I know what you’re thinking.
There’s a fun part of laundry?
I actually love Mondays. Mondays are my Laundry Days. There is a 60% chance that a Monday will be a normal Monday, which is pretty good around here.
And Mondays come after Sundays, which are the nights when I pick up and make things decent-looking for our church home group to meet.
So, on most Monday mornings, the house looks pretty nice (as long as I don’t look in the bedrooms) and I get a lot of blogging work done in each hour it takes for each load to wash/dry.
But the un-fun part is the time between those hours. The moment when the dryer stops and I need to get up and go fold and put away the clothes.
hate intensely dislike that moment. It generally happens at the exact time when I’m waxing particularly poetic and profound.
When I just don’t feel like stopping to get up.
But when I do, when I waste my time stooping down and pulling out and folding or hanging . . . when I make that last trip to deliver a particularly sneaky pair of shorts to a room where I’ve already been twice . . . something good happens.
I get to move on. Move on to the part I don’t mind.
I don’t mind switching wet clothes from the washing machine to the dryer. I don’t mind scooping up an already-sorted-by-my-kids-the-night-before pile of dirty laundry and putting it in the washer. Those things are easy, if not exactly fun.
And they’re made mentally easier, mentally much-closer-to-fun when I don’t have what used to be the final step of Laundry Day hanging over my head: an ever-growing pile o’ clean clothes on the loveseat.
It helps when I identify my least favorite part of the day.
When I push through it.
When I realize it takes much less time to complete this despised step than my over-imaginative mind assumes.
When I see the huge difference it makes in Laundry Day (and therefore in our home).