The Empty Washing Machine
It seems not so long ago that I lived with my four brothers, my sister, and our parents in a home of never-ending activity. Someone always needed to be somewhere. There were four teenage drivers all competing daily for access to one of the cars; the Honda was the most coveted with it’s well-worn leather seats and the best air conditioner of the lot.
One by one, we grew and left home. My oldest brother moved out and married young. I was the next to go.
Then another.
And another.
Until only my parents and my sister remained.
Then my sister moved out then married, leaving my parents alone in the house that had hummed with activity for so long.
For eighteen years the home I built with my wife has been a center of increasing activity. We have three teenage children of our own, a preteen, and our little caboose who trails his closest sibling by almost five years.
I may be a bit unusual but I like to do the laundry almost every day. Seven people can make a lot of laundry and I like feeling on top of it, knowing that I can spend 20 minutes or less each day making sure the clothes are clean, folded, and ready for the next time one of my children or my wife is looking for their favorite jeans or shirt.
I fold the clothes standing next to my bed, using it as my staging area. Most days, doing laundry is just something I do. Some days, like today, it serves to remind me of what’s most important: my people.
A few weeks ago, the piles of folded clothes decreased by one as our oldest son left “the nest”. He’s been ready to fly on his own for much longer than he realizes.
One fewer pile.
It was just yesterday (or was it nineteen years ago) that he could walk under the kitchen table without hitting his head on it. Now, at almost 6ft 4in, he towers over his siblings.
It won’t be long before the next one goes to college. Then the next one. The constant hustle and bustle of activity will fall quiet.
The washing machine will be empty.
We won’t always live under the same roof, but we’ll always be a family.
Today, the sound of the washing machine reminds me of that and how much I love them.
