Ya, that’s right. And if I’m being honest, I don’t only like folding laundry, I looooooove to. It’s mindless repetitive work that I find therapeutic. I either do it first thing in the morning while Jacob plays and I sit next to him or after he goes to bed and I watch some television.
I get all bubbly inside when I take the clothes out of the dryer and fill the basket. The more, the better. I love the smell of the fabric softener, the feeling of smoothing my hands over a freshly folded t-shirt, the finality of placing it in “finished” pile. I can see my work being accomplished and piled up before me. It’s instant gratification for my efforts.
I love creating separate piles for our things. Andrew’s cycling t-shirts, my colorful summer cardigans, Jacob’s little shorts. And then, to the side, all our socks.
Sometimes if Jacob sleeps in a little, I’ll stand in the kitchen and fold clothes on the counter so I can look out the back sliding doors. If a neighbor were to see my zombie-like expression, they might easily assume I’m a miserable housewife folding yet another load of laundry. But really, I’m in such a peaceful place. My spirit smiles during that quiet, calm moment.
All my senses are treated to something: my eyes to the orange hues of the rising sun, my nose to the fresh smell of washed clothes, my hands to the softness of different fabrics, my taste buds to the coffee I periodically take a sip of, and my ears to the faint sound of birds serenading me. Can you blame me for enjoying the act of folding laundry? Its simplicity is everything I need to start my day.
What simple things do you take pleasure in?