Mundane in the Membrane

There's a scary mound of laundry growing in my basement, and I'm not proud. I prefer to keep a neat house--clutter gets me down--but it's becoming increasingly difficult these days. In years past, I've maintained what I've thought is a decent system for laundry: a full basket indicates it's time for two washes, one light, one dark; the empty basket remains in the closet, open to anyone's deposits. Isn't that such a neat little system? Wait, there's a catch. The challenge here is to make sure the dirty laundry is washed, dried, folded, and put away before the other basket gets full. Why? When I carry the next basket down, we are kangaroos without our pouches, cars without trunks, our worn clothes drifting aimlessly in the atmosphere. I shudder at the thought of a basketless closet, no place for dirty clothes, just an innocent spot of carpet waiting to be abused with a careless toss of worn socks, underwear, bunched up jeans, etc.

Meanwhile, the modus operandi has crashed and loads of laundry have piled up in a state beyond my control. I've found myself carrying down two or three pieces of clothing to our basement laundry room at a time, just to save my closet from ruin. When there's no home for them there, shirts, jeans, pj bottoms, rest like hobos on a park bench. It's time to clean up and make a respectable living for everyone.

Some good news: at the point of this post, every last piece is clean. I ran load after load today in the hopes that I would also find time to fold it all by the end of the day. Ha. Better luck tomorrow. Until then, I rethinking my methods, and I've got a feeling it will involve those darling boys of mine.