Wondrous things have happened here today. James has cleared the laundry backlog!
He has had a day off, and he has sorted and folded and made piles out of all the clean laundry strewn all over the spare room, and put two washes through. It is joyous.
I am failing at laundry. I can get it clean and dry but I simply cannot seem to find the extra half an hour or so in the day between my work, James’ current 100 hour working weeks, raising Blake and keeping up an appearance of hygiene in the house; to sort the sodding stuff and put it away.
And so the mother of all laundry backlogs has crept across the room, like ivy or wisteria or some other rapidly sprawling plant. Up until today, the spare room looked like an overgrown wilderness of laundry. Clothes haphazardly shoved on every available surface (including the toy kitchen to Blake’s dismay), pants hanging from cupboard handles, clothes suspended over doors and airing racks, huge piles of towels and bedding and toddler socks balanced precariously on the spare bed.
And every morning I wade through it searching for whatever items of clothing I need for myself and Blake for the day, and James does the same, and we stub our toes on children’s toy buried beneath it all and I lament my incompetence.
I don’t know why it is that I can’t make the final link in the chain, but I consistently fail and so the laundry backlog builds and I wilt a little more at my slovenly attempts at domesticity.
But today James has been a knight in shining armour! It is done. The room is clear. Washing is put away. There is a chance that two teeny, tiny, irrational-raging-lunatic moments may have helped him on his way, may have possibly demonstrated a small amount of emotional baggage attached to the laundry backlog, but in all honesty these two mards were so small and insignificant I imagine that in fact laundry is how he gets his kicks and he relished every moment of the task.
Sorry James. Thank you x
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