Well, here we find ourselves once more. Lent. Even though I’m not Catholic but I find the practice of observing Lent introspective, challenging, rewarding and infuriating. It’s good to step out of the comfort zone, even if it is for 40 days.
Last year for Lent I went with my tried and true daily devotional. I even got the hair brained idea that I would fold and put away the laundry the same day it had been washed. I failed miserably. I didn’t even make it two days and the only reason I made it to day two was because I didn’t do a load of laundry on the first day. The second day I did a wash and dry and I realized that I was doomed. I can’t even remember if I was able to get the laundry out of the dryer into a basket. If I did get it all the way into a basket it surely just sat there. For a week.
I hate putting away the laundry. I know I’m not alone on this one. The dryer buzzer is the second worst sound in the world. Right behind hearing “mommy, I’m sick” in the middle of the night. Why does barf always happen past midnight? Why?
I know women with 3, 4, even 5 children. I just can not even imagine the laundry burden they must bear. How in the world do they even make it through the day without tripping on all the laundry baskets in their house? I mean seriously, I’m getting a cold sweat just thinking about the amount of laundry that a family of six produces. Shoot me now if I ever have to become a washerwoman to support the family. God bless Charlie Bucket’s mother.
All that being said, I’ve decided to give it another go this year. Yup. putting away the laundry the same day it has been washed. Let’s stop a moment and say a silent prayer for my sanity. I am happy to report, however, that so far so good. Day one was a breeze because I didn’t do any laundry. Day two and I found a small loop-hole to in the basket-to-drawer transfer. If I start laundry late enough in the evening, by the time it is done the kids are asleep in bed. I just can’t barge into their precious dreams by banging around their rooms, opening and closing drawers, turning on the lights to see if I’m putting the right underwear in the right room. That would be irresponsible of me as a mother. That basket just had to wait until the next day.
Day three and four and I finally had to face it. Wash needed to be done or we would be turning our underwear inside out. I set myself to the task of folding socks and whatnot and I decided to say a prayer for the person to whom the clothes belonged to. I needed something to occupy my mind other than thinking of a witty post that would accompany the hashtag #ihatefoldinglaundry. Here’s the thing with prayer. I’m still undecided as to it’s effectiveness and I feel that the way we pray makes a difference. I don’t treat prayer like wishing on a star; that if you pray hard enough then your dreams will come true. I also don’t feel like it’s right to treat it like a genie in a bottle; that we deserve the answer we want just because we want it to be so. As I folded Dear Husband’s socks I prayed that his path would be directed in love and wisdom. As I folded napkins I gave thanks that I am able to provide food for my family without to worry about where our next meal would come from. As I folded tiny underwear I prayed that my boys would grow into good and kind men (like their dad). Now, I have no idea what the end result of those prayers will be or if they are just nice words that make me feel better. I do know that I will have to take it one day at a time. Easter is too far out to promise that every sock will find its match and every shirt will be hung with care.
Blessed are those who do laundry…for they shall have Easter ham.