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I get asked about my laundry room cookie jars a lot—usually with a furrowed brow and the kind of tone you’d reserve for asking someone why they keep ketchup packets in the hall closet.
“Why cookie jars?”
“Don’t the soap pods clump?”
“Isn’t that where, you know, cookies go?”
Valid questions. But here’s the reality: I live in a very charming (read: tiny) cottage. Our “laundry room” is really more of a well-lit hallway with identity issues. It also moonlights as a mudroom, so there’s not a lot of storage, or standing room, or oxygen.
We could have installed a cabinet over the laundry hampers. But here’s the problem: I have ADHD, which means I will, without fail, leave cabinet doors open. And since I’m tall, said doors would be at forehead level. What we’d really be installing is a concussion station. Laundry is messy enough without adding a traumatic brain injury to the mix.
And then there’s this—I, without shame, admit to being lazy. I do not want to drag a Costco-sized jug of detergent out of a cabinet every time I wash a pair of socks. I do not want to dig through a dryer sheet box like I am on an archaeological expedition. I do want my bleach pens, washer cleaner tabs, and other laundry-related accoutrements all in one place. And preferably a cute place.
Hence, the cookie jars.
They’re clear, they’re cute, they sit right on the counter where I can see them, and they are far enough back on the hamper top that I can still fold clothes without interference. Best of all, they don’t swing open and hit me in the face. Win-win.
So, yes—those jars might not be full of cookies, but they do serve up something sweet: sanity, simplicity, and the occasional fresh sock.