Everyone knows the best time to do laundry is later. Emily Hampshire
In my home there’s almost always an endless pile of laundry on a floor somewhere and on my best days, it’s in a basket. It sits, haunting me, sometimes shouting, “get on with it.” I ignore its call for action, or in this case, folding. I hate the humdrum of this housework more than any other task, but not because it’s boring, tedious, or time-consuming. It’s just something I’d rather not do when things are always so busy and there’s an ever overflowing list of things taunting me.
My husband doesn’t like the way I do laundry so he does his own. Honestly, this is a win-win for our marriage. Don’t tell him this but I like the way he does his laundry too. The problem is that’s not enough reason to prompt him to do mine. See, he does his laundry concurrently with no pitiful pauses or delay tactics. He’s just one of those people who sees the need to be clear, concise, and consistent. Ugh, this man. I love him so, but these traits are complicated for his character and by extension, mine.
His laser focus provides him much purpose and creates an indestructible work ethic. However, he can sometimes fail to find the fun. Whereas creative energy strikes me at the most inconvenient times, like laundry duty, which distracts and detaches me from the task at hand. For me, the fun never stops.
Like many things in our marriage, laundry is symbolic of our differing styles, and we learn something from one another, for better or worse, in situations like if, when, and how we fold.
My life is a lot like laundry. Simple at sight, but underneath the piles, some stuff requires serious scrubbing, fabric softener for the soul, and/or a heavy heat cycle to rid the wrinkles. I am less than perfect in laundry process and completion, and I do need to be more firm and focused in approach.
Sometimes we avoid things not because they’re hard, but because we make them hard. Ah, to find wisdom in the sock pile. Onward I go.