I stood in the garage doing laundry on Sunday evening. I pulled an extra small, white, boys collared shirt out of the dryer, placed it on a clothes hanger and gently hooked the hanger onto metal bar nearby. Slowly, delicately, I repeated this exercise five times over. Shirts done, I picked up small, navy blue shorts and reviewed their creases. Did they need to be ironed? It could wait until morning. I left them on the laundry table in a neatly folded stack. I grabbed the laundry basket filled with unmatched white socks and as I walked into the house, I turned back to look at the neatly hanging shirts and pants nearby. It was a view that felt so familiar. So routine.
I had never felt more like my mother than at that very moment.
For years, my mom pulled my white collared shirts from the dryer and painstakingly ironed them -- along with my aquamarine gabardine school jumpers and their endless pleats. The laundry room was in the basement, offering a guaranteed moment of peace and quiet...away from me and my three siblings. She would hang my uniform along a pipe in the laundry room, much like I just did. I now know her routine was part chore, part peace, but all "cuidando a mis hijos," as my mom says, all "taking care of my children."
Five just started kindergarten. I've got nine years of uniform laundering ahead of me. Oh, I know, there will come a day when he can do his own laundry. But based on this evening, something tells me that I've got more of my mom in my system than I thought.
And I think for the first time in my life, I'm okay with it.
(In case you're wondering, the first week of school was uneventful. He loves his school, his teachers, and thankfully, his uniform. He received his very first star sticker, which I immediately preserved in a moment of scrappy chipboard inspiration. He hasn't let his teachers know that he is like God yet, but he did come home Friday with his "prayer book" and was a little miffed that mom already knew "Hail Mary." He nearly started to cry because he couldn't teach me the prayer, so I decided it was probably best to not mention I was crowned "May Queen" in eighth grade. Instead, I opted to read "On Beyond Zebra" before naptime.)
