Giving Up My Vanity for a Laundry Room, Part II
Confessions of a Pioneer Woman  |  Sep 21, 2007 03:13 PM

While I was engaged to Marlboro Man, I never stopped to consider what country life would really be like. Oh, I don’t know, maybe I pictured a little lemonade, a little porch, a little watching the sunrise, a little gazing at the sunset, a little listening to horses moo and cows neigh…or is it the other way around? Today, eleven years later, while country life does have its wonderful moments, I can say with a high degree of certainty that Laundry in the Country is a wretched, evil thing.

Picture this: Marlboro Man gets up at 5:00 a.m. and takes our four young punks to work cattle with him. I watch five bodies leave the house, which amounts to roughly five pairs of jeans, five shirts, five pairs of underwear (if everyone remembers), ten socks, and, depending on the weather, a sweatshirt or two. Then I make myself some coffee, lie down on the couch, and stare at the ceiling for awhile.

Then The Five usually pour in around eleven, completely caked—head-to-toe—in the following: Mud. Manure. Blood. Grass. Manure. Doughnut crumbs. Manure. They peel off their dirty clothes at the door, change into clean work clothes, and walk into the kitchen and say, “MOM! WHERE’S LUNCH?????” Then I cry silently for awhile.

This cycle repeats: they leave the house in clean clothes, root around in filth, and return a few hours later, peeling off their clothes at the door, changing into clean ones, and asking me for more food. Then, after the work is all done for the day, they spend the evening playing outside, which generally involves dogs, manure, dirt, manure, horses, manure, and frogs. Keeping up with our laundry is nothing short of impossible.

As I said last time, we’re in the middle of a complete bathroom remodel, which was originally going to involve a complete redesign of my gloriously large and spacious vanity. But when Marlboro Man delicately suggested, after witnessing me sob into a pile of dirty jeans for the thousandth time, that perhaps a larger laundry room might be more applicable to my current position in life than a gargantuan bathroom vanity, I sobbed even harder. But it only took a few minutes for me to realize how brilliant an idea it actually was. The laundry area was directly behind my vanity, of course, so any space I added to the new laundry room would be subtracted from the new vanity. Ten years ago I might have made a different choice, but now?

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Here was my original vanity during the demolition. Mmmm…just look at all that space. Ahh, the dreams I had. Of makeup and marble and mirrors. Sigh.


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Here’s my original vanity, gutted. The old laundry “room” is beyond the far wall frame.


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And here was the turning point in my life. After much consideration and soul searching, I moved in the wall of my vanity, allotting much more space for the laundry room on the other side.


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Remember the old laundry room? It was pretty much a closet in a hallway.


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Here it is during demolition. It’s getting ready for a new life.


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And here’s the laundry room as it stands right now. Let’s have a closer look…


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Come closer…


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Hello, lover! Just look—a real live flesh-and-blood (sheet rock and tile) laundry room. I feel like crying, for many different reasons. (And don’t worry too much about the mismatched tile; we’ll beat the new stuff to heck in no time at all.)


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Meanwhile, back at the vanity…


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Here it is, folks—my new vanity in all its glory. It’s not quite the spacious castle I’d originally envisioned, and I won’t have room for any makeup…or tweezers…or waxing kits or facial scrubs or masques…or a drawer devoted solely to Dr. Pepper Bonne Bell Lip Smacker. I finally had to let go of that dream.

But at least I’ll be able to wash a mean pair of jeans. And while I was living in Los Angeles, getting my degree and spotting celebrities, that was always my number one goal in life.

Next up: Turning My Shower Into a Subway Station…