The house was quiet. The kids were still sleeping and my husband had left for work. I was alone without any distractions and I was getting things done in record time. As I moved about the quiet house in the early morning, my laundry pile dwindled rapidly, my floor began to shine, even my toilet bowl and bathtub started to sparkle.
The Army often claims to do more before 9 a.m. than most people do all day, but I think the Army didn’t take mothers into account.
By the time my children woke up, my hampers were empty, clothes were neatly folded and put away, dishes were done, floors were swept and mopped. The house smelled and looked clean. I was thrilled.
Then the kids got up. I watched silently as they dragged their blankets and pillows into the living room disposing them on the floor before continuing into the kitchen to dirty dishes and spill cereal and milk. I was determined to maintain the cleanliness. I quickly picked up the blankets and made the beds while throwing some of the dirtier blankets into the hamper.
Back in the kitchen I cringed at the site of cereal on the once clean floor. I watched my little mess makers slowly wake up as the sound of chatter increased. My house was no longer the quiet place it was just a short time before. Now it was noisy and demanding with my children chirping like hungry birds in a nest.
Breakfast over, I sent my children to get dressed. I cleaned up the mess in the kitchen, sweeping the floor for the third time that morning. The Army doesn’t do the most. It is definitely mothers. We just don’t have a lot to show for it. We just do the same thing over and over while trying to maintain control.
My little ones come wandering back to the living room. They are dragging their blankets and pillows, which they have pulled off their freshly made beds. I sigh as I make my way back to their rooms to survey the damage done in five minutes. Just as I thought. Dresser drawers are hanging open. The neatly folded clothes I had placed in their depths not long ago had become unfolded and hung over the edges and spilled out onto the floor.
Pajamas and slippers lay haphazardly over the floor rather than in the now empty hamper sitting in a corner of the room. I put the clothes back in the drawers. I close them – again. I pick up the dirty clothes and put them into the empty hamper. It fills up to the top. Already?
Sighing, I resign myself to doing yet another load of laundry. I start the load and have empty hampers once more. I return to the living room and pick up the abandoned pillows and blankets and once more make the beds. I sit down, ready to relax for a moment or two.
My oldest daughter comes in from outside, her clothes completely wet and covered in dirt. Her siblings are similarly attired. I quickly herd them into the bathtub, peeling off the wet dirty clothes and filling the hampers again. As the washing machine finishes its cycle, I throw the clothes into the dryer and load the wet dirty clothes into the washer along with the towels and wash clothes used for the baths.
The dryer thumps reassuringly as it dries my last two loads of laundry of the day. I see the end in sight. I go into the kitchen to make lunch. Time passes and I remember to check on my laundry. The dryer has stopped, the door hanging open with wet clothes falling out of it. In the bedroom, the dresser drawers hang open with the once neatly folded clothes falling out of it.
It’s times like these when I realize the humorous quote by Barbara Dale that I have hanging in my office is more truthful than I ever realized. “Behind every working woman is an enormous pile of laundry.” Underneath the quote, in my husband’s handwriting, are the words, “and dishes”.
Lunch! I’d forgotten all about it! I thought my dishes were done….
And the piles grow.
Copyright 1999-2001
