The fortnight I spent being miserably ill was no fun. No fun at all. I crawled into work. I made desultory dinners of moderate nutritional value. I went to bed at 8:30 whenever possible. I did not do the taxes. I did not do the laundry. I did not figure out our incredibly intricate summer airline needs. So now all that is waiting for me.
The laundry was getting desperate. It’s been about 31 degrees out, and my eldest son only has shorts in his drawers. This becomes even more impressive when you learn that my strategy for laundry is to ensure that everyone has enough clothes for at least three weeks. As in… if all our clothes were clean, I could not do a single load of laundry for three weeks and we would still all have appropriate clothes to wear. This requires a rather largeish upfront investment in clothes (or good sources of hand-me-downs) and significant storage space, but reflects my laundry reality.
Well. Do you know what the laundry room looks like when you do the laundry for the first time in three weeks or so?
It’s even worse than it looks. There’s a huge mound of towels and sheets that you can’t see — at LEAST three loads worth.
This is, I think, a symbol of my life. Challenging when I keep up with it, almost insurmountable when I get behind.
But hey! I’m feeling much, much oh ever so muchly much more better. You discover how rotten you felt when you suddenly feel much better. This evening, I folded the laundry piled up on the counter, sorted all the laundry and got it started. And hey, maybe by the time the weekend is over, I will have worn that laundry mountain down to small and gentle hillocks!