IMG_0286Disclaimer: This post is going to be about laundry. If I lose you here, I understand. But for those of you who, like me, have been doing laundry for over 30 years, I KNOW you’re going to feel my joy.

When Will and I got married in April of 1986, we didn’t have a washer and dryer. We lived close enough to my parents that I was able to go to their house to do laundry once a week. Which Will thought was completely acceptable. Really. I worked for Rich’s department store and they even sold appliances then. I literally begged him to let me buy a washer and dryer. The set was $600. He finally agreed, after much “discussion”, which included tears, and I bought our first set on credit. Which meant I paid like $25 a month or something for it forever. It was a plain jane, top loader, no bells, no whistles. But those babies were mine, and I could do them in my own unfinished basement whenever I wanted to. Laundry bliss had begun.

The first house we bought had laundry hookup in the unfinished basement. The washer had to be on a stand (that Will built, including steps for me to be able to reach up into it and remove wet items) so that the water could drain UP from the basement, out to wherever it is that drain water goes. The walls of said basement were red Georgia clay, and there were all sorts of creepy crawly things down there.

Our next house also had an unfinished basement, but if I remember correctly, the walls were cinder block instead of dirt. Daily I made the trek from the upstairs living area, past the main floor and into this basement to do laundry. Three flights of stairs coming and going. With three little girls who were two, four, and six at the time, in tow.

House number three, the laundry was housed on a tiny porch off the kitchen that had been enclosed. It was literally big enough for the machines, and if I was careful I could get the dryer door open enough to get clothes in and out. We splurged on a plain jane, first generation stackable set, which freed up some space, but it was still outside on the porch.

Currently, in house number four, which Will says is our forever house unless God has other plans) we have a large laundry room on the second floor. This worked great when all the girls lived at home. They did their own laundry, and I did ours upstairs. I loved having a designated space for laundry. It was convenient for the girls and we have used the heck our of it for 13 years.

Then I had this idea… If this was going to be our forever house, wouldn’t it be nice to have a washer and dryer on the main floor, so that as I age (gracefully), I don’t have to go up and down those dangerous steps to the second floor to do laundry. This little idea grew and grew until we decided to remodel our master bathroom. Remodel is kind of a fancy word for we pulled everything nasty our of it, which was everything, and started over. It wasn’t like what was there was nice and we didn’t like it. Remember the mushrooms growing out of the corner by the shower the day Anna got married at the house? That kind of remodel.

So yesterday, which sadly might be one of the best days EVER, my stackable unit came downstairs into it’s new closet home in our master bath, tucked into a little custom built spot that took four people to move and install and a visit from the contractor to hook it all up. I’ve done two loads already and it is perfect.  I told Will last night, it’s kind of sick how happy this makes me. SO happy.

If you love laundry, I know you get it too. The bathroom isn’t totally finished yet, but the laundry is happening people. In a closet in my bathroom.

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