There once was a time when I lived in a Ritz-Carlton hotel and had my laundry delivered folded in square wicker baskets. My panties were wrapped separately in pink tissue paper.
I thought of this as I drove two little boys to daycare this morning in my boyfriend’s old beater. I thought of the towels I had taken from the dryer and quickly folded as I called to the five-year old to wake up. I had already gone in several times to tousle his hair, kiss his cheek, and throw back the covers in an attempt to get him up. The two-year old was already up and dressed. The second time I went in to wake his brother I found him hiding in the closet doing his business. With his diaper changed and a few minutes to spare, there was always laundry to fold in this house. Always.
While chatting with the boys about the hot air balloon that was rising in the western sky, I was thinking about laundry. I thought of those pretty square baskets being delivered to my room all those years ago, and then I thought of the three hampers we have going in the house now. The hampers that are never empty because the minute you’ve emptied them they begin to fill up again.
I wondered about the progression of life. Don’t we work toward making life easier? Shouldn’t I have been doing loads of laundry for three guys years ago and living in the Ritz-Carlton now? I smiled to myself because I know that I’m exactly where I am supposed to be. Yes, I was happy when I was unwrapping my panties from the pink tissue paper, but I’m also happy now.
I find myself smiling to myself a lot lately. I thought of the housekeeper we just hired to come in and clean every two weeks. She makes me smile. With my boyfriend’s new job, we can now afford that luxury. But she doesn’t do laundry, and that’s okay.