One of the realities of being a single parent and living in the apartment we live in is laundry. We don’t have in-suite laundry. Now, it could be a lot worse, there could be no laundry facility in the building. As it is, the laundry room is in the basement, and I must go outside and around into the backyard to access it.
Laundry is certainly do-able on the weekends, but the weekdays when I need to are a problem. When I get home the LAST thing I feel like doing is throwing together a load and hauling it, and a cranky Cameron, downstairs, outside, around back, and to the laundry room. After supper? Forget it. He’s tired, he needs a bath, he needs to get to bed. I know, I know, this is all lame excuses and we could do laundry earlier.
What I do instead is I wait until after Cameron is asleep. I lock the door behind me, and I’m gone for all of three minutes. I feel horrible and scared that something will happen in those three minutes each and every time.
I’ve gotten very behind on laundry – I had been doing fairly well, but now the hamper is overflowing, and both Cameron and I need our beds changed. I’m out of underwear, and out of pants. Cameron is even almost out of pants. The pile-up started when Cameron got sick and I just didn’t have the energy to do more than the absolute necessities.
So, tonight I realized I had to do a load. At least one. I waited until I was certain that Cameron was asleep, and headed down.
I got waylaid by my downstairs neighbour, letting me know that it was awfully late for laundry (9:30). Her bed is right beside the drier, just a thin wall between them, so I can understand it. She’s willing, for tonight, to wear earplugs. I do have to say I’m a little miffed – honestly, she has to get up at what time in the morning? Does she not remember the weekend, when they pounded out the music until 2am? Sure, THEY can sleep-in in the mornings, but I don’t get that luxury. So I’m not feeling overly sympathetic. Laundry will be done by 11:10.
I returned upstairs to a very distressed, sobbing, and wailing Cameron. He was very alarmed by my not being there, he’d heard the door, and couldn’t calm down. I wound up getting him up for a glass of milk and a snuggle infront of the TV (distraction, I figured), and then I had no choice. If I want dry clothes before I go to bed, I needed to move the load to the drier. So Cameron came downstairs with me. So much for not carrying him tonight, there was no other way to do it. Even with a full-ish moon shining down on us, the walk to the backyard is pitch-black and scary, there was no way he was walking.
He’s quiet and in bed now. Here’s hoping he’s alseep by the time I need to get the clothes.