Thursday, March 20, 2008

how not to do laundry

We have a system for doing laundry at Camp Cactus...the evolution of which seemed to happen rather organically, and naturally (meaning: nobody actually designed the system, it just sort of occurred; and said system's evolution has happened at an agonizingly slow pace, like the melting of the glaciers before global warming). Here's how it works:
Step 1: There are 3 baskets, beautifully handmade by child laborers highly skilled workers in China. One for WHITES, one for LIGHTS, and one for DARKS. With me so far? Ok, these three beautifully handmade baskets usually reside in our ridiculously huge bathroom, waiting patiently to be filled with the correct shade of dirty laundry. (This seems very simple and logical and easy to me...so why do both of our grown children insist upon doing their own laundry in one giant, washing machine- killing load? But, I digress...)

Alternate Step 1: See steps three and four for explanation.


Step 2: The now-full basket of dirty laundry is moved into the hallway outside the bathroom, waiting for someone (anyone?) to carry it down 2 flights of stairs, over 2 baby gates (a story for another time) to the basement laundry room/hovel to be washed until sparkling clean, or at least smelling like spring rain.


Step 3: The sparkling clean, smelling-like-spring-rain laundry is plopped warm and fresh out of the dryer into its beautiful and functional Chinese basket, carted back up two flights of now exceedingly steep stairs, over two baby gates (destined to someday cause one of us in our increasingly aged condition to break a hip), to the bedroom, where it is deposited in the middle of the floor. This location was chosen (again in some organic, evolutionary way) for its position relative to moving about the bedroom, meaning of course that anyone wishing to move about must step around it. Evolutionary timeline of this era: millions of years (okay...maybe a day or two or five) Which brings us back to Alternate Step 1: (see above) where dirty laundry waits not for an empty basket.

Step 4:
After a few days sitting in the middle of the bedroom floor, the piles of dirty laundry have grown too big for the bathroom, and something must be done. So, the basket is emptied onto the largest flat surface available for folding.


At which time, it has started to resemble a giant sand castle molded in the shape of a hideous malformed lump, startling the lounging cat, and causing whoever faces the task of sorting (and sometimes even folding) this pile to sigh loudly and complain about the whole system.



There. All done. Now isn't that better? Stay tuned for my next tutorial: How to fold like a photo stylist. Coming soon.

6 comments:

Suburban Kamikaze said...

You really need to get that system patented. It's beautiful. Not for getting laundry done necessarily, but for the esoteric beauty of watching each step in the process devolves into something else entirely.

Manic Mommy said...

Add a burrowing preschooler to the pile on the bed and you've just seen a microcosm of my day-to-day existence.

Good system: bad execution.

foolery said...

Or, just throw it all away and go buy new clothes.

Matthew said...

Well at least one of your full grown children has evolved to not do just one giant washing machine killing load, they now break it into two semi large machine killing loads.

Cactus Petunia said...

That's my boy...and he irons, too!

The Rustic Victorian said...

oh, goodness, I feel like I live in your home the way you write...too funny, well, maybe not in the moment, for you anyway. My cat thinks clean laundry on the bed is a special treat just for her. Socks tend to be carried off.
oxo
Marcie