To me it was a menial task. I do it several times a week, this thing called laundry. But to her, the task of washing these precious threads was an act of trust. Parting with her smelly, dirty, much-loved blankets, one affectionately known as "Pink" and the other, the more loved of the two, "Blankie," was a demonstration of her complete and utter trust in me.
She watched as I added the soap, turning the machine on to drown her beloved friends in water. “Bye Bye Blankets,” she whispered. And then she was off. Off to play in her imaginary world; confident in the knowing that her blankets would soon be returned.
And so they were.
After a quick wash and dry, I called to her and she came running. The anticipation was palpable as she eagerly rushed through the laundry room door.
With a tug on the dryer and a squeal of delight, child and cuddly friends were reunited. She in awe of how warm and soft they were; me in awe at how such a simple thing could be so desperately important to one so small.
She left with a smile on her face, eager to show Pink and Blankie all they had missed while they were taking a bath. But not before turning, and sweetly saying the words this woman, who had performed the most mundane of domestic tasks, needed to hear.
“Thank you Momma!” “You’re welcome baby.”