The Battle of Laundry and It's Accompanying Sock Treaty of 2008

I think the War of the Laundry began the day Wade started working for a company that expected him to dress in business casual. We began by getting him a whole new wardrobe. I was going to school and so my everyday clothes were fine. However, they still needed to be clean because I was going out in public. But a t-shirt is a t-shirt and I have plenty of those.

The pinnacle of the War of the Laundry, where the weaponry and words loomed large, began after school was out and my days blurred into a seemingly endless one.

"Now, what did I wear yesterday? It wasn't this, was it? It smells clean--sorta. Oh well. I'll just hope for the best and sit downwind from everyone in the driveway club."

Of course, Wade is expected to change his clothes every day. And even more importantly, they're expected to be clean. Hence the Great Laundry Battle.

It never begins before 10:30 at night. Usually during the ten o'clock news, Wade will turn to me and ask "do I have anything to wear tomorrow?"

"I don't know." I reply. So then one of us (usually me, because I do realize that part of this is my fault) gets up to check the laundry situation and lo and behold, he is clean out of work clothes. I start a new load and then when the buzzer goes off, I get out of bed to move them to the dryer. I return to my slumber and morning hits with all it's accompanying bells and whistles.

We have the same conversation nearly once a week. "Why can't you just keep on top of the laundry? Then we wouldn't be up at midnight moving clothes to the dryer."

I have close to 20 pairs of pants. Granted, I don't wear them all with the same amount of frequency, but in case of an emergency (and provided I'm not 6 months pregnant) I can potentially go an entire month without washing pants to wear. I'm not adverse to wearing my jeans a second day if need be, so I may even be able to stretch this into two months. They feel better on the second day after I've loosened them up anyways. If all else fails, I have four incredibly comfortable pairs of exercise pants that will do in a pinch. I have a multitude of t-shirts that will see me through to the end. My only hang up is underwear. But rarely, does a load of whites yield work clothes for Wade.

On the other hand, Wade has four pairs of dockers for work, three pairs of presentable jeans, maybe five t-shirts fit for public wear, one pair of running pants, and four pairs of shorts. He is adamant about not wearing his pants twice in a row. He wears the same five shirts every week to work. His only saving grace is the amount of underwear he owns, which is more than I've ever seen--male or female.

I realize that, being primarily at home, I should be able to find time in my busy day to load the washer with at least one load of laundry and then move it to the dryer. When the dryer beeps, it should take but a few minutes to hang up the shirts and pants and fold the rest. There's no logical reason why, with only 3 of us in the house, laundry is such a major stress. We have a great washer and dryer--much better than the one beforehand--so it should all be relatively painless. Except it's not.

I'm reminded of the complexity of it all when I was awoken this morning--and most mornings--by Wade rummaging for dress socks. It must be noted that dress socks are the bain of my existence. I dislike all socks, but despise dress socks with a passion. In the perfect world, we'd all wear flip flops, occasionally trading them in for a nicer pair of sandals to wear to church, weddings and funerals. Socks would be an occasional indulgence for when you are hiking or running.

I can honestly say that the thought of whether there are clean dress socks for Wade for the next day at work never, ever crosses my mind during the course of the day. Even when I throw in a load of laundry at 10:30 at night, it never dawns that I should also ensure that there is at least one pair of matching socks in there for the next day. Thus, the Sock Treaty of 2008 was born.

A few months ago, Wade confessed that it stresses him out to have to dig for socks in the morning. I agreed that from now on, I would match his dress socks and put them NOT in the sock pile, but rather in his dresser drawer. Then he wouldn't have to search for them. I thought this was a great compromise as matching socks ranks there on my to-do list somewhere between "milk a cow" and "schedule appointment with dermatologist to do an all over mole check". For a while, this treaty solved a lot of morning dilemmas. But then I stopped upholding my end of the bargain. And this morning, I awoke (again) to Wade searching for socks.

It's not the searching that bugs me per se but more so the enormous guilt I feel for having let down my end of the bargaining stick. Here, he goes off to slave in the battlefields of work (albeit sometimes behind a ping-pong or pool table) and I can't seem to find the time to put a measly load of laundry in? What kind of wife am I? Of course, the guilt eventually wears off and I go back to sleep, but still...

So, to my dear hubby who is soldiering on for the good of our family, the rebirth of the Sock Treaty of 2008. I vow to have clean socks for you to wear tomorrow.