Climbing laundry mountain

There used to be a bed in our office/guest room. Now it’s a magnet for anything that needs a random quick home. Most often it’s full of laundry. These past few weeks it’s become home to so much laundry it was hard - to the untrained eye - to know there was a bed under there. Our cat loved it. He nestled in there to rest and cuddle. I found myself thinking how could we ever fold - or gasp - put away - this laundry? How could we take this glorious coziness away from him?

I finally started calling it Laundry Mountain. And it’s true, if you build it, they will come. Day by day the mountain got bigger. Towels, sheets, kids clothes. (Not parent clothes, we keep those conveniently on the chair or shoved in the corner. Can you tell I’m thinking about writing an organizing book because I’m so organized?) 

I joked that we might have an extra child or pet buried under Laundry Mountain. I could almost visualize them in there. It was getting intense in here (oh yes, my desk has a mountain view. Laundry mountain view.) Have I also mentioned that recently we bought a whole bunch more laundry baskets? So on top of all the laundry on Laundry Mountain there were also laundry baskets full of clean laundry lining the walls and walkways in here. And also a drying rack full of air dry laundry. All clean! Just gloriously unfolded. 

And then a miracle happened. My eight and a half year old went to the toy store and saw all the Legos he wanted to buy. (We were there buying a birthday gift for his friend.) He started scanning his mental calendar for all the upcoming holidays where he might be getting a gift. With his birthday four long months away and Christmas even farther, he optimistically posed the question, “You sometimes give gifts for Fourth of July, right?”

My response, “Hmmm. Not really.” 

Then he started asking what jobs he could do to earn some money. I scanned the house thinking of things that needed to be done that would also be pay-worthy and Laundry Mountain came to mind. Aaaah!

And he was up for it. So this morning, he and I climbed Laundry Mountain together. I started small by having him hang all the stuff that needs to be hung on kids hangers. “This is satisfying,” he said. 

The I pre-sorted the washcloths, dishtowels and cloth napkins. I asked him to fold them any way he wanted to as long as they were sort of similar. Then he matched and balled up socks, “I quite like this,” he said.

Then as I found random things in other places around the room I started handed him random bunches of the above that he sorted. He was into it. I told him it was a “win-win” because I got to spend time with him. It was so peaceful. It was satisfying, I so agree with him. 

We got as far as kids pajamas. He matched tops and bottoms, separated into his pajamas and his sister’s. I showed him how to fold the tops and the bottoms Konmari style. He did it! Aaaaah.

I did forget to mention that after about 5 minutes working he asked me how long it had been. I decided he could ask me two times. So then he started being more thoughtful about asking. Then on one of his trips to the kitchen or linen closet to put things away, he came back smiling. One of his adorable/”I pulled one over on you, Mom” smiles. What? I asked. I did a time check, he said. Ha! He peeked at the oven clock. By now it was almost an hour.  

We had originally planned an hour of work. Then he said “I’m willing to work more.”

Please note there is still so much left and more downstairs in the dryer. It will never be done. I’m just loving the fact that I have a Lego-lover who wants to work to feed his lego habit. And that he finds laundry folding/sorting and putting away to be satisfying. 

Also, my husband offered to fold all the big towels and sheets and pillowcases. So I threw them all onto my desk chair where I am sitting right now. Chair laundry mountain was so tall it almost touched the ceiling. I had to ask my husband to move it so I could write this. Progress, people. Baby steps. 

Notice I did not say I climbed all the way to the top of Laundry Mountain. I took some baby steps and took my son along with me. 

How would you describe your laundry? A waterfall? A meadow? A desert?