I don't remember ever being so inundated by laundry. Ever. When Rebecca was born and we had to change her spit-upon outfits hourly I thought that was a lot. But those newborn clothes were so tiny. They were easy to wash, fold and put away. They took up no space, so to speak. I now have three kids and a Daddy. And they are all slobs and change their outfits as often as they change their minds. And while I tell them repeatedly that an outfit worn for just a few minutes or even an hour does not warrant a trip to the washing machine, they seem not to listen. I know the reason why. It's much easier to toss your clothes, inside out in to a hamper than it is to pull them back to the right side and fold them and put them properly in their drawers.
The two worst culprits are Rebecca, who will try on 20 outfits before settling on what she will wear for the day, and Alexander who will decide that he is tired of wearing his orange turtleneck before being tired of wearing his red turtleneck that he had to put on since he spilled milk down the front of his pink shirt that was newly put on because he decided to wipe his nose on his navy shirtsleeves. I can not catch up. I can not stay afloat in the laundry department. Yesterday I put away 4 heaping-over baskets of laundry and washed 3 more that still need to be folded and put away. I have two more beds to strip (changed 2 sets of sheets yesterday) and since 8:00pm last night our hamper is full again. I will spend another day sorting and washing and folding. And by this time tomorrow the hamper will be full all over again.
Yesterday, overwhelmed by a sea of folded shirts and pants and skirts and sweaters and sweatshirts and and jeans and socks and underwear, mismatched, in varying sizes and shapes, 30% of which have lost their mates, I did what I should have done a long, long time ago. I sorted each child's laundry (Don's included) and told them that they had to put everything away themselves. Properly. Neatly. I would go through their drawers for inspection. Now, while Rebecca sometimes puts away her laundry Christopher never has. This is one time when she can't tell me it's not fair! She was 9 when I first had her help me put her things away. Christopher is just 7. If she does the math properly she will know that he will have 2 extra years in his lifetime of having to put his own laundry away. And therefore I do not love him more than I do her! I love everyone the same... just as soon as they have all put their laundry away!
I've tried to think of many ways to have the kids pitch in. They have to make their own beds and clean their rooms. Yes, even Alexander. They have to pitch in and help each other clean up if they are all playing together, and even if they are not. It's part of being a family, a team. Because I do so much for them, they need to help me in return. No amount of help is too small.
Of course they all want to help in the kitchen. They love to cook and help me in the kitchen. They love to make breakfasts and lunches, sandwiches and whatnot. I love their independent-ness. And I appreciate their help, efforts and interests in doing so. But I do not appreciate all that is left in the wake of these efforts. The crumbs scattered not just across the counter, but across the floor. The mayonnaise and mustard and peanut butter and jelly that seems to have catapulted from the spoon up to the ceiling dropping to the counter tops bouncing to the back splash and back again. The bits of dropped and crumbled cold, wet turkey or cold cheese that sticks to the bottom of your foot when you accidentally set foot in the kitchen, or the great glob of grape jelly sliding down the cabinet door slowly, slowly like a slug on a garden gate, leaving the same sticky trail behind... Thanks for offering to make lunch kids, but no thanks!
and speaking of messes
My Housekeeper Sucks...
Well, she doesn't. My vacuum does that. I wish my housekeeper was as efficient. I usually end up cleaning after she's gone. I've been wanting to get rid of her for a long time. Since we moved last Spring. This house is just too big for her. And with each and every passing week I have grown more disappointed and frustrated with her. And so I will break the ties. I will. I just need to tell her this. And soon. Without her there'll be a lot more work for me. I have a hard time keeping up as it is. I'll have to come up with a plan to budget my time and cleaning effectively. I'll break it up, I think. Upstairs one day, downstairs the next. Though we all know the downstairs get tackled daily, at least. Daddy thinks I vacuum too much. That I have an addiction. But I can stop. Really. After breakfast!
We have wood floors throughout the downstairs save for the unattractive beige porcelain tiles in the kitchen and the nastier grout in between each nasty tile. And so, as you know if you have hardwood floors, everything shows. Everything. And I can't stand it. And I have children. Notoriously messy children. And so I vacuum. Daily, at least. But I can't mop. Really. I have my Wet Jet Swiffer and I love it. It's perfect for those in between mopping days. Our floors get mopped every other week when the housekeeper comes. Or they did. Now I will have to pick up the slack. So if you have any good mopping tips send them my way. And window cleaning tips, toilet cleaning tips... and most of all any tips on how I can keep my linen closet neat. Because it is a disaster and no matter how I try, it looks like a disaster.
I've often been accused of being Martha. But I could never be Martha. Have you seen her sheets and how perfectly folded flat they are? Well, they've tried to teach me. Many people. I just can't seem to do it. And I love nothing more than a tidy-looking linen closet. Perhaps I should have a Closet Keeper instead.
I'll put a few calls in just as soon as I put another load in the machine.