Lofty Laundry Days

I hate laundry day. It’s not that we have huge piles of clothes all over the place to collect since I’m a stay-at-home mom I can keep on top of that stuff now, maintaining the laundry at a dull laundry roar. I did often fell behind when I was working. On one occasion it got so bad that after Kurt told me he needed sock or underwear or something he went and stacked all the laundry in such a way that it was literally up to the ceiling. Yes, in the time it took him to achieve that he could have put a load in the washer himself, but this is Kurt and it’s more important to Kurt to be an ass.

It’s also not that I have to haul our clothing from the top floor where the bedrooms reside to the bottom floor of our tri-level home or that there aren’t any handrails on said stairs because Kurt never put them back in even while I was pregnant with Sophia, nope it’s not that. Nor does it have to do with the stealthy moves I’m required to choreograph in order to get Sophia’s favorite crunchy blanket and formerly white polar bear away from her to have them incinerated washed and dried by naptime.

Sometimes I can feel my knees and back aging years while doing laundry, but that isn’t my problem with laundry day either. The issue is Kurt’s motorcycle t-shirts. He has a friend that travels all over to see motorcycle races and Kurt always gives him a little cash for a new T as if he doesn’t have enough. He has so many motorcycle T-shirts that one time that he had to dress up for a meeting at work and everyone thought he bought the clothes special for that day. Since every shirt comes from some special place and is some edition only available at that particular race and some of them have been signed I have the special task of trying to keep ever shirt in pristine condition.

I wash all of our laundry in cold so no worries there, but the drier tends to ruin things and so I hang dry the special T’s, all of them. There isn’t any room for sweaters of mine, which actually have tags that specify, “Lay flat to dry”. T-shirts don’t have that. At all. Ever.

After several trips up and down the stairs hauling dirty laundry down and clean laundry back up and then folding it all I leave Kurt’s things stacked neatly on the bed. When he gets home, or more specifically, just before he crawls into bed for the night, he will remove the piles from the bed and place them on his dresser. I do all that work and he just puts them ON the dresser! His dresser has a small TV on it so as he stacks clothes up the side of the TV to the top, he then adds a pile to the top of the TV that straddles to the other pile in support. He doesn’t do this all the time mind you, just often enough that it pisses me off-fa-fah.

I would put them away myself but his clothes organization system is much too complex and rather arbitrary considering he’s an engineer. He has a three pile sorting system just for T-shirts, one pile for new and pristine shirts, one for ‘older’ shirts and a third for ‘almost out the door but will actually never make it to the trash shirts’. I could help them find their way into the trash but that would illicit similar reactions as separating Sophia from her blanket or polar bear but on a grander scale.

On the upside Sophia’s blanket has had all the crunchiness removed and her polar bear no longer has spiked fur and is back to being white. She missed him so much that when she saw him appear in the rocking chair in her room she grabbed him, brought him down to the living room, climbed into the recliner, and shared milk from her sippy cup with him. She would take a sip and then offer it up.

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