The Laundriad and The Foldessy

by doodaddy on March 25, 2007

I: My Presidential Dreams Die

Baby’s Whites, 8:30 a.m.

We had a sleepy poop explosion, so a lot of these need spraying and soaking. Listening to the audio of West Wing on my iPod, I wonder if presidents and chiefs-of-staff ever have to scrape crap out of sleep sacks.

I guess I’ll never be president.

II: Nature Baby

Baby’s Earthtones, 9:20 a.m.

I know, I divide our laundry a little strangely. My personal aesthetic informs me that I must have an “earthtones” load done in warm: tans, beiges, faded denims, sage greens.

It’s pretty disingenuous to dress Boobaby in these ostensibly “natural” clothes. Just because they’re tan and have a pretty elephant print doesn’t make them any less synthetic than the magenta Bratz tank tops the other girls are wearing.

It strikes me that baby-rearing is at the same time utterly natural and fabulously artificial.

III: Ignoring the Signs

Baby’s Colors and Brights, 12:20 p.m.

Starting to sort the adult laundry, and my body mechanics suck. I dated a massage therapist for a while, and although I didn’t get many massages, I did get a lot of lectures about how poorly I held my body while accomplishing everyday tasks. The relationship didn’t last, but the lesson stayed with me for a decade: before you start doing anything, examine your posture and movements to rid them of anything stressful or repetitive.

Why, then, am I leaning all the way over from my lower back to dig out the laundry from the bottom of the hamper? I could dump it all out, and back in the day when I paid attention to my body’s signs, I would have taken the five extra seconds and done exactly that.

IV: Passive-Aggressive Consumerism

Adult Whites, 1:30 p.m.

I’ll have to start folding the baby clothes soon, because we only have two baskets for clean laundry. I know, I know, I could get more laundry baskets, but here’s my thinking:

  1. We have this really cool folding model that’s just exactly the right size, but that they don’t carry anymore down at the generic bedding-and-bathing-stuff (-and-beyond) store, so
  2. I’m holding out until I can find exactly that kind of basket again, and…
  3. I’ve been holding out like this for three years because dammit, I’m not going to be stuck with a less-than-perfect folding laundry basket, and…
  4. I think that illustrates what kind of person I am better than anything else I could possibly write.

V: Running Just to Stay in Place

Adult Earthtones, 2:20 p.m.

Still folding the baby clothes, and damned if I don’t feel on top of things. Except, as I sit here and pile up folded onesies, I can’t help notice a few things…

  • The Money Plant on the mantelpiece is so parched that the leaves resemble actual money;
  • There’s a small row of Cheerios along the baseboard that I can’t quite reach with the sweeper. They await my manual removal, and thank goodness I went to college;
  • The fruit basket has some squash in it that may be older than the baby.

I guess maybe there are still some things that need doing, after all. Haven’t called my dad for a week, either, for that matter.

VI: The Siege of Lint Trap

Adult Brights, 5:46 p.m.

So the son of Brassiere was attending to the hurt of Duvet-Coveria within the dryer, but the Argyles and Plaids still fought desperately, nor were the lint trap and the hamper above it. They had built the hamper to protect their spin cycle, and had dug the lint trap all round it that it might safeguard both the spin cycle and the agitators which they had taken, but they had not offered hecatombs to the gods of General Electric. It had been built without the consent of the repair guys, and therefore it did not last. So long as Tide lived and All-Temperature-Cheer nursed his anger, and so long as the city of Downy remained untaken, the great wall of the Argyles stood firm. Then Sears and Home Depot took counsel to destroy the wall, and they turned on to it the streams of all the rivers from Mount Permanent Press Cycle.

Getting punchy. Do we possibly own this many clothes?

(Parodied from here.)

VII: Island of the Sirens

Adult Blacks, 8:42 p.m.

Luckily, most of the black clothing is Working Mom’s working outfits, so they don’t go through the dryer, they hang. I say luckily because doubts were settling into my mind. Did it really take two hours to dry the earthtones load? Am I going to finish tonight? Why do we need 26 long-sleeve onesies?

The folding continues, aided gratefully by the old-time radio broadcasts I can download onto my iPod. I listened to Orson Wells doing The Count of Monte Cristo just now, and moved onto Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall in a weird detective thing set in Cuba.


Bathroom Rug, 11:10 p.m.

I know, it’s late and it’s overkill, but getting that rug in means that everything will be washed. Until the hampers fill again, which at our rate will be sometime on Tuesday.

Share and Enjoy: These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.
  • email
  • Facebook
  • Digg
  • StumbleUpon
  • Bloglines

in housework ·

{ 3 comments… read them below or add one }

Blog Antagonist March 25, 2007 at 1:30 pm

You gotta love a man who knows how to do laundry. I too tend to wash everything in sight on wash days. I have been known to go through an entire bottle of Lavender Vanilla scented Tide in one day.

Sunday is my wash day as well, but I have been pointedly ignoring that fact today.

No more poop in my laundry thank god. Well, aside from an occasional skid mark that is.


doodaddy March 25, 2007 at 1:44 pm

@Antagonie~ Grownup or kid skid marks? I only ask because I broke up with someone over skid marks once (hers, not mine), plus the topic is just inherently fascinating, I think.

Thanks for all the ego-strokes in re: housework, by the way. WM, I think, doesn’t like to mention it for fear that I’ll feel “defined by my domestic role” (our feminist mothers talking, there). Honestly, though, it’s nice to hear that my skills are appreciated.



mom, again September 13, 2008 at 3:46 pm

my laundry days are ruled by the weather. If it is sunny, I must pause and consider if my day can be delayed long enough to get at least one load on the line. If my day was to be spent at home anyway, then I am obligated to get as many loads washed as I can by 3 p.m. (Earlier in winter.)

I have a dryer, but here in the UK, using one is practically a crime. So, on sunny days, I wash, in hopes of clean clothes enough to last through the rainy times.


Leave a Comment

Previous post:

Next post: