Mt. Saint Laundry

A few things have gone amuk around here and with two working parents and no extra help save for what two kids can do on top of school work and sports and music…we’ve decided to let some things go. Laundry is one of them. I quit doing socks a long time ago. I have a box and in they go. If people want matching socks, they can look at it like a treasure hunt.

Areas of high bacterial grossness are higher upon my list of priorities, and so, the toilet and circumference tend to get my two bit attention more than what mounds and heaves and pitches and throbs in the room everybody should make sure they have if given the opportunity, and that’s an upstairs laundry room. I would give up a bathroom to have an upstairs laundry room. I’d go all outhouse like my friends do who live off the grid. At least then I wouldn’t have to clean toilets and their circumference! We tend to go until the door doesn’t close any longer, and there is no dilineation between what is dirty and what awaits folding. This is what has accumulated: Mount Saint Laundry.

Today I tackled it. In full assault gear. I put it all on my bed and turned on The View and pretended it was like Christmas. Which one to wrap next? All little gifties for my hubbie and kids. That state of mind lasted about as long as it took for me to think, “Oh, I should blog about this.” So I sit here avoiding the pile, writing this to all of you out there with such a mountain. I have no solutions. Only empathy. And lo…in the upstairs choir I hear a chime. It’s so perky, this chime. It’s telling me that there’s more laundry to fold, warm and clean. And I realize that the Maytag man really is a wise guy, because it literally goes to the syllables of this:

Yooo get-to-fold…the laundreeee!

OK– here I go. Godspeed to us all. If I get lost in it, tell them it was a good life. And that they have to put it away!