A Saga of Laundry
Clean clothes are overrated
Much to the distress of Bailey and our guest dog, Lucy, we’re having work done in the basement, which is both noisy and limits where they can roam. We’ve decided to add a bathroom down there, because according to The Boston Globe, things are bleak for the class of 2025, and everyone is going to want to move back home with their mommies and daddies.
Oh, did I mention that I have a son graduating in the class of 2025?1
I’ll think of something…
about laundry
In order to add said bathroom, walls had to be torn down, cement jackhammered, and the washer and dryer removed. “Ugh, doing laundry is going to be a pain while the work is being done” the husband—who does the family laundry—said.
Now, I could probably write a novel about laundry and my feelings for it, and perhaps one day I will. But for the purposes of this newsletter, I shall keep it down to novella length.
Chapter One: A Hatred Is Born
For four years (ages 10 to 14) my family lived in Boulder, Colorado, up in the foothills where it was impossible to get any sort of help with things like babysitting or helping clean the house. My dad worked full-time and my mother was getting her MFA in sculpture at the University of Colorado. Therefore we all had to pitch in and clean, a real family affair. Sunday mornings everyone had a quadrant of the house they were responsible for cleaning.
As part of this, when I was in 5th grade, I took on the role of family washerwoman. I had to do the laundry every Sunday morning. We had inspection in the afternoons where my mother determined if my sister and I had done a good enough job cleaning that we could go play or if we needed to re-do what hadn’t been done adequately.
I wanted to be done. And folding laundry is SO annoying. I did the only logical thing: instead of folding the laundry, I stuffed it in the bottom drawer of my dresser. Took a while before folks realized they were missing clothes, and apparently my hiding place wasn’t as clever as I thought.
Note: This did not get me out of doing the laundry. It did get me more supervision.
Chapter Two: So Many Stairs
After college in New York, I decided to stick around the city where I worked in publishing. For those of you unfamiliar with the business of publishing: It pays the teeniest tiniest paycheck you can imagine and living off it in NYC is quite a challenge.
I lived in a one-bedroom apartment with a roommate who slept in the living room, but came in whenever she needed clothes because the bedroom had the only closet. We were on the 5th floor of a walkup in Alphabet City. The front door to the building didn’t lock and the light on the 3rd floor landing was usually out, so we’d have to climb over the folks sleeping on the staircase to get to our apartment.
You’ve probably already guessed this, but there were no laundry machines in the building. And what a pain in the ass, hauling laundry up and down the stairs. I did the only logical thing one could do in this situation: I bought 30 pairs of underwear and did my laundry once a month.
Chapter Three: Laundry for Two
When the husband and I moved in together, he did the laundry. Every week. He did mine as well as his. Finally, it occurred to me to mention, “You know, I’ll do laundry too. You just have to wait until I’ve run out of underwear and then I’ll wash clothes.” He did not do the logical thing; instead of buying a month’s worth of underwear, he did laundry weekly. For both of us.
Chapter Four: Laundry for Four
We have two kids. Which means we had a good deal of laundry, especially as my daughter is one of those people who tries on an item of clothing, decides she doesn’t want to wear it, and realizes that putting the item away is a bother; it’s easier to throw it in the dirty clothes basket so it magically comes back folded.
From an early age, I told the kids that I was allergic to laundry and doing the laundry would make me very very sick. If laundry had to be done when the husband was of town, I had my daughter2 move the clothes from washer to dryer to basket (folding was way out; the kids could wait for their father if they wanted something neatly presented).
Both the husband and the girl have bad spring allergies (stick with me; it’s related) and they did sublingual immunotherapy to alleviate their spring-time woes. Every spring, I too found myself sniffling and sneezing, with sinus headaches.
“You have allergies,” the husband said.
“I do not,” I replied.
Repeat this conversation daily for the two months of spring over the course of 15 years, and finally I got fed up enough that I went to his ENT to be tested for allergies. I figured the sublingual drops were easy enough that I could admit if I had allergies.
Only, I don’t have to admit it. Turns out, I’m not allergic to anything.3 Well, except one thing. I have posted my doctor’s notice on a bulletin board in the kitchen, for all to see and remember.
Chapter Five: The State of Laundry Today
The husband spent yesterday at a laundromat. I may or may not have bought more underwear. I mean, we only need 42 pairs each! It’s the only logical thing to do.
about books
My friend, Katie Bayerl, launched her second novel this week at Porter Square Books. The evening was fantastic, but the upside is, I’m in the middle of her book, What Comes After, and it’s SO MUCH fun. It’s a young adult novel about a girl who has died and gone to a purgatory of self-help sorts. Note: Nothing depressing here. It’s super funny. The publisher says if you like the show The Good Place, you’ll like this book, and I can’t disagree. It’s a really good antidote to real life.
about Bailey and Lucy
Alas, Lucy has only a few more days with us. I’ll miss my floofy cuddle bunny.
Until next time, make good choices.
jennifer
Actually, we’re adding a bathroom for a whole host of reasons, the main one being that I’m way too lazy to travel all the way up a flight of stairs to pee. The boy is not only not moving back in with us, he’s moving an ocean away from us, because why wouldn’t he?
Why my daughter and not my son? Because my son didn’t discover a fondness for clean clothes until middle school. My daughter got hooked on clean clothes young.
Turns out I have a deviated septum so I’ll live with the headaches until they become too annoying and then I’ll have my nose fixed.
(Don't think I don't see that package on the kitchen floor...more underwear for somebody, right?
When my first husband and I arrived in California as newlyweds, we decided to take turns doing the laundry. One day, when it was my turn to be the provider of newly laundered tighty-whiteys, my 20-year old self had the aha moment -- buy him a six-pack of whatever he needed at the supermarket. I mean, Fruit-of-the-Loom, who would know? Because, I could do all of mine in the sink in ten minutes-- ta-dah, we both have clean underwear (although the laundromat was also a bar, but that got old.) When we split up in a few years (amicably) he found out while we were packing that he had bushels of those suckers :-). I had to confess. He's probably still wearing them! So... I totally get it!
Love the stories. Love the doggiess. Love the snaps. Keep it coming Jenny, it's great.
xoxo
Nadja