I would love to tell you that this is my laundry…
or this one would even be rather nice…
However this is so far from the truth.
I did contemplate sharing a photograph of my real laundry with you, and while I firmly believe in keeping it real, I just am not able to keep it THAT real.
Maybe one day when the photograph can be used as the BEFORE with an AFTER to go with it, maybe then I will share, but for now you will just have to close your eyes and picture (well after you read my description, because you won’t know what to picture if your eyes are closed and you are unable to read!)
Our laundry is situated outside, in the midst of our renovations (which obviously ran short at the laundry!), I had to climb out of a window to get to it, that was rather fun for the first 2 times, but by time number 200, I was not feeling the fun anymore!
It is very small, and very cramped, and that is not helped by the fact that over 2 months after Christmas, the box with the Christmas tree is still sitting there, waiting to be relocated to “The Black Hole” aka” The Shed”.
It is also home to that ironing board that never gets used, and the box to the vacuum with all its accessories.
For some reason it also houses a box or two of craft supplies.
The laundry tub is old and rusty, and occasionally leaks, so an ice cream bucket is placed under it to collect drips. It has a splash back of the most fetching 80s style pale pink and grey tiles, which were also once featured in the colour scheme of the kitchen and bathroom, but we have thankfully at least changed them!
On more than one occasion we have found evidence of, or actual rats living in there, I would like to say it is because it is such a cosy, little space, but it is more likely due to the fact it is so darn messy.
The laundry has been known to flood in torrential rain, and the dogs love to drag dirt and leave their hair laying in there, though it is so small they have to take in turns napping on the cracked, dirty tiles in there.
Like most Mums I feel like I live in this room
some most days.
The ironic thing, is that a few years ago when a big Mamma cyclone was heading our way, we decided that the laundry would be the safest cyclone bunker for our family, being at that time the only room in our house made entirely of brick for all 4 walls. Luckily we did not come to having to use it, as a test practice showed that our family of 4 are squashed standing in there together, even with all other objects removed from the laundry.
I have been having a giggle at some laundry posts a good friend on Facebook has been tagging me in lately, we both sympathise with the never-ending, always growing pile you have with a young family.
In a recent rush of chucking one of my numerous loads of washing in the machine, I was confronted by a awful drone when I turned the trusty machine on.
“oh crap” I muttered “please don’t die on me now”.
I stopped for a moment and the drone seemed to fade, so off I went back inside.
10 mins later an alarm started buzzing on the machine.
I went out to investigate, and it had not started filling up with water. I reset the machine, made sure the load was distributed evenly and turned it back on.
It sounded healthy enough, and so I walked away.
For the next 2 hours, the machine continued to groan, and start and stop, the buzzer would sound, I would check things out, realize those smelly, wet clothes we had worn when we played in the rain the day before were not even beginning to be washed.
They just don’t build machines to last anymore.
In among this, my Aunty rang, I told her my problem, and the fact that we have had not much luck with washing machines in the past.
I hoped that it could be fixed rather than be replaced.
In the heat and going a bit bonkers, I also wondered aloud if I offered kind words and a chilled glass of wine, this inanimate object would kindly oblige to start working.
We hung up, I went to investigate AGAIN.
And then I realized the problem.
The washing machine was set to do a hot temp wash.
We only have the cold water turned onto the machine.
It was impossible for it to fill with water when set to hot.
I changed the setting to cold, and the machine rumbled again into life, with that familiar hum I am so used to.
I giggled at my silly mistake, and thanked the machine as it commenced load number 1 of 3 for the day.
Suddenly I was thankful for this laundry, no matter how cramped, how untidy and how out of wack it was.
Every day, it helped clean the endless pile of clothes.
The tub soaked hundreds of grubby things.
I thought of my Grandpa whom I never got to meet.
He was once a washing machine repair man, back in the days of twin tubs, and a load of washing being a much longer process.
I imagined him up in heaven somewhere shaking his head at me.
I didn’t have to throw the clothes away after all!