My Laundress. |
It’s laundry day.
That sounds so odd, considering for a large part of my life, when all the kids were still at home, laundry day was every day. If at least two loads didn’t make it through the washing-drying-folding-parking cycle on a daily basis, the mountain would overtake the house.
Ahem . . .
This morning, I was snapping some pillowcases to get them to behave so they could be properly—and seamlessly—folded.
It brought back a memory . . .
For many years, I ran a day home. During that time, I was entrusted with the care of two adorable little blonde girls—ages three and five when they first appeared.
Their mother, single at the time, was doing her best to raise and train and love her girls, even while faced with the doubly momentous task of feeding them and providing shelter.
She had a good job which paid well.
And would have been totally justified in working full time and leaving her girls in my care during those days and weeks and months.
But instead, she worked as much as she needed to to pay the bills and keep the ‘wolf from the door’. The rest of the time, she spent as a mother. Going on field trips. Baking. Cooking. Loving.
And training.
I admired her greatly. (And still do.)
One day, I had descended into the basement to do laundry. Her three-year-old and my own followed.
The two of them immediately spun off into the playroom.
A short time later, I carried in a basket of clothes warm from the drier and proceeded to fold.
My daughter continued with her toys.
Hers came over to me and, to my surprise, grabbed a pillowcase, gave it an expert snap, then proceeded to fold.
Now, I should probably point out that this particular item was taller than she was.
It didn’t deter her. She finished with it and reached for something else, staying until the entire basket was sitting in a neatly-folded pile.
I think often of that single mother, struggling to provide a home—and training—to her two little daughters.
She succeeded.
P.S. Today, there are classes being offered to grown children who haven’t been taught basic life skills at home.
I know a three-year-old who could teach them.
Do you ever wish you could go back and do a few thing differently? I do. But they turned out pretty good in spite of my mistakes as a young mom.
ReplyDelete:) gwingal
Heehee! That's what I always say: They turned out pretty good in spite of me! :)
DeleteSuch a warm memory. Thanks for sharing.
ReplyDeleteAnd thank you for visiting!
DeleteAnd this proves that it's not always the quantity of time spent with our kids, but the quality of how we spend that time.
ReplyDeleteExactly!
DeleteI so admire single mothers. I know several and can't imagine the grit, brains, and determination you need. You friend sounds like a wonderful woman.
ReplyDeleteI feel the same, Laurie! I am in awe of them!
DeleteShe was/is!
That was a 'jaw dropping' moment for sure.
ReplyDeleteI know where MY three-year-old was at the time . . .
Delete(And it wasn't folding clothes!)
It seems that the busy single mother did a most EXCELLENT job. A job for which I am sure her daughters are grateful.
ReplyDeleteI watch them now with their children. It just makes me smile so wide!
DeleteGood for that little girl, and good for her mom!
ReplyDeleteI love a success story!
DeleteThe world could use a few more mothers like that one. mine weren't folding things at that age, but they were taking their own small piles of pyjamas, socks and undies to put away in their drawers. Mostly because our things were line-dried, so I folded flat things as I took them off the line, as my mother did before me.
ReplyDeleteAhh. A mother's influence!
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