I can do my laundry.

It wasn’t always this way, I can remember Mom doing everyone’s laundry when I was a kid… and by ‘kid’ I mean ‘senior in high school.’

Then I went to college. Going home every weekend to get your clothes washed wasn’t an option, which left either learning how to wash clothes, or redefining the qualifications for what was really dirty.

Turns out, I did both, but learn to wash I did, and thought nothing more of it. I’m sitting here today, as a matter of fact, washing all the dirty clothes currently available as part of my house-husbandly duties (I’m a house-husband for 3 more days, dear, get all you can out of it now). The kitchen timer I’m using to remind me to go down and change loads is ticking away like a metronome next to me, driving me to distration (or to blog, I guess).

My dad stopped by a few months ago during his travels and had some dirty laundry. Jackie was at work. I had to show him how to make the washing machine work. He’s 52 and he didn’t know… Mom sometimes takes too much care of him, I think :)