Rememberthe days you used to hand wash your underwear?
Matching
sets no less?
sets no less?
Nowadays,
if it doesn’t go in the washing machine (and actually needs ironing), it doesn’t
get bought.
if it doesn’t go in the washing machine (and actually needs ironing), it doesn’t
get bought.
But
there was a time when a bit of lacy lingerie would flutter on my washing line.
Anything new would be washed first (as per instructions) and pegs would be
carefully carried inside after each haul. Washing would pretty much be folded
and put away immediately.
there was a time when a bit of lacy lingerie would flutter on my washing line.
Anything new would be washed first (as per instructions) and pegs would be
carefully carried inside after each haul. Washing would pretty much be folded
and put away immediately.
Then
came baby.
came baby.
There
was always a bucket soaking some vomit or poo stained nappy towels, and an army
of onesies constantly waved our new baby status in the wind. If I wasn’t
feeding, burping, changing or rocking the baby, I was lugging loads of washing
in and out and hiding it behind the door – out of sight, out of mind, until the
next day (or the next)when if I’d had more sleep.
was always a bucket soaking some vomit or poo stained nappy towels, and an army
of onesies constantly waved our new baby status in the wind. If I wasn’t
feeding, burping, changing or rocking the baby, I was lugging loads of washing
in and out and hiding it behind the door – out of sight, out of mind, until the
next day (or the next)
Now
time has moved on again.
time has moved on again.
Two
little ones now.
little ones now.
The
washing line has now become my place of refuge.
washing line has now become my place of refuge.
It has seen the best and worst
of me. I have belted out the whole repertoire of Les Mis at the top of my lungs
out there in order to block out the squawks of a child who no longer wants an
afternoon nap. I have stood at the line to let a few sneaky tears out – either
because of the kids and my frustration, or because I have received some sad
news and need to hide a good bawl. I have even retreated to the washing line just because I am having one of those days and need a moment (or more)
to myself.
of me. I have belted out the whole repertoire of Les Mis at the top of my lungs
out there in order to block out the squawks of a child who no longer wants an
afternoon nap. I have stood at the line to let a few sneaky tears out – either
because of the kids and my frustration, or because I have received some sad
news and need to hide a good bawl. I have even retreated to the washing line just because I am having one of those days and need a moment (or more)
to myself.
It
is also a place to give my cherubs some responsibility – sometimes I need a ‘helper’
(like a slap in the face with a wet fish) and I ‘need’ someone to hand me an item one by (painstakingly slowly) one as I peg out.
Or, if collecting clothes in, my daughter’s preference is to grab items by
their corners and yank them until the pegs pop off into the abyss. I admit; she
may have possibly learnt this from me. Sometimes my collection method is to
grab wildly and throw haphazardly into the basket; often because it is always (incredibly)
the time I have to wipe a bottom, or I am venting my frustration about 4pm
after a long day. This method infuriates Husband; my angelic man who folds as
he goes (double handling I argue, but still, he IS getting the washing in).
is also a place to give my cherubs some responsibility – sometimes I need a ‘helper’
(like a slap in the face with a wet fish) and I ‘need’ someone to hand me an item one by (painstakingly slowly) one as I peg out.
Or, if collecting clothes in, my daughter’s preference is to grab items by
their corners and yank them until the pegs pop off into the abyss. I admit; she
may have possibly learnt this from me. Sometimes my collection method is to
grab wildly and throw haphazardly into the basket; often because it is always (incredibly)
the time I have to wipe a bottom, or I am venting my frustration about 4pm
after a long day. This method infuriates Husband; my angelic man who folds as
he goes (double handling I argue, but still, he IS getting the washing in).
So
as much as I begrudge the copious loads of washing I pump out each day, I also
find it my special place out there at the line. There is no Peppa Pig telling
me to jump in muddy puddles and no one insisting they are hungry and need biscuits and marshmallows. It also
gives me a weird sense of accomplishment getting a fresh load of washing on the
line. The collecting? Not so much, just an understanding that there is even
more work to do now.
as much as I begrudge the copious loads of washing I pump out each day, I also
find it my special place out there at the line. There is no Peppa Pig telling
me to jump in muddy puddles and no one insisting they are hungry and need biscuits and marshmallows. It also
gives me a weird sense of accomplishment getting a fresh load of washing on the
line. The collecting? Not so much, just an understanding that there is even
more work to do now.
And so I leave you now, as I have to get off this chair and take advantage of this sunshine…reckon I
could get a few loads through today…plus, there’s some rocky road in the
fridge that I may need to eat…alone…and I know the perfect hiding place to
scoff it.
could get a few loads through today…plus, there’s some rocky road in the
fridge that I may need to eat…alone…and I know the perfect hiding place to
scoff it.
Linking up for #bigpinklink with the ladies at :
This Mum’s Life
Pink Pear Bear
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