Laundry...

When I was five…
I remember rolling around in the fresh laundry that my mom had just dumped onto the bed – much like a leaf pile in autumn, but a lot softer – deeply breathing in the scent of laundry detergent and scented fabric sheets – mainly enjoying how much I liked the warmth of the clothes, fresh out of the laundry machine.

When I was seven…
I remember, I obediently and diligently took to the chore my mother had assigned me -- matching socks. I remember thinking, "the biggest ones are daddy’s, the medium ones are mommy’s -- and the smallest ones are mine!" I’d always have to match socks in that order.

When I was ten…
We had finally moved to a REAL house, with a HUGE backyard, and we were no longer in the two bedroom apartment – so my mother hung clothes outside on the clothing line during the summer. I’d run in and out between the sheets playing tag with my friends… My mom would always get angry when I rearranged the clothing lines to box myself into a house, a fort, or a castle of sheets...

When I was fifteen…
Laundry became a chore. I knew how to sort colors, when I could use hot water, when to add bleach or woolite, and when I should hand wash delicates. I did the laundry for everyone in my house -- and with my OCD, I couldn’t bear it when my brother folded my clothes, so I had to do that too… but sometimes my mom would help me.

We’d watch an episode of “CSI” or “Law & Order", unfolded clothes spread out in front of us. We'd sit together, cross legged, slightly facing each other on her bed – chit chatting during the commercial breaks. We’d talk about this and that, about school, boys, how dad snores too loudly at night, how fast my brothers were growing up (in her opinion), why I really needed another winter coat, news, politics, about family feuds, and sometimes she’d complain about her boss… I still can’t fold my clothes as nicely as she can.

When I was eighteen…
I did my own laundry in college and it was one of those chores that made you feel like you were really growing up, you know what I mean? To have your own space and do chores for yourself – and not an entire family, including two brothers who both did sports and would peel off their dirty gym clothes, leaving a trail of grossness from their room to the bathroom. Doing laundry in college was a nice break from school, it was relaxing -- listening to music, watching a movie, or catching up on the latest "Colbert Report" episode -- as I sat on my bed, quietly folding my clothes.

Now I’m twenty…
And I’m in China, where I have to hand-wash my clothes – which is a lot more difficult than it seems. The process is tiring, an entire upper body workout. Give wringing out clothes a try. I dare you.

But, as I hang my clothes up on the clothing line to dry – music drifts out of my room onto the balcony. There are sounds of kids down below, people talking, sitting on the wall right outside. It’s peaceful. I hear bits of conversation in French and occasional conversations in Chinese. I wonder if one day if I have a family of my own, I’ll have the time in my summers to hang up a clothing line like my mother… I muse.





I softly sing along to the melody and I can’t help but smile -- I really do love doing laundry.