Most of this pile belongs to Ezra
The blue rhino t-shirt.
The Messi soccer jersey.
The red and blue hoodie.
The Barcelona soccer jersey.
The green and blue hoodie.
The black compression long sleeve shirts.
The Black Keys T-shirt.
The Germany soccer jersey.
Doing my sons' laundry has become something of a meditation – I fold Ezra's jerseys and athletic shorts and track pants. I fold Maxon's graphic tees and jeans and hoodies. I ball up Ezra's primary-colored basketball and soccer socks, I ball up Maxon's white ankle socks. By the end, Ezra always has piles twice the size of Maxon's and I try not to focus on the fact that I folded 12 pairs of pants but only five pairs of underwear.
I look at these clothes and I see my sons – the boy who doesn't bother to remove his shin guards from inside his socks, the boy who recently outgrew his button-down shirt stage and has moved on to thick hoodies.
I take them shopping twice a year and stay out of their clothing decisions. Before they were old enough to make their own choices, I made some excellent ones for them, involving a lot of Lucky Brand Kids.
I had a good run.
But I'm not in charge anymore. Trying to get Ezra to wear something other than a sports jersey is as a futile as teaching a chicken to parallel park. Also, the boy has a jihad against denim. Maxon can only commit to three t-shirts, hoodies or jeans at a time, which is why his hamper is half full and Ezra's is overflowing. To be fair, in any given day, Ezra also has as many outfit changes as Beyoncé in concert, so there's that.
Does it bother me that Ezra wears track pants every single day? So much. Does it pique me even more when said pants don't match whatever soccer jersey he has on top? You bet. Do my cells cringe when I see the blue rhino tee for the third time in a week? Oh yeah.
But I bite my tongue because there are more important battles to fight, most involving hygiene. And even though I sometimes look to the heavens for assistance when they come downstairs in the morning dressed for school – especially when Ezra tries to get away with clipping a tie onto a Syracuse jersey for Special Dress Day — I love seeing them make their own choices, and that they have such different ways of expressing themselves through their outfits.
So I fold the blue rhino tee. I fold the Messi jersey. I fold a dozen black Target compression shirts. I zip up the hoodies. I roll up the basketball socks and toss them in the corner of my yellow laundry basket where they collect like cotton Easter eggs. The laundry is a reflection of the two individuals we're raising. And it's the only way laundry makes me smile.