I met my Hubby in 2002, and I almost let him get away. I had just wrapped a spin of dating that was both comical and sad. I needed a break. That, though, is a tale for another day.
At some point during our dating phase, my future hubby told me he was no stranger to housework. I fell in love shortly thereafter.
Two years later, we were living together with a baby on the way. Future Hubby didn’t want me taking the stairs to the basement to do laundry, so he washed load after load complaint free.
What he did not do, however, was fold it. He routinely delivered me approximately five loads of laundry crammed into two baskets. I would thank him quietly, then spend the next two hours rolling my eyes while ironing wrinkled clothes.
This song and dance has continued occasionally throughout the years. After our second daughter arrived, Hubby stepped up his efforts to help around the house. Now he brings me eight loads of laundry in three baskets.
As I smoothed out a pile of Onesies, I wondered why I never asked Hubby to fold. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but the frosty reception I gave him whenever he dropped balled up laundry at my feet wasn’t any better.
So I decided to give it a try. “Hey babe. Thanks for doing the laundry.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Would you mind folding the laundry after you wash it? If it sits too long unfolded, then I have to go back and iron it.”
I couldn’t believe it was that simple. I had wasted so much time grumbling, and all I had to do was ask. I wonder how many other things I’ve let bother me when it wasn’t necessary.