Saturday, March 14, 2009
It is pretty safe to say that I hate doing laundry. I should say that I used to hate doing laundry. I know that this declaration does not make me unique in the world of stay-at-home mom's, but there it is. I probably hate it most because I feel the compulsion to iron everything before I put it away which adds hours of work to a relatively quick wash/fold/put away process. I don't fold ... I iron or steam. I have been dubbed the "Iron Maiden" when up to my eyeballs in baskets of wrinkly whites, lights and darks. Yes I iron jeans, t-shirts and pillow cases and no, I'm not coming over to do yours. I don't iron baby clothes, but I would if a collar was "too crinkly".
Like I said ... I used to hate doing laundry.*
Until I pulled my husband's warm clothes out of the dryer. I realized that this particular load of laundry contained all the clothes he wore to work for the week. All the tireless hours he spent going from one job site to the next, meeting with clients, doing the marketing and web design. These were the clothes he wore when he got up early and worked late. These were all the clothes that he wore to work so I could stay home and raise our son. These were all the clothes he wore working to take care of our family and secure our future.
Like I said ... I used to hate doing laundry.
Until a few days later when I pulled a load of warm baby clothes from the dryer. Tiny socks, onesies, footy pajamas and blankets came spilling out and suddenly I was grateful. Grateful for the baby that I wanted more than anything else in the world and that I get to take care of everyday. And let's face it, sometimes he takes care of me. Grateful that he is healthy and thriving. Grateful that I get to see all his firsts. Grateful that I get to be his Mom and do his laundry.
* The picture of Joe and I is from prom 1996 our first official date.