the hour

I spent more of last week's trip to the laundromat keeping Garrett from escaping out the door and onto the street than I did washing clothes. After dishing to Blake the dirty details (and, judging by the shade of black Garrett's legs turned during the course of his explorations across the floor, they were seriously dirty...laundromat floors are not exactly known for their ability to be eaten off of), we came to a compromise that sent me straight to laundry heaven: One day a week, Blake would suppress his desire to get to the office early and stay home with Garrett while I washed and dried our clothes. For the first time in my life, I found myself actually looking forward to laundry day because for the first time since Garrett was born, I would have a regularly scheduled hour to spend as I pleased (in between switching loads, of course). I could read books! I could sketch out some of my creative writing ideas! I could sit and daydream!

Well, today was the day. Laundry day. And, even though it meant that I had to be out the door by 7:00, I cannot even begin to tell you how luxurious my morning has been. Instead of wrestling with my one-year-old to get out the door and fighting with him to keep him from touching things he shouldn't, I quickly started the wash without him and spent my hour catching up with George as he led his ragged army around New York in the year 1776. It was beautiful (the uninterrupted reading, not the war, which at this point was rather humiliating for the American troops).

Add to this the fact that I came back home to little boy who wasn't cranky and a bed that I didn't have to make, and I've got the beginnings of a potentially fabulous day. Now, if I could just weasel my way to a full day's worth of free hours...oh, I salivate at the thought. But I shouldn't get ahead of myself. That will come with time, I'm sure. In the meantime, I'm perfectly happy to have my one hour a week, even if it means sharing it with the laundry.