This is what happens when twenty-somethings
live ‘independently’. The basket produced on this occasion contained
clothes that look like they've never been introduced to washing machine since manufacture. Fair
enough, some of that may have been my fault. Perhaps I didn't encourage his laundry
skills when he was younger. Of course, he had things to do and places to be.
Like the mum that I am, I told him not to worry and I would put on a couple of loads.
About five loads as it turned out. Amazing how many clothes he had managed to
pack into that one laundry basket. To be fair, he doesn't do this regularly. I'm not whinging about it because as I sorted the clothing, each item told me
something about my son. About the colours he likes, the bands he follows, the
sports he plays. It gave rise to memories of him as a baby, a boy, a teenager
and now the man he is today. My brain tumbled ideas just as the washing tumbled
to the rhythm of the machine. It motivated me to write a reflection on our
relationship. Go figure. Inspiration is everywhere, even in a pile of dirty washing.