On Monday I gathered the dirty laundry from all about the house: towels, still damp from last night’s bath-time, leggings and skirts from our daughter’s bedroom floor, my son’s toddler-sized tee, slightly crusty from yesterday’s snacks.
On Tuesday I sorted: whites, delicates, towels, and millions of play-clothes. I reach for something, glance at it, toss it in the right basket. Reach, glance, toss. Reach, glance, toss. Reach. Glance. Toss. Reach… Reach… Reach…
Wednesday, the baskets of dirty laundry sat in a row, waiting. All day.
Thursday, one load of laundry after another, into the washing machine and into the dryer. One after the other.
On Friday, I still haven’t folded any of the clean laundry from Thursday, but I’m too tired to do it now.
By Sunday, ,most of the clean laundry is back in the dirty laundry piles again.
And so I begin again.