Laundry-The Other Horror

In trying to keep all things together, there's the laundry.  Something I have failed miserably on.  It looms in my closet and the closets of my Little Chicks, just begging for the tub of my washing machine.  There's just something about it's multiplying nature that simple throws me off every time I attempt to tackle it.  Call me shallow, but I swear, it's out to get me any way it can.  From the sorting, to the carrying down the stairs of my two store home, to the venturing out to the garage (where I swore it would be so convenient to have the washer and dryer) to the actual loading, soaping up and DOING the laundry.  I won't even start on the transferring of the wet laundry to the dryer or the folding and putting way of the said clean clothing.  It's plainly, a red hot mess in my household.  Let me give you the history on why that is the case.

Of course there has to be a blame.  It's always that way...blame what can't be seen and everything will be all right and rightfully justified.  Back in my earlier days I took upon myself to be the care taker of four young boys.  That's right, count on your fingers, f-o-u-r boys.  All under the age of 10.  The amount of laundry those boys created was absolutely amazing.  And you think girls go through massive clothing changes through a day?  Forget about it.  Boys rule in that department, mainly because they are Marvin's of the Messy realm.  I averaged approximately 5 loads a day for that family, including the parents.  I'm not sure if they rolled around in their gravel driveway before depositing their clothes in my care, but there was always about 5 loads to do.  And that's not counting the weekly sheets and duvet covers and towels to sort through.  I think I quit that job on the merits of too much laundry.  Or perhaps it was the fact the youngest liked to throw his lunch out the car window while barreling down the freeway at 65 mph.  In either case, I left that job in a red hot minute and haven't looked back, except to place the laundry blame where it's clearly due.

In any case, I started out my day at an early 6:50am with high hopes of tackling the small Mt. Everest brewing up in my closet.  I invisioned myself sorting into piles, grabbing the smaller of the piles and treking downstairs to start my first load by 7:30am.  By 8:00am I realized my first vision was too lofty as I hadn't had my coffee yet and the Little Chicks needed breakfast of all things and the oldest of the Little Chicks needed shuttling off to school.  For sure by 9:00am a load would be well, loaded.

9:30am rolls around and I'm busy waiting for a prospected buyer of my sleigh bed frame.  (More on that in another entry.)  I realize the laundry has yet to move an inch out of the haphazard piles it's in, in my closet and of course I see my error.  I've allowed myself to get sucked into the usual morning routine of doing the dishes.  There I said it.  I'd rather do the dishes than do laundry.  It's true I scrubbed that pot a little longer then was necessary and certainly I didn't need to hand towel them dry when the air does just as fine a job.  But the thought of sorting that laundry?  It's a Real Calamity and will wait, yet again, for another day.  Just another red check against my ever growing list of how I'm not keeping it all together.   

Picture of my empty washing machine as of 4pm.