By Sherrie Mackelprang

Seven children, two adults, and a dog were a perfect recipe for making mountains of dirty laundry. As a child, I remember scurrying to the peak of such mountains and laying on the soft mound. My mother could often be found in the center of what looked like the clothing Rockies exchanging one batch of laundry for another. Out with the clean and in with the dirty. She was a master at this job. The machines chugged and hummed with steady use.

On some occasions, my sister and I would help with the folding. I would rifle through the clean clothes to find underwear to put on over my clothes and over my head.
Then I’d have to run around and show everyone how clever I was. Eventually the clothing would get folded, but we did little to lessen the laundry burden.

I’m sure buckskin loincloths or joining a nudist colony would have freed my mother’s schedule for more satisfying tasks than laundry, but she developed a better system.
She gathered her little darlings and proclaimed that we would all be responsible for doing our own laundry.

Against the groans and grumbles of my older siblings, the five day work week was broken into a washing schedule. Each child was assigned a laundry day. Because of our numbers, a couple of us shared the same day. We were each given a large plastic basket to keep in the bottom of our closets to catch our dirty duds. Each of us was instructed, in one lesson, on the proper way to run the washer and the dryer. We were to wash, dry, fold, and put away.

I was seven years old when I began to do my own laundry. I still remember having to stretch to reach the knobs on the machines. I did have a few laundry mishaps.
Like the time I washed my new red pajamas with all of my whites, but each mishap was like tuition paid for a lesson learned for life. Mother would acknowledge the tainted clothing, offer suggestions, and life went on as usual (even with pink clothes).

Since having a family of my own, I have continued with, and modified, my mother’s system. My children each have a laundry day and a plastic basket. On their day they take their clothes to the laundry room, empty pockets (They are careful about this because any money found in the wash comes to me as a house keeping tip), and sort their clothes according to colors. They can do this before school or after. This gives me plenty of time to do my part.

Unlike the system my mother established, I run the machines. My mother was a fearless woman and not afraid of a challenge. She not only trusted us to use the machines correctly, she expected it. I held the same expectation for my children, but one summer day my boys decided to save a little time and do their laundry together.

They put their combined wardrobes into the washing machine in one load. I was alerted when the machine began to make a sound that I had never heard. Inside the machine rested a tangle of wet clothes that was so tight I had to enlist the help of my husband to free the mass from the agitator. Since then I have opted to run the machines, however, I have recruited my boys to help at times to remind them about using the washer and dryer correctly.

Once the clothes are cleaned and dried, I toss them back into their basket. The following day that same child is to return to the laundry room and collect their basket of clean clothes. It is their responsibility to fold and put away their things.

This system has been very effective in our home. I am a working mother. My time with my children is limited as it is. Including them in the laundry chore gives them responsibilities and allows me more time to spend with them.

Running the machines takes little time and effort on my part. I am freed from carrying baskets, sorting, and folding. I, like Mom, am liberated from the laundry room.

Sherrie Mackelprang is a member of the Midvalley Ward, Enoch Utah Stake.