During the week I have a strict routine with laundry tasks. After Grace has had her breakfast and after we wave G off to work, I put on the first load of washing. Then I check the washing from yesterday that has been airing overnight. Anything nearly dry is put in the dryer to finish off. I sort it into piles for folding. Then I fold.
On a good day Grace plays happily on the floor with her toys, scraps of material or pots and plastics she's found in the scullery. On a bad day she sits on my knee while I fold. And we listen to the radio, the local ABC. I used to listen to RRR (local community radio) but G likes the ABC in the morning and now I prefer it. I watch the day emerge through the cabinesque (G's word) windows of our sunroom out the back. Once the laundry is folded & put away, I have breakfast and Grace has porridge for morning tea.
Today being sleep in Saturday, I didn't get to the folding until the mid afternoon. It's not like the fairies will come and do it while I sleep. My dad was in the study with G doing things with the computers (thank you dad). There was no good radio and no music because sometimes I am just too lazy to put on a cd. It was gloomy.
I thought about the monotony of doing the washing and how I used to love helping mum fold, towells in particular. Because there is a right way to fold towells which G, being male, does not understand. I thought about my mothers group where sometimes we discuss laundry (I am not the only one obsessed). I thought about em who left the first ever comment on Mrs Washalot (thank you Em, if you're reading) and about how I don't think I'd be using cloth nappies if we had more than one child in nappies. And about how I would love another baby (unlikely but not yet impossible) despite the extra washing and other domestic drudery this would entail.