It’s 8:00 p.m. The time I usually find myself performing my most hated task: folding laundry. This, after a day that started at 6:00 a.m. with this gem of a wake-up call: “Mom, I think I had an accident.” From there, I prepared three meals, cleaned up the kitchen at least twice as many times (why? how?), took three kids to the lake, bathed them, vacuumed up pretzel crumbs in the hallway that have now lead to an ant infestation, read “Barbie’s First Pet” at least 20 times, dealt with one case of swimmer’s ear, one skinned ankle, one mysterious butt pain, and flossed, and tooth and hair brushed three little girls, and tucked them into bed, only to be summoned up the stairs at least once by each of them for things like more books (because their legs stopped working?), another hug (I enjoyed it, too), and a few what-if scenarios about bears breaking into the house.
And now this. A giant pile of kids’ clothes stares at me like, “What you gonna do about it?” Ugh. If I leave it there, on the coffee table, I won’t be able to see the TV so I’d better fold it. I. Am. So. Tired. My back aches, my head is throbbing will a dull pain that probably has something to do with the fact that I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in two days. Lightening storms woke up everyone in our house the night before last, and last night, my husband decided to take his snoring to the next level, to, I don’t know, make sure they could hear it at the Olympics in Rio, and then, and THEN, when I finally dozed off, my 3-year-old fell out of bed.
Still, laundry. Always a pain, because I’m trying to sort through three little girls’ panties and socks, and oh, P.S., they each wear just a size apart, so it can be really hard to tell the size 4 Minnie Mouses and Doras and Frozens from the size 3 ones.
But now, as I’m arranging three little piles of teeny-tiny panties, I can’t help but smile. It wasn’t so long ago that each of my children was in diapers. And now, they’re all grown up; potty trained, wearing big girl underwear. Um, guess who did that? Me. I feel a little stab of pride in my heart as I think back to the many, many, many times I crouched down on the floor in our bathroom, next to the potty, waiting, watching, hoping this time one of my daughters would go. And look at us today! We did it! We’re awesome. I mean, first potty train three kids, next conquer the world.
Next, I fold a size 3T shirt I bought when my first daughter, now 8, was 3.
It lasted through her, then my middle daughter, who’s now 5, and is currently a fav of my youngest. Wow, this shirt has seen a lot. It’s been worn to three different preschool classrooms, cried on, barfed on, had yogurt, and milk, and macaroni and cheese spilled on it, it’s heard laughter over every kid’s favorite word (poop, duh), and fights over who should get the red bendy straw today, and probably been to its fair share of time outs.
As I work my way through the massive laundry pile, I’m struck by how each item of clothing I fold tells a story. This is the dress my daughter wore on her eighth birthday. Here’s the star leotard my little one wore pretending to be Simone Biles the other day. Those are the jean shorts my kindergartner wanted because her big sister had them.
This is the bathing suit my oldest daughter had on when she lost her first tooth. These socks have a hole in ‘em.
Anyway.
As I fold up the last little pair of workout shorts all three of my daughters have the same pair of so they can “look like mommy” I’m struck by how tonight, I didn’t hate every second of folding laundry like I usually do. In fact, my little fold down memory lane makes me remember it’s the little moments, the quiet moments, the normal moments, like this one, that can make you realize how lucky you are. Do I want to fold laundry every night after a looooong-ass day? Nope. But if tomorrow, someone said I could never do this again, that I couldn’t have everything that went along with “having to do” this, I’d die. I’d die without my kids, my family. They are my life. And if separating their PJs, and panties, and princess shirts is the worst thing I have to do, well, then my life is pretty much close to perfection.
What little moment or everyday task makes you realize how lucky you are?
Share here