
About a year ago, my husband persuaded me to train our daughters in the art of doing laundry. My eldest caught on quickly and, in no time, I turned over to her the responsibility for the entire family’s laundry. She was a diligent worker, enjoyed it even, and soon I was convinced that she no longer needed my supervision. Oops! That was my first mistake. She was only ten-years-old at the time.
Eventually, her enthusiasm waned and doing the laundry became the chore for her that it had been for me. I neglected to make sure it was getting done in a timely manner, and we soon found ourselves not with pink underwear, but with no (clean) underwear! So I stepped in, as I was still ultimately responsible, helped her get caught up with the mounds of dirty clothes that had accumulated, reminded her of the impact this chore had on the entire family, and again turned it over to my daughter.
For the past several weeks, I’ve noticed that the laundry isn’t getting done — again. How has it come to my attention? The scenario goes something like this:
Doug (to no one in particular): Do I have any clean t-shirts?
Daughter (running down to the laundry room): I’ll go check, Dad.
Krista (under her breath, to herself): No, they’re all dirty.
Daughter (returning): No. Sorry, Dad.
And Doug goes to find something else to wear.
[Two days later]
Doug (to no one in particular): Is my red sweatshirt clean?
Daughter (running down to the laundry room): I’ll go check, Dad.
Krista (under her breath, to herself): Nope. It’s in the hamper.
Daughter (returning): No. Sorry, Dad.
And Doug goes to find something else to wear.
[Few more days later]
Doug (to no one in particular): Are my khakis clean?
Daughter (running down to the laundry room): I’ll go check, Dad.
Krista (under her breath, to herself): No, that’s the next load that needs to be done.
Daughter (returning): No. Sorry, Dad.
And Doug ends up wearing running shorts to the office.
I know that my dear, sweet, enduring husband has given me charge of our home. He has entrusted me with caring for our family, and I know that even if my girls are assisting me, the buck still stops with me. But he has never grumbled when his clothes haven’t been washed. He has never become sullen because all of his dress socks are dirty or the t-shirt he really wants to wear is at the bottom of the hamper. He has never made me feel bad for falling down on the job. Although he makes sure that I don’t pass the buck and blame my daughter (and believe me, I’ve tried), he reminds me gently and patiently . . . every time.