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

One hundred churches

About the middle of January, I was walking to school one afternoon when it occurred to me that I must have visited quite a few churches on my explorations. I started counting them. But I quickly ran out of fingers, so when I got home I plotted them on Google Maps. Not only was the number much higher than I was expecting, it was also tantalisingly close to one hundred. Only a few dozen to go. So of course, every walk since then has had to include at least one church! Last Monday I visited my hundredth church: St John the Baptist, Dethick. It was a beautiful little 13-century building with an unusual tower - I was glad it had claimed the 100 spot. I haven't been inside every church. Sometimes they were locked; sometimes I was in a hurry and didn't try the door. St Leonard's Church in Alton had bellringers practicing, and I almost interrupted a funeral when I stuck my head through the door of St Mary's, Marston-on-Dove. A few, such as St Oswald's, Ashbourne, and St Wys...

Derwent Valley Heritage Way: Steep drops ahead

It's been a long time since I fitted that much up and down into an eight-mile walk! 740m of steep climbs and steps. My legs were not very happy with me the next day. Between Matlock and Cromford, the Derwent River runs through a deep valley, with Matlock Bath - a landlocked town which pretends to be a seaside resort - down at the bottom. The ridge of high ground used to run all the way round to Scarthin Rock, cutting off Cromford from the rest of the valley, until somebody blasted a hole through it to build the A6. Matlock Bath: pavilion and amusement park I started in Cromford and climbed over the ridge at Harp Edge, then followed a path along through the woods, with the ground dropping sharply away to my right. There were a few small caves among the trees. At Upperwood someone had thoughtfully provided a bench. I wasn't in need of a rest just yet, though. In fact, I was feeling so bouncy that I went down an entirely unnecessary flight of steps, instead of staying on the reaso...

Limestone Way - the end! (for now...)

Bonsall is a pretty little village just up the road from Cromford. It was the centre point for my final Limestone Way walk. First I walked one way, back towards Ible, then I walked the other way to Matlock. I started at the fountain and climbed up to a tree in which a mistle thrush was singing loudly (helpfully identified by the Merlin app). A few fields took me across to the hamlet of Slaley. Then there was a pleasant walk through the woods, which dropped steeply to my left down to the Via Gellia. At Dunsley Springs the stream went right over the edge. I made my way down more gradually, and then was faced with the long climb up again to the point near Leys Farm where I was rejoining the Limestone Way. Tree down! Rejoining the Limestone Way Once I'd reached the top, it was a very pleasant walk across dry grassy fields. There were signs of old mining activity, which suddenly made the ground feel less solid under my feet - how many holes were hiding under the turf? Back at Bonsall, ...

Martha's Marvellous Munchies

Search This Blog