I like doing dishes. I get in a meditative state and just lose myself. Granted my husband is probably reading this right now and thinking to himself, "So why in the heck doesn't she do them more often?"... Love you, babe! But I do, I really like doing dishes. And I love doing laundry. Correction, I loved doing laundry. I loved putting on some fuzzy socks, some jazz, grabbing a good book, making some hot chocolate and hunkering down once a week for a few hours to get the laundry done. It was like a form of yoga that helped me relax and unwind. My love affair with laundry began to dwindle, however, when I moved to New York. I hardly ever had the time to hunker down for a few hours and engage in my relaxing laundry ritual. New York like is so fast paced no matter how hard you try to slow it down. Laundry there was more of a practice of shoving every piece of clothing I possibly could into one load so I could avoid having to pay another twenty dollars for a second load. Since there was so much washing at one time there was also a huge load in the dryer. And then the clothes would come out wrinkled. And I loathe ironing. So, I had wrinkled clothes week after week. And since there was usually only one load, laundry wouldn't take as long. And then there were the times when someone else on your floor would get to the laundry room before you had the chance to put your own clothes in the dryer and you'd find they did it for you. A stranger's hands all over my laundry. Ick. It started to lose its charm.
When I moved to San Diego, it got a bit better. My cousin had a whole separate room (coinless too, of course, yay!) dedicated to laundry- perfect for reinstating my relaxing ritual. I had a couple of awesome laundry days with some Chai teas and great books, but alas nothing lasts forever. I found a black widow spider crawling on the rack on top of the washer one day. My cousin then informed me that spiders made their way into the laundry room all the time. So, back to speedy laundry it was.
Now, I have even less time to do laundry with a baby crawling around. I hardly get to enjoy the best part of it- doing the baby's clothes (folding those little socks that go on her little feet is sheer joy). Most days, I barely get to finish it and put it in the basket. My husband usually ends up folding it and hanging up/putting away the clothes because I'm either passed out on the bed with the baby or busy doing something else and he's relieving me of my laundry duties.
The part that sucks the most is that it's not something I look forward to anymore. When it was once a week it was like laundry time was some sacred me time. Now, it's more frequent than once a week. Sometimes, much more frequent. So, I'm just trying to get it done nowadays. And the absolute worst part about it is when I put my clothes away. I am constantly reminded that the only things I wear nowadays are boring tee shirts and tank tops suitable for breastfeeding. And they're all constantly being stained with milk. My jeans all fit me enormous because somehow I am barely a size 25 and my jeans are all 27s or 28s. Also, plenty of sweat pants and pajama pants in the mix. Sooooo boring.
I realize I just blogged about laundry. Hey, I'm a housewife, it's part of my life and I had something to say about it. Oh goodness, have I become as boring as my laundry? Maybe I should cancel my knitting classes and go brush up on Argentine Tango?