I was nursing Bill, closing my eyes, and trying to snag a cat nap the other day when I heard Beans yell, “Ima!”
“What?” I said.
“This is boring.” She was up in her room. “Folding laundry is BORING!”
“Yes, honey, it is. Now keep folding.”
My own frustration with folding laundry came to a head about three weeks ago when I realized that I simply couldn’t keep up with the volume generated by six people. (Bill has the advantage of being small, but some days he can go through four outfits, so he’s no break at all in the end.) I need to spend my few hours a week when Bill goes out of the house to baby-gan doing things I can’t do when he’s home (like sleep, and post to my blog). Since I can technically put him on the floor with some toys and fold laundry, I can’t waste the time doing that when he’s out from underfoot. On the other hand, he can’t entertain himself on the floor while I fold laundry for an hour. That’s too much.
Then I considered the ages of my children and their capabilities. I considered the fact that they have relatively few responsibilities around the house other than taking care of their personal belongings. And I considered the time I would save if they were inconvenienced once or twice a week for 15-20 minutes folding their own laundry, versus my spending some of the best years of my life folding it for them. And the idea was born.
So now I tear through the mountain of laundry on the guest bed like a dervish. One pile for “square” things (sheets, towels, tablecloths, napkins). One pile for the Cap’n, Bill, and me. And one basket I fill with anything belonging to the girls. Beans and Peach are responsible for their own laundry folding. I showed them how to fold pants, shirts, and ball socks. They know what’s theirs and where everything goes. They have the time. And I compensate either Peach or Beans for folding Banana’s clothing with a treat or a sticker for “extra chores” on their chore charts (which helps their daily average and helps them earn their maximum at the end of the week).
I am not an indulgent mother. I am sometimes not a particularly nice mother. But I hope when my kids leave the house, they’ll be capable of doing their own laundry, cooking a meal, and making a bed from the mattress up.
Shimshonit 
They may never thank you, but their spice will.
Teach them to cook seven different meals, one for each night of the week.
My dad used to wash laundry (which took all of five seconds, of course – he didn’t fold or sort; he only washed, loading the machine and pushing the button), my brother and I would take out the trash and recycling, and my mother would balance the checkbook and mop the kitchen. That was always the division of labor in my house.
Come to think of it, doesn’t it take a lot more than that to run a household? But somehow, I never saw anything else being done. Every once in a while, someone would take it upon him or herself to vacuum the living room, but other than that…who did all the work? I’m not sure.
I must have elves in my house.
I watch TV as I fold. I think that’s how it used to go when I was growing up too–definitely when my mom ironed. PBS and a huge basket of stuff to iron. (I skip that step!)
Larry: I hope their spice will also have a clue of how to run a household. And don’t thank me–I’m a giver.
MAB: Ooooh, what a great idea! (Because a woman can make many meals.)
Michael: I noticed the conspicuous lack of dusting and vacuuming in there. Oh, and dishes. But I’m sure they merrily did themselves when you all turned off the lights and went up to bed, the little darlings.
Kate: I listened to soundtracks and once folded most of my way through a CD recording of various Irish actors reading James Joyce’s The Dubliners. (Okay, I knitted through “A Painful Case,” read divinely by Ciaran Hinds, but I folded through most of the rest of it.) I heartily agree with the PBS and skipping the ironing.
Everyone: My mother emailed me a comment that read thus:
I think I was about eight when I began ironing. I did the flat stuff (sheets, etc.) to begin with, Aunt Fud did clothing that didn’t matter that much (like my father’s pj’s which I always thought totally ridiculous and told Mother so; she didn’t argue but said he insisted), and it wasn’t long before we both moved on to doing all the clothing that needed pressing. Most of it did back then, and by the time I was a teenager I was good enough that my clothes always looked nice when I went to school. One of my friends was shocked one day when she remarked at how nice my long sleeved blouse looked and I told her I ironed it myself. She couldn’t believe it! Mighty glad those days are over, though. What a lot of work (not to mention time) it took.
Yes, yes, but I also think you should teach Bill those some seven meals. You mentioned what you wanted your children to know, not just the girls. Last I checked, he’s one of your children. :-)
I wish I had learned seven different meals to cook for myself by the time it was relevant.
Michael: I do plan to teach Bill his way around the kitchen, but since he only turns one next Shabbat, I’m still not used to thinking of him as anything in the house except another thing to keep clean, safe, and quiet. His turn will come; never you fear.