In yesterday’s installment of the Laundry Story that Would. Not. End., I left you wondering who, Who is it that would not get on board the laundry system? Who is it that had to undergo a harsh talking-to? I suspect it comes as little surprise that the individual in question is my husband.
Now I’m not big into husband bashing. In fact, I really detest it, so I’m going to address this as delicately as possible. Before I get to the talking-to, let me start by saying my husband has been a key player in the war on laundry; in fact at times he has been the primary player. Truth be told, at times he has been the only player, especially during times of extreme duress, like during pregnancy, immediately after childbirth, during those first months of a baby’s life where she spends 90% of her time in desperate need of The Mommy, etc. Please don’t dwell on that too long, or you may start adding and discover just how much time Ry spent solo in hand-to-hand combat with the laundry in a family who gave birth to three children in just under 5 years. So believe me when I tell you that my husband has gone above and beyond the call of duty in the War on Laundry over the last thirteen years. Way beyond.
However. Here we were, in the worst laundry condition of our lives and I was a woman with a plan and the man just would. not. get on board!! Months, I tell you. It took months and months and possibly over a year for him to go along with me on this plan. (As late as last week I found him running upstairs to get Hannah new clothes to change into while she was standing in the kitchen! Wasn’t that the first rule?!) The thing is, it requires teamwork. It requires everyone working together, sorting as we go, so that when it comes time to actually get the stuff clean and put away, we’ve minimized the time requirement. Pick up pile. Put in washer. Fold clothes, put them all in one spot.
But time after time, I would find some of Hannah’s clothes hidden in with the towels, Ruth’s dress at the bottom of Hannah’s hamper. Arrrrgh! Mostly, I’m sure, it was the emotional discouragement: here I am, thinking I have all of Hannah’s clothes washed and Ugh. What’s this? More Hannah clothes? Ohhhh noo. But more than that, when it really matters is on Saturday night, when you’re planning out church clothes, knowing that you washed all of Hannah’s clothes today so she can wear that Blue dress tomorrow and then tomorrow you discover that blue dress is really on the bottom of the dirty towels basket. Arrrgh!
So, a harsh talking-to or two was in order. So I gave it. Repeatedly. And after I gave it, I continued to demonstrate the potential for the plan by doing what I could with what compliance he gave. The more in control of the laundry I became, the more on-board my husband became. SOLD! Tell ‘im what he’s won, Bob! For playing along with The System, our contestant has won not one, but two prizes: he’s no longer surrounded by piles of laundry AND his wife is now doing 98% of the laundry on her own!!!! Ding ding ding ding ding!!! Sure. I’ll put the dirty clothes wherever you want them!!
So. Finally, after much pleading, my husband is on board with the laundry system. Is it a strategy or a tactic? I’m not sure. I’ll let someone else “debate” it.
Now on to the final phase. The child labor. This one came to me unexpectedly. To this point in their young lives, I have demanded very little of my children in terms of household chores. I had a bad growing-up experience with housekeeping and I didn’t want to inflict that on my own children. The problem is, I never realized that just because my experience of housework as a child was horrid that didn’t mean children participating in housework is inherently bad or evil. There are right ways to do it and wrong ways. I experienced the wrong way. I did not want to put my children through that. But in protecting them from the wrong way of involving kids in housework, I was depriving them from the benefits of it.
That has changed. And really, the laundry was the key to that change.
How did it happen? Well, in our house we have in our midst a machine-o-maniac. A budding, third-generation mechanical engineer. My Boy loves machines. Machines of all sorts, always has. You know what? The washer is a machine. In fact, another name for it is the “Washing Machine” and my Boy loves it. That’s how I got him started on doing the laundry. “Oo. Mommy. Can I put my clothes in the washer? Can I put the soap in? Can I watch the water wash the soap down? Can I? Can I?!” “Oo. Mommy! Can I clean the lint trap? Can I? And can I put the clothes in the dryer and turn it on? Can I? Can I?!”
Um. Well. I suppose so. . . . Seriously. I think it took me a while to actually say yes. We are remarkably slow around here. In my family of origin, only one person was capable of washing the clothes correctly. I couldn’t see past that. But then I did. And so it began. Isaac puts his own clothes into the washer, then to the dryer, then works to fold and put them away. I help. And that’s how I approach it. “I’ll help you do your laundry.” Your laundry. My goal in this is to have it be their laundry and when they’ve mastered the skills, they can take it over.
Now I’ve got Hannah and Ruth in on the deal. Hannah helps put her clothes into the washer and from the washer to the dryer and then from the dryer to the basket. Then she sorts her clothes into piles: pants, shirts, jammies. She folds some and I fold some. I’m very forgiving on the folding, though I will demonstrate helpful techniques. Ultimately, getting the clothes put away properly is the least of my concerns at this point. Losing Ruthie in one of the trenches. That is what motivates me here. The sorting is just a great academic exercise. The best sorting load is the whites, when we have everyone’s underwear and socks and white tee shirts and towels. It makes for lots of good sorting. For now Ruth’s responsibility consists of putting her dirty clothes in her hamper, though she will put some things away if I help her. Yesterday she was kind enough to empty a box of give-away clothes into Hannah’s pajama drawer. Nice.
So, now my kids excitedly help with the laundry. I’m going to take it for as long as I can. It’s a win-win. The laundry gets done, great, but that’s secondary to the sense of accomplishment the kids get when they start a project and see it to completion. I’ve transferred this lesson learned to other things too. We now all work together to clean up the living room after dinner; Isaac and Hannah take their dirty plates to the kitchen after a meal.
The whole thing is working so well. Better than I imagined. The laundry success has spilled into other areas of my housekeeping. With the piles and piles of clothes on my second floor gone, I’ve grown more motivated to keep the second floor neater and tidier. With the living room being straightened before bed every night, I work harder to keep it picked up better during the day. Then, because the living room is looking better I try to keep the dining room in better shape and before you know it, from top to bottom my house is at a reasonable level of straightness. I mean, nothing my mom would be real proud of, but at least now when those Mormons come knocking I can comfortably invite them in, sit them down, and ask them some good hard questions. If I were so inclined.
Who knew? Who knew the laundry held so much power? Who knew the laundry was indeed a battleground whose fallout impacted every corner of the landscape of our home? I surely didn’t. But I really am glad we’ve conquered it. And I’m glad for all the good that’s come of it. Kids excitedly participating in the privilege of keeping a home. A home that is better kept and, consequently, more welcoming. A hallway we can now walk through on a nighttime potty break without fear of tripping, slipping, or falling into the washer. A foyer that no longer smells. Ahhh. We’re living the good life here, I tell you. We’re living the good life.
The End. I promise.