Laundry Loathing

I did it! I did it!

I folded the laundry!

Which sounds...ridiculous. And completely white trashy to celebrate such a milestone. I realize this. Somewhere buried in me (waaaay down deep), there is a slightly domesticated part that enjoys the washing and the drying of laundry. It's the folding that chaps my hide like no other.

I don't know how to reconcile this. I could certainly loathe worse things more. But the poor laundry pile just takes the brunt of my animosity and bitterness. I walk by the pile on the upstairs couch. I cringe. For me, being Type A and all, you would think that the pure confusion of all the colors and genres of clothing - chonies, dressy clothes, and sweat-stained undershirts - would be enough for me to want to right it all.

I am the girl with the color-coded closet. Yet I hate, hate, hate folding the stuff.

What is this about? When I folded the most recent pile-o-shame, it took me not even 30 minutes. That is perfectly manageable. It's not hard work. It brings order to my home. It makes our mornings much easier. I do a good job at it, and I can fold a fitted sheet with stunning perfection. So what gives?

I'm toying between a few possibilities. For one, when I am folding, I am just doing that. Standing in one small area, doing a repetitive, menial task, and spending time that I can NEVER in my life get back. My mind tells me, "you just blew 30 minutes of this beautiful life doing this."

Or it could be that feisty, independent nature that is so preciously mine. I grew up being independent and a bit (lot) of a tomboy. I knew the gender-defined roles and laughed at them. I played in the mud, played sports, got along with the boys better, and was basically promised that I could do whatever my mind and motivation would allow me to do. I understood that I wasn't supposed to depend on no man (<---insert ghetto-speak here).

Before getting married, Mike and I did the premarital counseling. Our pastor asked us how we felt about traditional gender roles. I'm a bit of a traditionalist, so in my fantasy world, I loved the idea of having the man working and the woman staying at home with the babies. Of the man doing the outdoor stuff and the woman doing the indoor stuff. But then you throw in my quirky, lively, side who perpetually throws a monkey wrench into the simplest of things. My reply to the pastor's question was something to the effect of "well, I feel that a wife can work outside of the home if she wants or needs to. The husband is certainly capable of changing his own children's diapers. I can mow the lawn and my husband can make the chocolate chip cookie dough." (Which he does make a mean batch of cookie dough, if I do say so myself.) In short, I don't want to be confined to just x, y, z on account of being a chick.

And laundry falls under Squaw work (as my dad so lovingly refers to it). And I ain't no squaw. I don't understand why, as a woman, it is just assumed that I do all the laundry. Now if you told me it were man's work, I'd be all over it I am sure.

There are few things that will spark the women's lib movement in me faster than the folding of laundry. In flapping out the wrinkles of a t-shirt, I am essentially fanning that tiny spark into a full-blown inferno of stepping backwards 50 years in time. I am a woman, and I am folding laundry. (And don't get me started on the times I was barefoot and pregnant doing this.) Gah! It just makes me want to burn all my bras in the kitchen sink. Less to fold that way, right?

Or it could be simply that it is a thankless job. Sure, I appreciate it when it's done. My family has an easier time when they can all find matching socks. Whatever. I don't expect a hero's welcome for doing the laundry. I don't want to be hoisted up on anyone's shoulders in a congratulatory manner, nor do I need a foot rub over it. (Although that last one sounds pretty tempting).

But a simple "thanks" would go a long way sometimes.

A friend of mine has made peace with her laundry. She doesn't like folding it either, but she has finally conceded that it is a fact of life, with families of 5 or more, laundry will always be rearing it's ugly head on a daily basis. I am glad for her that she has made nice with laundry. I celebrate that for her. Maybe one day I'll get there, but for now, I feel very non-Proverbs 31 Woman about this issue.