Forget about the Hunger Games. Haven’t read the book. Haven’t seen the movie. Really out of the loop on this one.  My life is immersed in the Laundry Games. A game it truly has become, thought it wasn’t always this way.

We home schooled when our older girls were in Elementary School. At a young age, each was taught to do her own laundry. I was only responsible for my laundry and Rick’s laundry. Then we added 3 more children to our family. I did their laundry too. You’d think by now I’d have this thing down to a science. Not quite.

I have made charts. I’ve created schedules. I’ve encouraged the younger kids to do their own laundry. I’ve assigned each person in the family their own laundry day even, a day when they have the washer and dryer at their full disposal.

None of us really stick to it. Actually, even though the schedule is posted in a couple of places around the house, I kind of forgot about it.  Jesse reminded me this week. He needed to wash some of his clothes. He needed them for the next day. It was late at night.

Chandler needed to wash some of her clothes too. She needed them for the next day. It was still late at night.  A small argument erupted. Jesse proclaimed it was HIS laundry day so he was entitled to wash his clothes. I checked. He was right.

Therein lies the problem. No one really follows the schedule. We do laundry in our house like this: Someone will discover they need something to be clean. They’ll dig through their dirty laundry to find it. They’ll add in a few extra things to fill up the load. They’ll carry the clothes to the washing machine and most every single time find it full of wet, already washed clothes.

They’ll throw the clothes in their hands down on the floor and open the dryer. Most every single time it is full of dry, already wrinkled clothes. They’ll pull the dry clothes out of the dryer and throw them somewhere.

Sometimes they will make it to the top of the dryer. Sometimes they make it to the wash tub which almost always has a pile of dirty, waiting-to-be-washed clothes in it. Doesn’t matter. The dry, wrinkled clothes go right on top of them anyway.

Sometimes they end up on the couch. Sometimes they get tossed in the master bedroom. No matter where they end up, they are usually just THROWN in a heap, which inevitably means more wrinkles.

The clothes from the washer, which in most cases have been sitting for a while and have acquired hints of a foul odor are hurled into the dryer. Sometimes the dryer is started, sometimes it’s not.

The dirty clothes are finally put into the washing machine to be washed. When they are ready to be put in the dryer, the entire process starts all over again. So, we have mountains of laundry all over our house. Some in our bedroom, some in the living room, some in the laundry tub and some on the floor in the laundry room.

Sometimes it feels as if there is no end in sight. I really like things to be neat and tidy. Laundry piles don’t factor in the equation.  So, you know what I do? I start over. I pick up the clean, dry, very wrinkly clothes that sometimes have an unusual odor and put them right back in the washing machine.

Now that Josiah is in heavy-duty, we-mean-business, potty training mode, we have more laundry than ever. Today, we’ve had to change his clothes 4 times already. Plus, his bed linens all have to be washed before bedtime tonight.  It’s either time to get this laundry thing figured out or get another washer.

If you know of one, send her over would you?