O Laundry Lady!

My mom did my laundry until I was 18 and she only stopped because I moved out of the house. I was one of those kids at school who didn't know how to use the laundry machines on campus. Or off campus. Or anywhere. Luckily I got a boyfriend quick and in a hurry who could a)teach me how to do laundry and b) just do it for me anyway.

Years passed. I learned laundry. How to separate it, wash it, pull out things that shouldn't go in the dryer, even how to hang it all on a line. But I was never good at laundry and certainly never have enjoyed laundry. When I lived in the city, the first time around, down in 9th street between 2nd and 3rd, I used to sit in this dive bar across the street from the laundromat while the machines did their thing. There were times when I even brought my laundry to the bar to fold it afterwards - and there was smoking then, gross, right? Then, thanks to gentrification (caused by the likes of me moving into the neighborhood), the joint shut down and reopened as a swanky little club that frowned on laundry folding. Luckily right about that time I moved into a fancy American hotel in Budapest and had my things laundered by, I don't know, the concierge? When I went back to NYC I couldn't give up the luxury of having all my items delivered, cleaned and folded into neat little plastic bags. So, until I got too broke, I had my laundry picked up and dropped off. When I was that broke again, I found another cozy dive bar across the street from another local laundromat, though this time in Yorkville, not the too hip to afford anymore east village (I gave that apartment up thinking I would do better when I came back from Hungary. The arrogance of youth.) Finally, my husband, who wasn't yet my husband, joined me in NYC and took over the laundry. He even folded it in the Laundromat.

Years passed. We multiplied. Our laundry multiplied. And I took the enviable position of stay at home Mom in the great state of Maine. We bought our own washer and dryer! It's really hard for me to keep up with the laundry. I do at minimum 2 loads a day. A load of cloth diapers every day, plus one or two more loads of clothes or towels or sheets. It is making me crazy how the laundry never stops. It is never done. I have one friend who has 3 kids and claims to actually do laundry once a week . . . to completion. The whole task. Wash it. Fold it. And, the deal breaker for me, put it away. How is that even possible? She must not let her kids . . . play in the mud. Or last night's fire ring. Or wet their beds, pants, bathroom mats. Let's not even discuss poop. Is this not normal? My kids get dirty, they play outside - it is mud season in Maine, we have started burning old trees, etc., don't kids get really dirty up here? Am I doing something crazy? And if they don't want to wear a diaper, wouldn't I be remiss to make them do so? Isn't she just potty training, against my will and wishes, but so be it, she is? All these things generate a shit load of laundry and I simply can't keep up.

For months, no one in our house wore two matching socks on any given day. And now my son cries if he can't have pajama pants that match his pajama shirt - my girlfriend from Jersey says he is rebelling! Hilarious. And sort of sad, at the same time. So, I went out and bought a whole bunch of little white socks for the girl, little black socks for the boy, big black socks for the man and brown socks for me. Sock problem solved, but I still start every day sifting through the mountain of clean but unfolded laundry that sits besides my bed. It is so distressing. I'm sure I sleep poorly due to all that chaos lying just a mere foot or so from my slumbering self. I can't wait for summer and I'll just let the kids roam around naked. We live far enough back. Who cares. It'll save my sanity, It'll be for the good of us all.

The week before last my Mom came to visit. She did all our laundry and she even put it away. She promises me she likes it. She says that she and her husband compete to get to do the laundry first. She says he actually gets up before her just so he can start the laundry! She says she often wakes at 5am to the sound of the spin cycle and thinks, you bastard! before drifting back to a laundry-less sleep. That is what I need. Not my Mom, of course she'd be great, but she has her whole own life in the swamps of Jersey (thank you, Bruce Springstein) but someone to do all the laundry. A laundress. A Laundry Lady of my very own.

That is it.

O Laundry Lady! Wherever you may be this night, I need you. Heed my call, Laundry Lady, I need your Laundry insight! O mistress of soil and suds, Come. Come and make all right! O Laundry Lady!