Eileen didn’t mind helping her family, but somewhere along the way, helping had turned into unpaid work. After one dismissive comment pushed her too far, she came up with a lesson that revealed more than just a pile of dirty clothes.
It started with one laundry basket.
“Would you mind throwing these in with yours?” my daughter-in-law, Vanessa, asked.
“Fine.”
At the time, it really was fine.
My name is Eileen. I’m 68, retired, and I have a washer and dryer in the basement of the house where I raised my son, Josh.
Vanessa and Josh usually brought the kids over on Saturdays, and that first basket didn’t seem worth making a fuss over. I was already doing laundry. What difference could a few extra shirts and towels make?
Then one basket became two.
Soon, every Saturday, Vanessa would arrive with Josh and their kids, unload three enormous bags of dirty clothes, and leave them beside my washing machine.
She never asked anymore. She just expected them washed, dried, folded, and waiting when they left.
At first, I told myself I was helping. The kids were young. Vanessa and Josh both had busy lives. I remembered what it was like to have a house full of laundry that seemed to multiply overnight.
