie ends and I'm still folding, I start to have dangerously violent thoughts, usually directed at my children and husband.  Thoughts like, "Why is it my job to do your laundry?  Can I poke you with something sharp and hot so you feel like I feel right now?"  Okay, I guess the 22 month old really can't wash her own clothes.  But if the three year old can paint her body in peanut butter without getting her dress dirty, why can't she learn to push a few buttons and dump in some detergent?  If she can unload her closet and dresser in the time it takes me to shower, why can't she neatly fold her shorts and shirts and place them lovingly in her bare naked dresser?  And if she can do it, the 6, 8, and 10 year old children should be old hats at laundry by now.  But, strangely, they are not. They seem to have the same genetic loathing for the task as me! Even when I wash, dry, sort, and fold their clothes into individual baskets, they act like I am asking them to solve the conflict in Israel when I request that they put their clothes away! Excuse me! I draw the line there.  I am not the maid! I do not get paid and I do not get to go home after my work is done.  We're supposed to be in this thing together.  Instead, I am taking a break after 3 straight hours of folding laundry to write this little rant before I go back for another hour, while the rest of my family is relaxing in the soothing air conditioning of the nearest dollar theater.  Yes, I admit it is two weeks worth of clothes, but that still doesn't explain how my 6 year old wore 24 pairs of panties and 12 dresses, in addition to a full basket of shirts and shorts.  My ten year old only used 2 pairs of underwear.  Could this explain the stench emanating from his room? Ew! On top of the physical labor I have to deal with the trauma of this underwear issue.  And then there's the socks. I hate folding socks!  I hate sorting socks! I hate checking to see what color the stripe is at the bottom of the sock and decoding to whom each sock belongs.  But, more than that, I hate checking the socks for holes.  My 8 year old is a hole factory.  I have no idea how his heels are capable of ripping through supposedly tough soles on a weekly basis.  It's time to buy stock in the sock company to get some of my money back.  And then there is the issue of my husband's work clothes.  Not being able to afford dry cleaning, I have especially delightful honor of laundering his shirts and pants. And of course they must not be wrinkled.  And of course I SO do not iron.  So, those have to come straight out of the dryer and fly directly to the nearest hanger before their final destination of his closet.  Sometimes I wonder if he thinks a magic fairy picks them up off the floor and returns them clean and fresh to his closet rod.  I want a fairy like that!  Just once, I want to NOT be the person who makes this magic happen.  I want to come home from work, which will be difficult since I am a stay at home mom, and find dinner on the table, cherubic children waiting with outstretched arms, and Kirkland's Best laundry detergent scent wafting outside from the dryer vent.  The clothes will be clean and residing in the correct dressers and closets, and I will pretend that it wasn't a monumental task.  I will sweetly kiss my spouse and say, :Hey, thanks for doing the laundry." And leave it at that.