i swore never to blog about housework again, but...

"It was the best of oatmeal, it was the worst of oatmeal."

(Bert, Sesame Street)

Toward the end of the Dry Season, I gave up on my dirty laundry, sorted it into large garbage bags, told everyone "THIS IS NOT GARBAGE!" and put it all out on the front porch. Seven garbage bags. Wherever I went where there was mains water, I said "Oooh, can I bring my laundry?" My friends all know the drill by now. Thank you Kelli, Debs, Fatima, Rachel and especially Sharon whose electricity bill I should probably pay! Those laundry visits did not make a dent in the bags, just kept us in clean sheets, underwear and school uniforms and work shirts for Sean.

Yesterday, my Mama started going through it. "All this is LAUNDRY???" By tonight, we have almost finished. It is good. Piles of towels, socks, jammies, shirts, have been lugged up and down, folded, hung up and put away (yes, even put away!) The heap in the bathroom, the bags on the porch, the basket in our room, the stuff under the boys' beds, are gone. There is NO WAY I would have got through it all this weekend on my own.

Now, I figure if seven bags of laundry could spend six weeks sitting on the porch, and we survived without them, my logic says that I should be able to go through everything this week and GET RID OF SEVEN BAGS OF LAUNDRY! Don't you think so? Well maybe not that many- the boys spent plenty of time recently searching for something to wear, and looking like orphans! But still.

When my brother and I were teenagers, we were watching one of those nature shows where the mother bird regurgitates her food for her chicks. "See!?" cried my brother Jimbo, "If you were a REAL Mummy you would regurgitate for us. How come you never do that?"

Since then, whenever Mum outdoes herself in kindness and hard work for us, we sigh, "Just like a REAL Mummy!"

Today, as Mum handed me a stack of school shirt-jacks on hangers and a heap of folded stuff, I had a sudden urge to call Jimbo, and have him come over so that we could all giggle together. "You ARE a real Mummy," I laughed.

Sometimes, even when you are all grown up, or maybe ESPECIALLY when you are all grown up, you need a Real Mummy to come over and sort your life out. You really do!


Unknown said…
Be careful what you wish for.

My Mum lives with us. She STILL treats me like I'm twelve. Sometimes, just sometimes, mind you, I get really tired of answering the question "Where are you going?" when I head for the door. I answer the phone, talk for a while, and hang up. "Who was that?" Does she not realize that if I thought it was any of her business, I would have told her without being asked? I love my Mom. but sometimes ... just sometimes ...
Ndinombethe said…
today I was going to blog all about my mother - her birthday was on Saturday! I've put it off til tomorrow as I haven't got much time and I know there's alot I want to say.

They're the best - especially when we're all grown up

Anonymous said…
I have to talk to my mom at least once a day.
Theresa said…
YAAAY for REAL MUMMIES!!! I can't wait to see mine!

And Iceel, I hear you loud and clear and often feel the same. But that's just a mummy's job! You will always be her baby. (This is newly gained knowledge on my part).
Nan Sheppard said…
You don't know how much your Mum loves you, till you become one.
Candygirlflies said…
Dirty laundry disguised as garbage, out on the front porch, eh??

God, I should have thought of that LONG ago...

Being a Real Mummy can definitely get boring... I'd rather be a Red Hot Mama, any day, even WITH the "garbage" out front.

Glad you're back in clean clothes once more, nonetheless!!

xoxo CGF