Babies don’t keep, but laundry also does not do itself.
So while I’ve been busy soaking in every moment with this adorable squish…
and Scott was busy trying to keep the other 2 kids from burning the house down, all of THIS was just sitting there, in mountains on our bathroom floor (and the entire floor of our closet) just, like, not getting clean. The nerve!
Truthfully, we haven’t been officially “caught up” on laundry since I got pregnant a year ago. For a year, we’ve been living with a rotation of mountains of dirty laundry, but we were mostly able to contain it to our closet floor, fighting it back behind a closed door with the kick of a foot when people came to visit.
Then the baby came. And all the fucks I did not give kept me from keeping the beast from migrating out of the closet and, like a slow but persistent mudslide, taking up more and more livable space.
There was a breaking point last week when we realized we were too far gone. There was no way our lone washer and on-it’s-last-leg dryer were going to get the job done. Nope. This called for the professional appliances.
This called for loading the whole family up on a Saturday in the middle of Icemageddon, and driving to the closest (and super nice with wifi and everything, I’ll add) laundromat for a day of family fun and bonding over laundry detergent.
The kids mostly loved it. Maybe because we bought them each a bag of Skittles and let them have endless screen time, but still. Beat the alternative of keeping them from trying to shut each other inside the machines.
After 2 hours there, then another 3 hours at home folding and putting away, the task was complete. 10 loads done!
And then I made everyone spend the rest of Icemageddon naked.