“Whatcha doin’?”
“Washing sheets. What are you doin’?”
“Oh, nothin’. Just…”
That’s how every conversation with my dad on Sunday nights starts.
At first, it was our inside joke. Almost every time I called him, I happened to be doing laundry. Which made sense. When I was a young adult, the time I carved out for laundry was about the only time I was home long enough at a decent hour to make a phone call.
Over the years, it’s become our ritual.
So when I put my sheets in the washer on Sunday night (as my faithful Finch app reminds me to do), I call my dad.
This week, I’m going to talk about the most frequent chores I do at home that make the biggest difference in keeping it functional (and also presentable, but mostly functional). On Thursday, I’ll share with you another of my favorite books and outline the things I’m picky about when it comes to laundry.
But today, I want to talk about part of why laundry is my favorite of the frequent chores.
There are the practical reasons:
- It makes mornings easier to not have to search through piles for something to wear.
- It makes a clear, visible difference to the state of my home.
- It’s a mostly hands-off chore and thus the easiest chore to stack onto other tasks, making me feel twice as productive.
What cinches it for me are the emotional reasons.
We lived on a farm while I was growing up, and my dad did farm the land for many years, but his main job for most of my life was owning and running a dry cleaning business. He taught me (almost) everything I know about removing stains, ironing and getting the creases just right, and taking care of clothes so that they last as long as possible. Any alterations or repairs that were needed were done at the shop. One of my first summer jobs was running the front while he ran the washer and the steam press.
I can still smell the solution used in the machine.
It’s not the career my dad planned when he was younger. He took over the business from his stepfather. He always strives to be good at everything he does and do everything to the best of his ability. I think being trusted to carry on Granddad’s legacy made him really happy.
Laundry (and being picky about it) is part of that legacy. It might even be my whole family’s favorite chore.
It was also one of the first clues to my mom that I was even worse off than I’d led her to believe when she came to take care of me for a few weeks in my mid-twenties. There were a few months when I just couldn’t keep anything down and was in constant pain. I knew I needed help, but I didn’t want to ask. She must have heard something wrong in my voice, because she suggested that she come for a visit.
Usually, I would go into a cleaning frenzy if I knew anyone was visiting, but especially my mother, the queen of clean. I couldn’t do it, though. My roommate at the time did her best, but when Mom got there, the first thing she noticed (other than the fact that I was curled in the fetal position on the couch) was the piles of laundry at the foot of my bed. She immediately started a load and spent the next two weeks cleaning, feeding us, driving me to doctors (probably bullying the doctors a little), and making sure the laundry stayed done.
When my sister had knee surgery, taking over her laundry schedule was one of the things she asked me to do. In that moment, I knew how my dad felt in taking over the shop. It feels good to be entrusted with the things that are important to someone.
Laundry is not just a chore in my family. It’s how we love each other. It’s the yardstick by which we measure how we’re doing.
So before I call Dad every Sunday, I make sure there is the gentle whir of the washer and dryer in the background, letting him know I’m OK.
