I'll Tell You Where You Can Put That Basket

I used to be lazy. Really lazy. Plop-on-the-couch-after-work, watch-an-entire-season’s-worth-of-DVD-episodes-in-a-row, stay-in-bed-for-at-least-12-hours-whenever-possible lazy.

I can’t do that anymore. For the most part, it doesn’t bother me. (Everything except the sleeping part. I do love me some sleep.) Parenthood makes it more difficult to be lazy. Single parenthood makes it impossible. And the transition into parenting with a new, supportive, willing-to-share-the-parenting-load partner? It’s confusing.

Operation Cohabitation (we’re only days away from getting the keys!) brings with it lots of fun little questions like, “what are we going to do about the laundry situation?” We were cruising around last week, and Bob pointed out the laundromat closest to the new house.

My stomach dropped. I hate laundromats. I. Hate. Laundromats. (Have you heard? I’m not a fan of laundromats.) I think my reaction actually scared Bob a bit.

Why? Because when you’re at a Laundromat, you’re only doing one thing: Laundry. I almost never only do one thing at a time these days. At home I can start a load in the washer, go upstairs and do dishes, keep an eye on my work e-mail in case anything urgent comes in, chop & pop dinner into the crock pot, go back downstairs and switch the clothes into the dryer, start a new load in the washer, then go back to the computer where I can get a good chunk of work in and keep tabs on other online “stuff” while I wait for that happy buzz announcing that the clothes are dry.

“I didn’t realize you were such a militant multitasker,” Bob said. After I shot him The Look (because, man, “militant” just carries too many connotations), I told him that I haven’t always been that way, but that now, I have no choice. If I wasn’t a (dedicated?) multitasker, I’d never get anything done.

He volunteered to handle the laundry.

I like this having a partner thing.