This is what happens when twenty-somethings live ‘independently’. The basket produced on this occasion contained clothes that look like they've never been introduced to washing machine since manufacture. Fair enough, some of that may have been my fault. Perhaps I didn't encourage his laundry skills when he was younger. Of course, he had things to do and places to be. Like the mum that I am, I told him not to worry and I would put on a couple of loads. About five loads as it turned out. Amazing how many clothes he had managed to pack into that one laundry basket. To be fair, he doesn't do this regularly. I'm not whinging about it because as I sorted the clothing, each item told me something about my son. About the colours he likes, the bands he follows, the sports he plays. It gave rise to memories of him as a baby, a boy, a teenager and now the man he is today. My brain tumbled ideas just as the washing tumbled to the rhythm of the machine. It motivated me to write a reflection on our relationship. Go figure. Inspiration is everywhere, even in a pile of dirty washing.