Dear God, How many loads of laundry did I do over the course of my marriage, complaining to you that it just never seemed to end? How many stacks did I fold (sometimes muttering to myself) that the boys wore WAY too many pairs of socks and underwear in one week?
Tom and Jim just left to golf, and having walked into the house with his laundry in tow, Tom threw the loads into the washer and dryer and headed (per usual!) out the door. And here I am, folding my boy-man's laundry once again, and wondering if it will be the last time I will ever have the pleasure (yup...you heard me correctly, Lord) of doing it again?
Next year, he'll be married, and will have a new 'woman' to help him with it. Not me. I will no longer look at the stacks of 'not-too-white' whites, wondering why in tarnation he didn't throw bleach in with the load I'm folding! As his mom, it's no longer my responsibility. Another job taken away from me. Another job I was initially relieved to be rid of, only to find myself mourning its loss in the end. How foolish I was.
And so Lord, I once again thank you for giving me this child, this son you blessed us with. This Child of God who has blossomed into a beautiful adult in his own rite. And thank you, Lord, for lending him to me for the short while I had him under my wing. I have a feeling you approve of the job his father and I have done. He's grown into a fine young man.
P.S. I promise never to complain about doing laundry again. But about that ironing.....