Load, unload, fold, hang, repeat.

Just a little bit on laundry. Why is this household task so incredibly difficult for me? I started doing my own laundry when I was sixteen years old. My mother had a surgery which prevented her from bending, lifting, and really moving for six weeks. My Dad pitched in big time around the house; grocery shopping, making dinners, and cleaning toilets. But when it came to doing the laundry for a household including 3 teenagers, he drew the line after just a few loads.

At the time I was so annoyed (such a spoiled brat), because even after she was totally healed, my mother decided to continue having us kids do our own laundry.  I mean really, what did she (my stay-at-home mother) DO all day? More importantly, how was I supposed to fit in washing and folding my favorite Abercrombie & Fitch flannels with my rigorous schedule of talking on the phone, reading Cosmopolitan, and watching Dawson’s Creek simultaneously (seriously, I was SUCH a spoiled brat).

I get it now. And, if my sweet 2 year old Big Zoom could fold and put away his own clothes tomorrow, I’d start having him do his own laundry. I’m somewhat embarrassed to admit that at any given time we have between 2 and 7 (yes, once there was SEVEN) loads of CLEAN laundry piled on the laundry room floor waiting to be folded and re-housed in our closets.

It’s become a joke between Mr. Zoom and I. He is so incredibly patient with my housekeeping (or lack of) abilities. We both know I’m a decent cook, and 98% of the time a home cooked meal is on the table when he gets home from work. I’m somewhat adept at emptying and reloading the dishwasher, and grocery shopping is actually a pleasant outing for me. What I just cannot seem to get accomplished, only because I can’t stand to do it, is the laundry.

A couple of nights ago we were laughing about my laundry issues before we fell asleep. Our conversation went like this:

Me: I’m sooooorrrry I suck so bad at laundry.

Mr. Zoom: It’s okay. I didn’t marry you so you could do my laundry (swoon!).

Me: It’s not THAT bad, right? I mean, you don’t really mind digging in that pile for underwear every day, do you?

Mr. Zoom: Well, I mean it’s fine. (Pause. Laugh.) Do you realize that I spend like 5 minutes every morning looking for boxers, and an undershirt, and matching socks.

Me: Not 5 minutes…

Mr. Zoom: That’s like 35 minutes a week. And, over 2 hours a month. Or 30 HOURS A YEAR. We have to do something about this.

Me: Do you think we could send it out?

At this point we were laughing so hard I was afraid we’d wake up the kids. I realize it’s only going to get worse. Teenage boys are both going to bankrupt our food budget and chain me to the laundry room. I can’t even begin to fathom the muddy socks, and sweaty uniforms, and cologne drenched t-shirts I’m going to have to endure.

First world problems over here people. So thankful for my first world problems.