Laundry
Laraine F. Eddington
I must have been about ten and I was supposed to be folding
laundry. There were already several
batches on my bed when I brought a new basket hot from the dryer and dumped it
on the pile.
At this time I was the only girl in a big family of boys who were
pretty much excused from the constant domestic chores to work outside on the
ranch. I looked at the prodigious pile
of jeans, t-shirts and unmatched socks.
I carefully closed my bedroom door, found my current library book and
wormed my way under the mound. Snug as a
bug in a rug I propped up on my elbows, pushed up my glasses and read… page
after delicious page.
The bedroom door burst open and there stood Mikey, the
youngest, not yet old enough to be an ornery tease like his older
brothers.
“Whatcha’ doing Rainy?”
“Reading.”
“Oh.”
He turned and
slammed the door behind him.
What had I done? He
was obviously a pint sized spy sent by Mom.
Now I would be in tons of trouble for not folding clothes. My eyes filled with tears of self-pity. My life was so unfair, chores, chores and
more chores. No sister to tell secrets
to and be my ally against my stinky brothers.
I waited for my Mom to come in and say she was disappointed in me.
But she didn’t come.
She left me undisturbed for the next couple hours. I dried my tears, folded clothes and then I
read some more.
When I think about my childhood I remember moments like
this; the time Mom woke me up 3 times and when I still didn’t get up, brought
me avocado on toast and gave me a kiss.
The times she let me stay up late-late-late to finish just one more
chapter.
She knew my childhood was a world filled with responsibility. She knew it was good for me and that I would
be grateful my whole life that I knew how to work hard, organize and be
efficient. But she also knew that I
needed mercy, quick forgiveness and treats I didn’t deserve. She knew that the sweetest tenderness is unearned.
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