10 December 2009

Somebody Get Me a Stick

I have three children (I may have mentioned this before) under the age of...well, under the age of Five-and-a-Half, let's say.  This means that I have totally insane quantities of laundry.  I use cloth diapers, cloth napkins, and rags in the kitchen and for cleaning, rather than paper towels.  (My contribution for the good of the planet; you can all thank me later).

All of this means that my laundry breeds in dark corners, and threatens to consume the entirety of my living space on any given day.  Don't believe me?  Take a look at this:



This is my laundry, a mere three days after returning from New Hampshire, where I washed all the clothes except what we were actually wearing, the day before we left.  Actually, this isn't all my laundry, because it doesn't include sheets, towels and rags, or diapers.  And that picture doesn't even show the true extent of it.  Let me show you a different angle:


 
 
Yes, the pile is a basket, overflowing with I know not what.  (It can't be clothes.  Five people do not produce that many dirty clothes in three days anywhere short of, perhaps, a working cattle ranchPW, I feel for you.) And the hamper?  Well, that's overflowing, too. 

Do you know that women used to beat their clothes with a very large stick, as part of the routine cleaning process?  I've said before how grateful I am for my modern conveniences, but some tiny part of me thinks that may have felt just a wee bit satisfying.  Just imagine, Ancient Woman, off to beat her laundry into submission.  She didn't have to spend time at the gym keeping her arms toned, either.

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