Skip to main content

For the love of laundry...

The thirtieth of March was Mothering Sunday here in the UK.  To celebrate, our church had put together a little presentation of things the children had said about their mums.  It was pretty cute; you know the kind of thing.  "How would you describe your mum in one word?" got answers like, "Fantastic", "Beautiful", and "Bossy boots".  The next question was, "What is your mum good at?"  I was just giggling at some of the responses, when up on screen flashed:
Hanging the washing out. (Toby, 3)
Now, our church is a large one, but I'm pretty sure we have the only three-year-old Toby in it.  Therefore my son thinks that my lifetime pinnacle of achievement, the one thing I could win awards in, is putting clothes on racks to dry.  Isn't it great to know what you're capable of?

It really is as exciting as it looks.
I have to admit, I have had rather a lot of practice.  In fact, ferrying clothes from washing basket to machine to drying racks to drawers sometimes seems to take up most of my waking hours.  And it's not what you might call an absorbing pastime.  Especially when you turn around and whooomph! that washing basket which was empty five minutes ago has mysteriously filled up to overflowing.  I didn't know we even had that many clothes!

And cloth nappies.  But you never have enough of those.
One of those things that people tell you about is doing everything to the glory of God.  Somehow this gets a special emphasis when your "everything" consists of wiping little noses, picking up endless toy cars and being woken up in the night, while trying to tell yourself that this will produce functioning  adult humans in, um, twenty years or so.  And in amongst the sleep deprivation you wonder how that heap of dirty washing you keep stepping over is supposed to glorify anybody, particularly God.

I don't have the whole answer, but I think one important part is remembering to be thankful.  I can groan as I yank another load of sheets out of the machine, I can yell at Toby as he runs through a puddle in his third pair of trousers that day, I can pull my hair out as Theo calmly dirties a nappy not five minutes after being changed... or I can say thank you.

  • Thank you for the invention of the automatic washing machine - and that we can afford to have one.  (Just imagine having to do all this by hand!)
    O lovely washing machine!  You certainly earn your keep.
  • Thank you for clothes to wear, and the generosity represented by all the friends who gave us babywear as gifts.
  • Thank you for space to hang all this washing, and for the spring weather that makes pegging it out in the sunshine a pleasure.
    Except that all that pegging makes it take twice as long - oops, I'm meant to be being thankful!
  • Thank you for happy, healthy children that enjoy life - even when it's hard on their clothes.
  •  And if nothing else:  Thank you that one day, those children will be able to do their own laundry!
Happy washing!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Erewash Valley Trail: Ilkeston

You could spend a lot of time following old canals and railways in the Erewash Valley. This walk included parts of the Erewash Canal, the Nottingham Canal, the Nutbrook Canal, and the Stanton branch line, and I could have continued further along any one of those, if I'd had the time. I started in Kirk Hallam, which is mostly a post-war housing estate with a distinctive outline on the map: the main road to Ilkeston through the middle, and a loop road encircling the village. It looks like the London Underground logo. I parked at the lake at the top of the loop. There was a sculpture commemorating the nearby Stanton Ironworks - the ground remembers the roar of the blast  read the inscription around the base - and the remains of a lock on the Nutbrook Canal. Heading towards Ilkeston, I crossed a former golf course, now a nature reserve called Pewit Coronation Meadows, passed a large sports centre, and was soon in the town centre. There was a general impression of red-brickiness, with l...

Mr White Watson of Bakewell

Once upon a time, back in 1795 or so, lived a man who was always asking questions.  The kind of questions like, "Why is glass transparent?" or "Why do fruit trees grow better in that place than in this place?" or "What does the earth look like underneath the surface?"  This last question was one that he was particularly interested in, and he went so far as to work out what the rock layers looked like where he lived, and draw little pictures of them.  Now he was a marble sculptor by trade (as well as fossil hunter, mineral seller, and a few other things) so he thought it would be even better to make his little pictures in stone.  That way he could represent the layers using the actual rocks they were composed of.  Over the course of his lifetime he made almost 100 of these tablets, as he called them. Then he died.  And no one else was quite as interested in all those rocks and minerals as he was.  His collection was sold off, bit by bit, and the table...

National Forest Way: Bagworth and Thornton Reservoir

I'd hoped to be further along with my walking by now, but a combination of illness, bad weather, and inset days meant that I couldn't get out for a few weeks. At the first sign of a break in the clouds, I was ready to go. It had rained heavily the day before, and there was still a watery feel to the air. I parked at Thornton Reservoir and donned waterproof trousers and wellies, then started by following a footpath along the back of some houses in Thornton. The village is perched on a ridge, which slopes down to the reservoir on one side, and Bagworth Heath woods on the other. view to Bagworth Heath woods I picked up the Leicestershire Round opposite the village school, and followed it past an old mill, across a railway line, and through the woods. One section of the path was particularly squelchy. At the end of the woods, the footpath sign pointed right, which I assumed meant I should follow the road. It wasn't until afterwards that I realised I could have crossed over and ...