Conservatively, I spend up to 10 total minutes a week in my 5’ x 9’ laundry room.  That seems like a lot of time to me, certainly enough to justify what I am about to tell you.  Since I absolutely hate to do laundry, and since I can’t afford someone to come in and do it for me (but ahhhh! Can you imagine?), I decided to decorate it in a style that I would find soothing, stylish, and non-offensive enough to spend 10 precious minutes in there, especially considering that I could be using those 10 minutes in a much more enjoyable part of the house, such as standing in front of the liquor cabinet fantasizing about a chocolate martini.

The space was just wide enough to be able to open the dryer door without putting a hole through the opposite wall.  There was a tiny closet that could hold several vacuum cleaner bags comfortably and a laundry tub that I used mostly for storing vomit-stained dog towels.  I’m not sure what other uses there are for a laundry tub these days: when I was a kid, my mom used hers to catch rinse water so she could recycle it back into the next load which, now that I think about it, was pretty gross, considering Mom used a laundry rotation system that placed my stuff behind Dad’s used handkerchiefs and Fruit of the Looms.  Please don’t do this in your own home or YOUR daughter will be mentioning it on her web site in about 30 years.

Another challenge was that the laundry room is next to the family room where families are supposed to watch TV, play board games, and spill paste on the carpet from 3^rd grade art projects.  This is a room that doesn’t need anything adding to the noise pollution so that you can actually hear the TV, concentrate on beating your son at Connect 4, and say really bad words that will amuse your neighbors when you realize the paste is non-washable.

A third factor to take into consideration was storage.  Over the years, I have managed to put together a fine collection of tools and small hardware gadgets that someday I just know I will find a use for.  I am particularly proud of my Allen wrench collection.  I wouldn’t necessarily lead with that at a cocktail party, but it’s nothing I am ashamed of, so why hide it?

Size, sound, and storage were the three elements I needed to address.  With my research carefully documented, I went about performing the first step in the room’s transformation: I hired an electrician to install a chandelier.

Hear me out.

Every room needs an inspiration, a point from which to start.  For my laundry room, the inspiration was this chandelier.  I won’t tell you where I got it from (Page 173, JC Penney's 2000 Fall/Winter catalog), but I will tell you that it’s functional, beautiful, and so what if I snag my hair on it whenever I leap over a pile of dirty clothes?  There’s usually someone around who can come cut me down within a few hours.  And hair grows back.

Size

There was basically nothing I could do about the size of the room, so I decided to reduce the number of objects to just the bare necessities.  This was not the place for snooty cubbies to organize everyone’s muddy shoes.  That’s what the foyer floor is for.  The basics would have to be the washer, the dryer, the laundry tub (I’m still shuddering over the rinse water memories), some sort of hardware storage unit, the vacuum, and the dog food.

This last point is important to consider depending on the type of dog(s) you actually have.  The excitability of the breed should dictate the location of the dog food.  For those more mellow breeds (i.e., the Bassett Hound), you could probably get away with storing their food just about anywhere.  For my dogs (who are Shetland Sheepdogs), I needed to stash their food in a spot that allowed the most space for emergency shrill barking and spinning in circles, and which positioned me to receive 10-inch claw scrapings down my calves at least twice a day.  My dogs are clever and beautiful but lack trust in where their next meal is coming from.  Despite the fact that every day for the past 12 years, a free meal has emerged from behind the little white closet door in the laundry room, they still feel compelled to remind me what will happen in case it doesn’t.

Sound

The best way I know to muffle a room is with fabric.  So, you ask - how does one use fabric in a laundry room?  Why, you staple it to the ceiling. Using fabric in this fashion is a good way to quiet all those boring, mechanical noises that emit from your major appliances.  It’s also a good way to experiment with a staple gun.  And, if you do it just right, it’s a great way to bleed to death.

I decided to tackle this particular fabric-on-the-ceiling project on a sunny Saturday when my courage was high and my health insurance deductible had been met for the year.  I even decided to crank it up a notch by selecting a striped pattern which had to be matched at the corners.   Take note: striped fabric projects are not for amateurs.  Or for sane people.

The first thing I did was to pull out my staple gun and ladder.  I then proceeded to staple the fabric into one corner of the ceiling and drape it into the center towards the chandelier, tucking the ends into the dropped plate on top of the light.  “Hey!  Not too bad!” I thought to myself.  I even stopped to pour a reward Diet Coke.  Then I continued with the second section of the ceiling, during which the first section decided to promptly fall down, showering me with about 30-40 staples and blowing a light bulb in the chandelier.

Undaunted, I climbed the ladder and re-stapled the first section, then quickly and efficiently affixed the second to the ceiling.  This time, both stayed put.  Yeah!  I wandered into the kitchen for a celebratory helping of Peanut Butter Ritz Bits.

Right around the time I went back in for the third section, I realized I hadn’t purchased enough fabric.  This is a common problem with first-timers: you do the old eyeball measuring trick, trod on down to the fabric store where you stand in line, highly intimidated by the real women who know how to sew and who are clutching various objects that you’ve never seen before and have no idea how to use, afraid that they’ll find out you’re buying fabric you have no intention of ever running a needle through, buy your material, get home, start your project, and then immediately realize you’re off by about a dozen or so yards.  Then you head back to the fabric store, by which time they have been able to discontinue that particular pattern and cannot come even close to matching it with something else.  Fun, huh?

Luckily for me, I was able to locate more yardage of the ceiling fabric.  I finished the job, which if I recall only took about 7 hours.  I did manage to burn my arm on the hot chandelier bulbs, staple my index finger while groping around in the dark (because I had to turn off the chandelier and save what little arm skin I had left), and then fall off the ladder trying to twist the last little bit into place over the washer.  I would have just gone ahead and stood on the washer to get to that section, but since I no longer weigh 70 pounds (and I’m not entirely sure I ever weighed 70 pounds), I didn’t want to dent it with my slim yet womanly frame.

Storage

To tackle the problem of storage, I went with an IKEA wall unit as well as several small organizers that had little drawers I could label, thus completing my trip down the hyper-organized rabbit hole.  For stowing my ladder, I chose a classic camouflage approach, installing a gorgeous gold velvet drape on a tension rod between the storage unit and the wall and tucking the ladder behind it.  This approach is also what you’ll want to do with any type of big, bulky, difficult-to-decorate item in your home, such as your husband’s parents’ sofa, or your actual husband.

Fresh from my fabric-stapling victory, I decided that the wire shelf above the appliances was just too basic for what was turning into a truly glorious den for dirty clothes, so I broke out the power tools and started sawing.  I had thought this would be the easiest part of the project: cut a board the length of the wall, screw in 1”x2” supports along the alcove, and plop the board shelf into place.  Each trip to the store had me buying progressively longer screws until eventually I had hardware strong enough to hang a Volvo.  Feeling feckless (and desperately wanting to use “feckless” in a sentence), I reverted to using my hammer which, despite popular (and my father’s) opinion, is what you should do when your screws don’t seem to want to cooperate and you need to teach them a lesson.  There is no law that says you can’t hammer in screws.  Just don’t plan on removing them any time soon.

At this point, my son wandered in to take a look, saw the blood and the expression on my face, and promptly fled for shelter in the neighbor’s basement.

The end result is a stunning space that is warm, functional, and far too pretty for the likes of my family’s grungy duds.  But at least I know where I’ll find happiness a full 10 minutes each week.  Twenty, if you count the chocolate martini.

The Result

Before:

After: