I used to look mother in disbelief when she said that she liked to do laundry. For me, a mother of two with a demanding full time job, laundry was a dreaded chore that had to be crammed into my weekend. It was always a scramble just to find all the pieces of clothing and towels scattered throughout the house. I used to walk through the kid’s rooms trying to decide if the clothes on the floor were dirty or just remnants of the clothes they didn’t bother to put away on the last laundry day. I’d sort the piles early on a Saturday morning and by that evening what wasn’t washed was jumbled all together in the hallway. Throughout the day, both kids and pets used the stacks as entertaining obstacles to jumped over or scattered.

As I got older, something changed. Laundry became a ritual, a preparation, an act of love. There is order in clean laundry. Laundry is personal and intimate. It is a way of caring for those you love. It meets a need. Warm laundry fresh out of the dryer carries the scent of family members. Their essence lingers in the cloth. It is comforting and familiar. It is grounding. Folding a t- shirt brings forth a memory of the day it was purchased or the last occasion on which it was worn. Clothes bring you in contact with personality. Stains, rips, and the contents of pockets tell a story. While it is not much fun on a day you forget to put the wet clothes in the dryer, clean laundry is satisfying. Something has been accomplished. Mom was right.

I love to mow the yard. When I say this, my husband rolls his eyes. I’m sure he is somewhere rolling his eyes right now. He swears that I haven’t mowed the yard in 20 years. While that is untrue, it is not far off. In the last decade, my job required way too many hours away from home. He was retired and he had time to mow. I did not. If he were writing this blog, he would tell you that he hates mowing. For him, it is an unwelcome chore to be avoided and accomplished quickly. For me it is a way to reconnect with the Earth and home.

Since I have retired, I have mowed each week (okay, twice…but that is all that has been needed. I promise). I happily put on my earphones, set my favorite music, and am queen of the zero turn lawn mower for the next few hours. The sun on my face, the smell of grass in my nose…I am close to the Earth. I am care giver. I am nurturer. I am mesmerized by the little variances I notice in the yard. Clover, mushrooms, wildflowers, crab grass, dirt patches, sticks, mole holes… our yard is wild and rough. I suppose we could hire a service to make it manicured and potentially more manageable, but I like the moss and the native plants. It seems real. It is ours. It is home. Mowing is an act of love.

I think my husband would tell you that I only feel that way because I am not the one doing the weed eating. He may have a point. But as I weed the flowers, the walkways, and the mulched sitting areas under our trees, I am peaceful. It is true that we procrastinate mowing in the heat on a hot Missouri day. We also prolong the time between major work days. The looming chore, an imposition, the potential for aching muscles…and, yet once I start the task is joyful. The zinnia’s in the back garden, the mint growing tall, the roses along the driveway all whisper to me. The grass tickles my toes and grounds me to this place.

I wonder, what makes the difference in my attitude? Is the task a chore or a privilege? Simple things that make a house a home. Common interactions must be done. Intentionally noticing the small things, makes all the difference for me. The satisfaction of a crisply folded garment, the smell of a freshly washed shirt, the lines that the mower makes on the lawn, the dark earth of a freshly weeded flower bed, are all simple tasks done in love. They are comforting rituals and reminders of family. The act of making a home is always a privilege. I hope I can continue to grasp that truth, even when the laundry is stacked up …and especially when it is 100 degrees with high humidity and grass is high. Although it is easier to be thankful when he is the one using the weed eater.