Kristin posted briefly about doing laundry and it got me thinking of the chore...
Growing up with 7 kids, there was always tons and tons of laundry being done. Understandably my mom couldn't keep up with the heaping pile of clean clothes that always found its way onto the couch, because it was the only place besides the kitchen table that was big enough to hold all the clothes. I can't complain because, at least we had clean clothes. And I also got paid 50 cents for every load I folded, so it was like an endless option to earn money when I needed it. And lastly it provided an activity that was great for relieving frustration on a sibling that was bothering you. Growing from the heap of clothes was a growth of socks, like the one growing from Kent's* side. It was about a fourth the side of the originally body. If you took 5 pairs of socks and waded them up into one of my dad's soccer length socks it provided for a great weapon. Imagine a whiter, slightly softer version of the weapon Lucy Lui's school uniformed, girl friend uses on Kill Bill v2. We used to chase after each other wacking one another with evil laughter ensuing. I am sure we stretched out many pairs of my dads socks and that someone in the family will have confessions to a therapist about this one day. I know I cried once or twice after this activity. But we laughed more than we cried. And as long as laughter out ways crying it is a good activity in my book.
Another memory of laundry was having my mom throw the warm pile on top of us. The heat surrounded your body and made you feel like you could just sink into the couch and stay there forever. Or at least until the clothes cooled, which was always a sad moment.
I remember stacking the clothes, after I folded them, along the back of the couch and they would get so tall that they would tip over. That was frustrating. And then trying to pile them into your arms to bring them to each room.
Then one spring I broke my arm. There was a saying in our house, "You are just in Shock". I was told this that day. And thus no doctor was visited until the next day. Instead I was told to help fold the laundry. It was character building. And I definitely can tolerate pain better than some. But was 50 cents worth it, hell no.
When I moved out, I already knew how to wash laundry. I didn't know how to do this at a laundromat. I learned there, that folding your laundry directly after you take it out of the drier is a treat. It requires less ironing. And it is easier to get into your car with folded clothes than with unfolded.
And now as a married individual, things have gotten even better with laundry. KC is the best helper ever. He always gathers his own clothes, helps me carry everything down to the laundry facility, and he sometimes even let's me sit in the bath while he brings everything back up. He sticks around to fold and then puts his clothes away (can you believe it Terri?). He is trying to help so much and I appreciate him taking the time to participate in the chores.
So there it is my laundry chronicles. Sorry if that was a bore. I like to reminisce.
*I believe Kent had the growth removed. It just provided the perfect imagery.