Growing up, laundry day meant everything in the house getting dumped into a big pile in the living room that eventually turned into a big pile of ironing that would slowly work its way back into our closets.
When I went to college, I did everything I could to avoid doing laundry in the dorms or apartment laundry rooms. That meant huge piles to do at home, and small loads of underwear and jeans to wash when things got really desperate.
For 7 or 8 years now, I had a washing machine at my home or apartment, but I still did things in big batches at, more or less, the end of the clean clothes.
Having Little has finally gotten me into a more manageable laundry habit. First, thanks to her prodigious and proficient spit-up techniques, I am change clothes
This morning, though, the washing machine and I had a moment.
My poor little Little is feeling poorly because of her 4-month shots yesterday. Nothing she won't bounce back from by this afternoon or tomorrow morning. It did, however, mean spitting up all over a blanket on the floor sometime early this morning -- it was promptly tossed on the washing machine for today. By the time she was ready for breakfast this morning, there was a soaked-through diaper. Jammies, sheet and mattress pad were promptly stripped and thrown in the laundry with the blanket. I said a prayer of gratitude for the ease of doing it right here at home, for the blessing of plenty -- that the worst thing I have to deal with most days is a soiled sheet.
I'll never be a great lover of laundry, but I do have a new appreciation for the gift of a washing machine. It's one who's harvest I expect I'm just beginning to reap.