Today I’m taking the time to teach my daughter how to do laundry. She is nearly 11, but is a very slight little girl. She is short and most of our laundry supplies are stored in a cupboard above my washer and dryer, so they weren’t in easy reach for her until the last six months or so.
She’s one of those kids who wears a pair of jeans once or even for a few hours and then throws them in the dirty clothes. Or else, she’ll wear the same shirt for days. So, a typical kid.
I’m hoping that this will save me time in the end, and of course, it’s teaching her a valuable life skill or three.
I was that kid who moved into my college dorm room at age eighteen never really having done a load of laundry. I still remember my mom taking me into the dorm laundry room in the basement and talking me through the process. I was positive I was going to screw up all my clothes when I did laundry, and because I had a boyfriend who still lived back in my hometown that I visited quite regularly, I often brought my “Mom, I’m home!” laundry bag with. Of course she did my laundry for me. 🙂
But in the end, I see this as a disservice, even if she did it out of the goodness of her heart. The same goes with cooking and several other life skills that I didn’t really learn as well as I should’ve before I moved away from home.
I’m hoping my little Poppy will learn some self sufficiency today as she washes clothes. I’m hoping she will see how much time it takes and that she’ll consider re-wearing a pair of jeans the next day. I’m also hoping she sees that laundry doesn’t wash itself.
Heck, I wish it did. I hate laundry. Hate, hate, hate this task. Not that I would’ve enjoyed it at all if I’d learned at eleven years old, but still… Maybe she’ll love it and will want to take over this dreaded chore more permanently.