When I woke up this morning, I remembered that I had a load of laundry in the dryer. Reminding myself to pull it out and fold it, I got down to the business of teaching.
I recalled it briefly at lunchtime, while I was waiting for the pasta I was making for the girls' Friday lunch to finish cooking. But Fridays are also spelling quiz days, and I decided it would be a better idea to give the girls their quizzes before lunch was ready so we wouldn't get bogged down with them after lunch.
I forgot about the laundry for a while, while the girls were down for a rest after their school work was done for the day. But as they began their Friday chore of helping clean the bathrooms, and I gathered an armload of towels to put in the washer, I remembered it again; I also remembered that the washer was full, because DD#2 was waiting for me to get my laundry out of the way before finishing hers.
As I got ready to pull out my laundry, the phone rang. DH said he might actually get to leave work on time for once, and if he did, would I like to get the big Costco shopping over with this evening instead of tomorrow, when Costco would be a lot more crowded? Enthusiastically agreeing to this plan, I abandoned the towels and rushed into the kitchen to start preparing dinner earlier than usual.
While dinner was underway I had a minute to pull out my laundry, put DD #2's laundry in the dryer, and start the towels in the washer; but I dumped the laundry on my bed and rushed back out to the kitchen to wrestle with an unusually sticky calzone dough (our broccoli strudel won't be as pretty as usual, but it will still be edible).
The calzone is baking. The washer is gleefully swishing towels around, while the dryer hums like an absentminded professor. And the laundry is still piled in a heap, waiting to be folded.
I don't really hate laundry; there are many chores that are more annoying to me. But the one frustrating thing about laundry is how easy it is to put it off. Anything can take priority: a phone call, a blog post, a sticky calzone dough. And every time you turn around, the laundry still hulks sullenly, reminding you that it's there, that it needs attention, that it needs you. It's as cranky and demanding as a two-year-old, but with none of a two-year-olds smiles, hugs, and other graces.
So, while I'd love to stay and write some more, I've got to go. I've got about a quarter of an hour before dinner is ready, which is plenty of time to pair socks and hang up shirts and otherwise create order out of chaos; that's the rewarding part of doing the laundry.
And later tonight, I'll fold the towels. Or early tomorrow morning. Definitely by tomorrow afternoon at the latest. After all, tomorrow's Saturday!