I stand before my washing machine, contemplating the dirty laundry for the latest load. How many loads have I done in my lifetime, especially since the boys were born? And yet, laundry is one of the household chores I don’t actually mind doing – it has always brought me a strange sense of achievement to know that the family’s clothes are clean again.

As I sort the laundry, I think about what the dirty laundry is telling me (yes, I admit it’s a strange thought!). I consider what an archeologist would conclude from digging up my family’s soiled clothing years in the future.

In a related vein, it brings to mind a sweet story from a few years back when my kids were still little. On that occasion my sister texted me after we had completed our visit to her home in the U.S. to let me know how much she was missing us. She also informed me that, in cleaning up the car after our departure, she had made some interesting discoveries in the backseat where the kids had been sitting. In the area where Son #1’s car seat had been tethered, she found various rocks, while the space that Son #2’s car seat had occupied featured food crumbs. She laughed and said it was completely predictable. And it was: it was an early indicator that one child liked to feed his curiosity while the other was more focused on nourishing his body.

Now, in that same vein, I look to my laundry for the stories it tells. Son #2’s laundry continues to be covered with food stains. Over the years, these stains have gotten smaller and less frequent. Nothing can match my momentous mommy miscalculation of sending him to pre-school with ripe strawberries as his snack while wearing a fresh white t-shirt – what WAS I thinking?? But all these years later, his clothing continues to be splashed with dull red from ketchup and light brown from chocolate. The t-shirts with the cute messages of his younger years have been long-since banished and have now become solid-coloured tees reflecting more gravitas. The sweet little superhero underwear has been replaced by man-sized boxer shorts. He has morphed from a little kid into a teenager. Nonetheless, I continue to find the odd LEGO piece in his pockets, along with candy wrappers and the occasional loose change.

Turning to my own laundry, the days of washing blouses and nylon stockings are thankfully behind me, as I haven’t worked in a corporate office for several years now (even pre-pandemic). As a card-carrying member of the gig economy who routinely works from home, much of my clothing now features Spandex and is focused on function over fashion (NO, it has ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to do with my age!). Then there is the aspirational aspect of my laundry, consisting largely of workout clothing. And, YES, these clothes have EVERYTHING to do with trying to stay reasonably mobile and fit as I age.

The Fiancé favours tees with sayings that reflect his personality. As a university professor, one shirt sports, “Everything I Say Will Be On the Exam.” As a psychologist who wrote his Masters thesis on the topic of procrastination, another shirt reads, “Do Something Now? No!!”. His avid love of music is reflected in various t-shirts featuring musical notes and outlandish time signatures. We are what we wear – or at least he is.

The absence of Son #1’s laundry is striking as well. This started a few years back when he got tired of fishing his apparel out of his younger brother’s dresser when our nanny confused the boys’ clothing. This forced him into the dire necessity of doing his own laundry – he actually volunteered to take on this responsibility. I thought this was a terrific idea: it was a good success and a useful step towards greater self-sufficiency for him. I’m not convinced, however, that our neighbours always appreciated his midnight trips to the basement, slamming shut the dryer door and singing loudly with his headphones on. Based on his daily appearance, I concluded that his colour palette is black and mostly shades of gray. Son #1 is a teenager at his most teenage-ist – or “emo” to use his parlance. These days the total absence of his laundry is proof that he has left home for university.

I think further back to the days when I occasionally helped my parents do their laundry. I recall with bemused affection how much my father loved his old-fashioned white undershirts and plaid pajamas. My mother’s wardrobe, like mine, became more comfortable and stretchy with age. While it saddens me that the days of their living independently have ended (my father passed away in 2017 and my mother now lives in a long-term care home), I can’t say that miss doing the extra loads of laundry.

I think back even further to the days of doing my babies’ laundry. It seemed never-ending in its day, but now it seems nostalgic to think about all those little footed sleepers and cute little outfits featuring teddy bears, buzzing bees and dump trucks. Life just seemed so much simpler then, even if I did once discover a freshly washed pinecone lying in the bottom of my washing machine!

As the washing machine begins agitating, I head upstairs to deal with the dirty dishes in the kitchen sink. Hmm – wonder what an archeologist would think of the clues to be found there?