Laundry and Tears

I had a rare opportunity this morning.  7:00am.  Both kids asleep.  Dryer beeps and instead of putting it off like I so often do, I sat in the morning stillness folding tiny socks and endless amounts of toddler shirts.  I don't mind doing the part of laundry that involves shoving things in a machine, but I DREAD folding. Normally.  But not this morning. 

It's been years since I folded laundry without holding a child in one arm with another wrapped around my leg begging for my attention.  And suddenly, in the stillness, I realized how much I love doing the laundry.  Tears started to flow as I realized how blessed I am to have tiny poopy pants to wash.  I have dreamed my whole life of doing just this, taking care of a family.  And my laundry is a reminder that I have been given that blessing. 

I have two miracles that destroy every piece of clothing they wear each day.  Two little miracles that smear snotty noses on their shirts and color with marker, nail polish, and mascara on their pants, who wear bibs but somehow still manage to get peanut butter on their tummy.  I have a husband who comes home from frisbee each day and sorts his incredibly dirty clothes into the right hamper (most of the time).  And because of them, I have piles of laundry to do.

Tomorrow, I will once again have children hanging on me as I fold. But I hope that won't stop me from feeling overwhelmed with gratitude that I have so much laundry to do.  For the laundry that I fold is only an evidence of the people I love.

And...when they get old enough, I'll let THEM experience the blessing of folding laundry for the people they love.