Well, here goes...

Tales of Mortgage Mommy

Laundry Crisis

“Mom, do you have any socks?” my 12 yr old daughter asks innocently. I grimace. I don’t want to answer. My eye drifts to the pile, the one that keeps getting bigger. The pile has grown so tall it has fallen over. Twice. And that’s just the pile in my room. There are others.

I’m 42 and have never done my own laundry, but, more on this later. So here I am, over the last 7 months, struggling to figure out how to do laundry and, at the same time, trying to teach my kids how to do theirs. Talk about the blind leading the blind.

I’ve committed every wardrobe offense known to man. I have turned socks inside out, pulled dirty clothes from the bottom of the pile and put them through the ‘smell test’, I’ve reached into the depths of my closets, pulled out and, yes, I daresay, gone out in public wearing clothes from the 80’s. I’ve worn clothes more than once, ok, more than twice, ok, more than, well, you get the picture. Not pretty. I have mixed whites with colors. Pinks ensued. I thought hot meant cleaner. Shrinkage ensued. I have a perpetual pile o’ socks and various clothing odds and ends that I’m not exactly sure what to do with, so I just keep adding to it with each new generation of washings. I’ve gone out with mismatched socks and not like two unmatched white ones, more like any two socks that didn’t have holes, ok, even the ones that do have holes. I’ve gone without socks. It seems that every flat surface of my house has some form of laundry on it. There are just too many sins to recount.

I really had no idea just how much work goes into something as ordinary as laundry. I’m ashamed to admit that I took it for granted. My clothes would just show up clean and pressed everyday in my closet and bureau, smelling of wonderful fresh spring flowers. But not anymore, I’m afraid. This is hard work, and I hate it. Teresa, oh, Teresa, how I took you for granted.

I miss her dearly. But, before you get all weird thinking I’m about to describe some ‘chick-on-chick’ action you should know that Teresa wasn’t my lover, she was my housekeeper. She was with me for 14 years, and Rosa, Teresa’s sister, was with me for four years before that. 7 months ago, she had to go away along with all of the other luxuries I enjoyed and, apparently, took for granted. I still keep in touch with Teresa and her family, but I no longer have the pleasure of looking forward to all of the wonderful things she did for me, like laundry.

...stay tuned for tomorrow's post...here's a preview: I not only miss Teresa, but I miss all my people. There was Rafael, my maintenance and gardening guy who lived on the property in separate quarters, along with Teresa. Rafael was a wizard at not only fixing things, building things, and tending to the property needs, but he was an artist with the Christmas light extravaganza...