I’m serious. Why?!
It’s definitely up there with the sock gremlin that steals the matches to the other friggin socks in this house.
It just never ends.
There’s no escaping it.
Even when you’re think you’re done, you’re not. There’s never just an empty basket of washing. Or if there is, it’s a sick twisted joke for the thirty piles that’s coming your way the day after.
The truth is, it never actually ends.
EVER.
It’s like an exhausted feeling of deja vu. Just the laundry kind. It’s always being done. Even when I think I’m near the end, nope, there’s more of it.
I refuse to accept I’m the only one. So all adults, you must feel the same and if you don’t, what the actual fuck is wrong with you? Because God dammit, I, as a mother feel sucked into this laundry crap and it’s just ridiculous.
I’m awaiting my membership of never-ending laundry, because I deserve the platinum membership.
See, I don’t think anyone, and I mean anyone knows what laundry is like until you have kids.
It’s true.
Ask all your friends with kids.
Laundry is a whole different level of go screw yourself. It’s like a sick joke no one tells you before you have kids. Like when you have kids and no one pre-warned you it meant you’ll never sleep properly again or you’ll constantly be internally screaming when no means no to you but not to your toddler.
Things you need to know as a parent who never ever finishes with the laundry:
- Socks divide and multiply. Don’t ask me why, but they do.
- There are secret sock gremlins who feast on socks. So you’ll never ever ever find the match to that sock ever again.
- Always check pockets, because when your OH says they have, they haven’t and no one likes a confetti of tissue all over the place. It’s a pain in the arse to clean up.
- When you think you’ve done it all, you’ve more than likely forgotten to do OH’s laundry whilst busy doing other things. There always needs to be clean uniform for work, even if you though you did it, you haven’t, do it everyday whatever the weather.
- Always check the washing machine before doing a load. As much as Emily loves to help, I have found plenty of toys, bits of crayon and whatever else stuffed into the machine waiting for clothes to be ruined.
I think laundry days should come with a bottle of wine. I mean it.
Not only is it that process of sorting the washing into relevant colour piles– colours, darks, whites and delicates, there’s the taking it downstairs, putting it in the washer, putting it on the right setting, not the intense one. Taking it out of the washing machine within a time period or it has to be redone, then hanging up inside on the dryer or outside before a certain time so it gets a good amount of exposure in the sun or wind, then folding and the last part which seems to take forever (I know, I have 3 loads I need to sort now) – the putting away.
I can’t seem to just be able to do it. My energy for this bit seems to fail.
Putting clean clothes away in the right place is such a fecking chore.
Anyone else hate laundry?
Missy, Me & Him 