For the Laundry in My Basement

Well, hello big piles of laundry.  I am assuming you are all here as a consequence of the boys cleaning their rooms this weekend.  I haven't seen some of you in quite awhile.  And a few of you are new.  So, here's a little orientation brought to you by the Laundry Queen.

If I put you into a specific pile, I want you to stay there.  If you happen to be a white sock, for example, please don't inch your way over to the pile of red clothes, no matter how desperately you want to be pink.  In this house, I am the only one who wears pink socks, and I like my socks to fit MY feet.  A very large pink sock is pretty much guaranteed a position in the dust cloth bag.  Don't make me do that to you.

Some of you have an unpleasant odor.  This is not your fault.  You did your job.  You covered up feet and armpits and other such body parts of boys who REALLY enjoy life.  You have been through mud puddles and lawn-mowing.  You have been in running shoes and cowboy boots.  You have been the foundational layer in a day's worth of clothing changes--from school to work to home to bed.  Be proud of the job you've done.  And don't worry about your odor.  I am the Laundry Queen.

I rule the laundry room.  The big pile of denim does not.  Yes, it is, by far, the gang with the most members.  (The Levi Strauss family still sends us thank you notes for putting their children through college.)  But might does not make right.  The denim pieces still have to go through the same process as the rest of you--no preferential treatment.  In fact, denim often endures a longer cycle through the washing machine, definitely tumbles around longer in the dryer, and rarely gets the nice fabric softener.  So don't be intimidated by the mass of denim.  It, too, will be cleaned.

There is special treatment for my clothes.  I am the queen.  Get over it.

Some of you Old Timers (like the towels we received as wedding gifts) may remember men's dress shirts and slacks and may be wondering where those went.  There is another laundry place, much bigger than anything you've seen, where other dress shirts and slacks go to be cleaned.  The very nice people at the cleaners do a great job on these clothes, and I am a much more pleasant person when I don't have to try to iron that nice crease into clothes which are not natually pre-disposed to having creases put in them.  The rest of you should be thankful we don't like EVERYTHING to have nice creases. 

Don't be jealous of anything with a price tag hanging off of it.  We all age, and newer does not always mean better.  For example, older sheets and towels are much more comfortable than new ones.  You older ones have been around.  You've seen more.  You know more.  Some of you have dried off and warmed little boys who left a ring of dirt in the tub.  Some of you have been used as a t-shirt for the dad of the house and then as a night shirt for a boy, and now as a t-shirt again for guys who no longer wear night shirts to bed.  Some of you have clothed all 3 boys (some of you even more boys than that before you came to live with us).  Oh, and about those tags, don't be fooled.  I don't pay full price for anything, as you well know.  I didn't for you.  I didn't for them.

There is a relatively new pile in the room. Some of you have noticed this pile and seem to be in awe. You seem to whisper in the presence of these clothes and exhale slightly when they are taken from the laundry room cleaned, folded, and stacked. That pile of green- and khaki-colored camouflage won't be with us this time next year. Someone else will be responsible for cleaning those clothes. Whoever that is, I hope they remember to remove the pens from the sleeve pocket, the Bible from the other sleeve pocket, and the multiple tools from the belt. I hope they look at that hard-earned rank patch and that set of wings and realize just how far that particular soldier has come. And when those clothes come back here again, we will gladly welcome them into our laundry world, and we will be thankful they are here.

To all of you, please know that I appreciate that you clean and dry and cover our bodies.  When I get through with you, you will be clean. More than likely, you will end up back on a teenager's floor, filthy, next to the laundry hamper, destined to stay on the floor until the next Clean Your Room Before Mom Has an Aneurysm Day. This is your circle of life.  You may feel underappreciated, and I can understand that.  It may seem that you are mistreated and taken for granted.  All I can tell you is this:  When you're feeling sorry for yourself, look around and gain some perspective.  At least you're not a shoe.

P.S.  As a kindness to all, I did not include pictures.  You are welcome.