oh the folding, it is endless

If I do a load of washing on Sunday, like say for example I decide that all the bedding is totally feral, strip the beds and change the sheets and get it on the line, Mr Helpalot will bring it in. However it will likely sit in the basket on top of the washing machine for days. And on Wednesday night, he'll say something like "oh, I didn't get around to folding the sheets." And it's not as if he's been slacking off, he's been extending the shed, doing the school run, all the dishes and well, generally keeping the home fires burning. And it's not as if I couldn't spare the ten minutes or so it would take sometime between coming home from work and going to bed. But I choose not to. And so does he.

So anyway, I say, "don't worry about it , Ill do it tomorrow." But I don't. Then at some point, and I forget why, we have an argument about it. Which is really stupid. Later I fold the sheets and put them away and it takes hardly any time at all and the the washing basket is empty for the next load to go out and be bought in to be folded and put away. For some reason, I've been on top of it this weekend. There's only the load I put through after getting back from the pool still out there. Everything else has been folded, hung up and put away. I have even done my ironing. Yes, I feel virtuous. A little smug even. But it won't last.

new house, new laundry

I can barely remember when I was here last. Of course I keep meaning to come back. It's not as if I don't have anything laundry related to whinge about. The new laundry is a poxy painted red brick, not the sparkling white rendered brick I had planned. We just didn't have time to do it before we moved. Laundries being low on the priority list, because one doesn't actually live in the laundry. The washing machine has sprung a new leak, or has become more obvious because of the slope of the floor. And we tend to forget to take the plug out of the sink, resulting in big floods. But that would be because the new sink is stainless steel and useful, as opposed to the concrete sink at the old house which was really just a mould farm.

What got me back here though was chancing upon this laundromat on the way home the other night. I just love it. In a I'm glad I have a washing machine at home kind of way. Still sometimes I think it would be nice to have to sit somewhere for a while while your washing washed. Read a book. Watch the world go by. A fantasy really, because I'm sure in reality it would be a drag. Except when you're camping. Then it's good.

Anyway. There's a basket of washing that's been sitting on the washing machine for two days waiting to be folded and put away. And it's all mine. How lazy is that?

in the country

Of ccourse, when I go away for the weekend, I immediately check out the laundry features. Of course. Not. But I always do notice them. Forgive me if I'm being sarcastic, I've had a couple of vodka cruisers (yum, melon and raspberry) and it's been a long, long week. All the more ardous after a glorious half weekend away. At the end of a very intense few weeks. Our routines are shot, Mr Helpalot has started a new job, the house is absolutely feral and I just could not be bothered ironing my work clothes last week. So I looked even more rumpled than usual.

But I wouldn't have missed the weekend for quids and isn't this a beauty to behold.

I very much like the path and the stump to put the washing basket on. The view in the morning would be full of soft light and mist in the winter. And you'd see a sunset when you were bring the washing in. Or at least, I would because I'm slack and tend to leave as long as I can. To delay cluttering up the house and needing to be folded. My only worry with this washing line would be snakes, there's lots of long grass nearby and it looks like snake territory to me.

yet more bitching about the folding

We did a very big wash on Friday. Which my mum helped me hang out before we went to see Betty in hospital. With direction from me as to what sections of the line to hang the various bits of washing in. To make bringing it in easier, so I have a layered basket that I don't have to sort before I fold. Mind you, G hung the nappies wherever he could find the space which meant that in order to maintain my compulsive stratification of the washing basket some running sround the line in the first part of the bringing in was necessary. Interupted by calls to come and inspect and consult on his latest project, the restoration of my mum's childhood dollshouse. I am so in demand.

As I slept in this morning and there was shopping to be done, and I needed a walk, this mountain was still staring me in the face at 6.20pm. The chances of getting through it in time to watch Gardening Australia at 6.30pm were slim, even with the assistance of my little helper. So I listened on the big sound and folded fast. Remembering holidays in Port Moresby when I was at high school and the clean washing would arrive from the laundry underneath the house to be placed in neat folded piles on our beds. How my mother must have loved having household staff. Even if there was something dodgy about it. Not that it's bad to pay others to do your housework. I'm thinking more about class, race and issues of post colonialism. About a town where working for an expat could mean sending your child to school and having somewhere to live. 

I suggested to G that we abandoned folding as a task and just kept our clothing in big baskets. He thought that was a great idea. But the idea of not having matching socks or have having to fold a nappy and deal with a writhing poopy two year old is just too much to bear. I like my washing folded and put away. It makes me feel in control of things when it's done. I'm wondering how long before Grace will be able to take over?

Oh I know, probably not until she's all grown up and ready to leave home. Sigh.

Holiday washing

I've heard it said that travelling with young children is the same shit, different scenery. And I guess to some extent that's true. Meals have to be made, the pokey probing fingers have to be removed from the tape deck, baths and naps have to be had, bottoms have to be changed and the washing has to be done. Especially when you ignore the burbling sounds emanting from the bedroom at nap time because you have your head in a novel. An unwise move. The child had removed her nappy, thrown it on the floor and painted the contents on the portacot. Just charming. 

Just as well that the house you're staying in has a well stocked cleaning cupboard with proper disinfectant and a real laundry. And two washing lines. The charming line between the ti-trees I used as the back up line and for bathers and towels drying from the beach. The less charming, but utterly practical foldout line near the laundry door was well used every couple of days for normal washing and after the nappy incident. But I have to say that the scenery made all the difference.

Really. It did. 

The only thing I don't get is how after doing the washing regularly while we were away, I still had three gianormous loads on returning home. And that was without the nappies. I can't tell you how much I enjoyed using disoposables while we were away. No scraping. Way less folding. And less washing overall (because they don't leak so readily). I have to say, there's part of me that's really tempted.

I don't mind, I don't mind at all

The dreamy lyrics are from my favourite Reels album, Beautiful which was released on K-tel. I have a copy, not my original one from the eighties but one from the trash and treasure. Indeed I think I might have two. Just in case. I think song is my prefab heart?

Anyway, onto the washing and folding or lack thereof.

insert The pizza is here. Along with the coke, for bourbon and cokes.

Now it's later. After pizza and salad and bourbons and coke and complimentary chocolate mousse. The washing's still on the line. It's been there since Friday morning I think. It keeps getting WET. Although there have been a couple of moments when it's nearly been dry enough to bring in. Which would then lead to airing and folding. Frankly, I have better things to do on a preciously wet summer Saturday. Like gardening, reading and chasing a half naked child through the mud and raindrops. Lovely.