When your laundry basket tells the real story….

I did laundry.  I washed it. I dried it.  I folded it.  After all of that, I actually looked at it.  I realized that my laundry was saying something about my life.  The basket was a little more than half full but it had only two things in it- underwear and pajamas.  Now if I was married and that basket was full of lacy-racy underwear and lingerie, I would say- “Yay, me!”  But I’m not, and it wasn’t.  The pitiful little pile in my laundry basket got me thinking about how my laundry actually says a lot…how it tells a story.

When my children were younger I did laundry every day…seriously…at least one load every.single.darn.day.  The habit started when they were babies, but not because I was a clean freak.  I’m neat but germs are not really something I worry too much about.  The habit didn’t start because I was afraid a stain might set in on their pristine white clothes.  Let’s be real…I have boys- who in their right mind puts white on boys in the first place?! 

The laundry habit- at that point- was about one thing- necessity.  I didn’t have a ton of clothes, my husband didn’t have a ton of clothes, and my boys…you get the point.  The laundry was about staying on top of whether or not everyone had something to put on their bodies when they left the house. 

As my kids got a little older, the habit of doing a load or more every day continued, but for a different reason.  By the time they were in elementary school and on, having enough was not an issue.  We had plenty.  I had more than plenty- my closet looked more like TJMaxx than an exclusive boutique, but none the less, there was plenty.

The laundry habit had become about staying on top of the mess more than anything.  With kids wearing uniforms to school, changing for extracurricular activities, and then changing again into their “comfortable” home clothes, the pile never ended.  My husband’s ever growing pile of work out clothes didn’t help my cause either.  

Somewhere near the end of the boys’ elementary years, they took on the job of doing their own laundry. Both boys were indoctrinated into the fine art of sorting, knowing how to set the water level and temp on the washer, how much detergent to use, and just how long to dry a pair of pants before they shrink. 

I’d given the chore away, but yet I found myself still washing something every day.  It wasn’t their clothes, it wasn’t my husband’s…he was gone from our lives by this point.  And honestly- I didn’t dirty up too much.  I washed whatever I could get my hands on.  This time the laundry job was about control.  I needed to control something. I couldn’t control the fact that my marriage had ended.  I couldn’t control the heartbreaking reality that I was now a single mom of two preteen boys.  I couldn’t control that I had no choice but to sell my dream home.  But I could control the level in my laundry basket and so I did.  No towel, pair of socks, or a single pair of underwear was safe.  I was going to empty the baskets every night.  I couldn’t control them filling up again, but for a few short hours, I was in control…of something. 

Seven years later, I still do laundry…but now only once- maybe twice a week.  I no longer feel the need to control the basket.  Now a skeptic of my view of the basket could say that’s because one boy is off to college, and the other- he does his own.  Some may think that I am so advanced at this point that I dry clean or send my laundry out every week.  Seriously?!  Who am I- Jennifer Anniston?!  (Or-fill in the blank with your favorite celebrity)  I’ve always wondered who does the laundry of the stars.  Anyway…

I’m not advanced.  I don’t even own anything that has to be dry-cleaned!  The laundry basket does tell a story for me.  The story may be a puzzling one at times…like the day with only pajamas and underwear.  (What did I do all week?!)  

Yep, the story has changed over time, and in less than a year it will change again when I send my youngest off to college.  My laundry basket will never be completely empty because somehow that would mean my life is a little empty too.  I say with all the sincerity in my heart- I have a full basket because I have a full life.  That is the story it’s telling now, and it’s my favorite one so far.