Toothwhale

The Mama Went Over the Laundry Mountain

To the tune of "The Bear Went Over the Mountain":

The mama went over the laundry mountain,
The mama went over the laundry mountain,
The mama went over the laundry mountain,
To see what she could see.

And all that she could see,
And all that she could see,
Was the other side of the laundry mountain,
The other side of the laundry mountain,
The other side of the laundry mountain,
Was all that she could see.

I'm not complaining. Well, not loudly. Laundry is part of life, and I love the one I've got. But if I'm telling my story -- our story -- I would be remiss not to include laundry. Because there's a lot of laundry happening.

Every family has its way of doing laundry. I do ours, and my way isn't revolutionary. I wash and dry a handful of loads when that right combination of need and being able to stomach the chore exists (usually twice a week).

Once the laundry is clean and dry, I pile it on the rattan chair and ottoman in our den. Nobody who lives here ever sits in the rattan chair. I guess we're all so used to it being piled with clothes that even when it's not, we don't think to sit on it.

The folding is where I get stuck. I have to take a breather of at least a day before I can start to fold. Once I talk myself into it, I sort the mountain into six molehills: one for each of us, plus towels and hanging clothes. Then I tackle one molehill at a time. That way, even if I get to only one or two molehills, I feel like I've completed something, gotten somewhere. Even if we've dirtied more than I've done in the time that it's taken me.

 

Fall wreath

 
They're not for everyone, and not every one of them is for me, but I do like wreaths. I especially like a wreath that captures the spirit of the time of year, whatever time that may be. I decided last year to start a small collection of wreaths that I'd rotate during the year. This fall wreath will decorate our door from now until the day after Thanksgiving.

Kitchen revision

The kitchen lighting redo is done. Things are altogether brighter in there. I'm loving the updated look, the full, golden glow, and the shine that the lights throw on the countertop. I'm also not missing that low fluorescent buzz.

Before:

 

After:

Dust days

I like to keep things clean at our house. The house isn't fancy, and with two kids, it certainly isn't always company-ready, but I try to put a shine on simplicity with extra wiping and vacuuming.

It's the clean streak in me that's right now putting me at risk for coming unglued. There are three men in my kitchen, and they are making a beluga-sized mess. We're having a small renovation done to replace fluorescent lighting, and it requires drywall work. Has anyone ever had drywall work done? Lord, have mercy. The dust. The dust is evil, and it is EVERYWHERE.

This is Dust Day III. I thought Dust Day I (when out went the fluorescents) and Dust Day II (when in went the recessed lighting) were bad. Oh, they had nothing on Dust Day III. The first two installments kept the mess to the kitchen. Dust Day III is involving the adjoining dining room and the front entry.

I spoke to the drywall contractor a few minutes ago, and he informed me that there will be a Dust Day IV. He assured me it won't be as bad as Dust Day III. Once the sanding-with-vacuum is finished on Dust Day IV, he will paint, he said. Then, there will be round two with the electrician.

I have taken "before" photos. To prevent myself from actually coming unglued today, I am imagining the "after" shots. Like a woman in labor, those future "afters" are my focal point as I progress to the delivery of my improved kitchen. I will survive Dust Day III. Breathe in. Cough, cough. Breathe out.