Washing machine

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Warning klaxon!! This post teeters between the mundane and the pathetic. I must confess, if I’d read this post five years ago, I would have despaired for this sad lunatic who delivered this ode to laundry. Please don’t read this post if you a) don’t have kids, b) are vaguely cool or c) either like me or don’t like me as you will pity me so much after I won’t be able to bear it. Today, I’m tired and overworked and it just feels ..  right to write about it. I’m a big fan of mundanity, I get real enjoyment from pottering around the house with the children getting things done, but I fear this may be less a celebration of the humdrum and more just a bit lamentable, but so it goes. Since I watched a 20 minute vlog on Channel Mum the other day on someone organising their kitchen cupboards (and enjoyed it) when I should have been writing an 800 word feature, I feel it may find some kind of a place with my fellow procrastinators.

Every week I get gently worked up about the Washing Event. Here’s why:

  • I like to do it all Friday to Monday in one big jamboree rather then a wash every single day. Cue vague feelings of stress if the first load isn’t in by 6.30am, and God forbid we go out ten minutes before it’s due to finish (since this works out at about brunch time, we have to deal with this unfortunate incident rather too often. My husband loves how calmly I take it).
  • I quietly seethe when I see family members dressed in jumpers over long sleeved shirts/tops over t shirts over vests. That’s four outfits right there! If that’s not debauchery, I don’t know what is.
  • The stairs are my foes. I don’t know why, but I just refuse to put my washing in one of those plastic boxes with holes in the side. I think because then I’ll have to put it back in its place again after, which seems an effort. In my mind, it’s easier to bend over double, chin almost touching belly button, clasping armfuls of clean clothes and leaving a trail of socks and pants in my wake, all to my daughter’s ditty: “Mummy you dropped something! Mummy you dropped something! Mummy you dropped something!”
  • I don’t want the kids to feel they can’t get their clothes dirty so every time my oldest would drop something, she would look upset (she’s a clean freak) and I’d smile manically and say ‘it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter!’ So now, when she drops something she beams at me and says ‘it doesn’t matter!’ which I now correct to ‘well it doesn’t matter as long as we don’t do it on purpose’ while scrubbing at it, which has just confused the message and leaves us both unsure whether to smile or apologise when chocolate ice cream, jam or babyccinos inevitably spill on to  her pristine white tops. Hey, if you get at the stain fast, you’re WINNING at life.
  • Does pale pink go with whites or colours?
  • What about black and white stripes?
  • Why do I even care? I never used to give washing a second thought. Now, I Google different washing ‘techniques’ in front of the TV and screen grab people raving about Vanish on Instagram so I can remember to buy it later.
  • Why does everyone complain about washing so much? It’s soo easy! It’s the putting away, the never-ending piles of clean clothes, that strike fear into my heart. Which is why it isn’t really very helpful if someone puts a wash on for you. It’s the taking it out, putting it into piles, hanging up the stuff that needs to be ironed, and putting everything away in wardrobes that is vaguely rigorous.
  • There’s nothing quite like seeing my family dressed in clean, ironed clothes (DISCLAIMER: I don’t iron) to strike joy into my heart. I’m very sad. But I couldn’t be more happy about it.
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