Laundry School Dropout

This morning was a wee bit of a disaster in my empire.

The alarm went off at 6:30 a.m., and I woke Oldest Daughter to get ready for middle school.  I promptly went back to bed, because I can sometimes sleep in until 7 a.m. if I've had a late night before (working, not Out).  And so I did.  At 7:14, I rolled out of bed to strap on a bra and put on some jeans to take OD to school at 7:30.  I walk into the hallway and see OD is still in her pajamas, and we are leaving in 16 minutes.  Why has she been up for 44 minutes and is not ready?  Well DUH, because she can't find the one pair of khaki shorts that she MUST wear to school today!  No other clothing for the lower half of her body will do - IT MUST BE THE KHAKI SHORTS.  Or perhaps she won't be able to attend middle school today.  Clearly the khaki shorts are the lynchpin to her success in middle school today, and forever after.  It's *THAT* serious.  College degrees and future grandchildren hang in the balance.  Without these shorts, she will be resigned to living in the basement, knowing she coulda been a contender.

 I do some panicky yelling, which pulls the double function of making the shorts magically appear in the bottom of her hamper AND waking The Son so he can get ready to leave for Safety Patrol at school at 8 a.m.  I drive OD to school, and when I return, The Son is having issues because he, too, cannot find the one item of clothing he would like to wear.  Panicky yelling ensues again, and the item appears and Youngest Daughter comes downstairs to start her morning complaining, and to tell me she can't find any clean socks.

And That. Just.  Did It.  
Time for The Laundry Lecture, which goes something like this:

"I did not go to college to be your laundry maid waitress vending machine!!!  You cannot push a button on me and snacks and clean laundry and missing homework will magically appear!  If you want clean laundry, you must take used clothing, which I like to call "DIRTY CLOTHES", and move them from the room you sleep in to the area in front of the magic white boxes in the basement I like to call the "WASHING MACHINE" and the "DRYER".  THERE IS NO TELEPORTER IN THE BOTTOM OF THE HAMPER!!!  ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?"

Feel free to steal any or all of my speech, but I will tell you that it has zero effectiveness.  The remaining children did move their clothes, which was three weeks worth of dirty laundry that had been shoved in the hamper, closets, under beds, and in cabinets, down the stairs, forming Mount Laundry, that started at the bottom of the stairs and ended up far short of the machine.  

EXHIBIT A:  The beginning of Mt. Laundry

This extends for fifteen feet into the laundry area. 

They used it to slide down the steps.

And yes, that IS a water noodle.  Probably still out from last summer.

EXHIBIT B:  What's that in the pile of clothes?

No kidding, this is exactly how I found the pile.

Let's move a few things to see what's in the box...

EXHIBIT C:  Yes, it is.

They've thrown their laundry ON TOP 

of a laundry sorter, Mint In Box.

By now perhaps you've figured out that laundry is the bane of my existence.  Even after multiple lectures, no one brings the laundry downstairs until they have nothing to wear to school except for the top half of a bikini, Christmas leggings and a cardigan they've outgrown with a large chalk stain on it.  When YD wears this type of outfit to school, which is often, other parents pull me aside at school functions and say, "It's so cute how she dresses herself - she has quite a fashion sense!" and I laugh along, but really?  It's because she has no clean clothes, and I'd rather they think she's color blind than let them know I don't keep up with keeping my whites white and my colors bright.

I'm not alone in Laundry Siberia.  Remember the Calgon commercials?

I'd like to point out a few things.
A)  Is it just me, or is this commercial just a wee bit racist?
B)  Notice the man is running the counter and doing the talking, but the kimono-wearing wife is behind the curtain, doing all of the work.  Hmm....
C)  Why does the woman give a crap HOW Mr. Lee gets the shirts so clean?  Let him KEEP his effing Ancient Chinese Secret.  Get my damn laundry done and I won't ask any questions!  What a sweet deal!

I know a family of four who hate doing laundry so much, they send it out to a local hotel to do it.  (I KNOW!  A hotel will do your laundry!?  Why didn't I get the memo?)  The clothes come back clean and folded.  Their only complaint?  "Well, they tend to smell a bit like cigarette smoke.  But hey, we can work around that."  These are organic-loving NPR listening artsy types, but they are willing to turn the other cheek as long as the laundry gets done.  I can totally respect that.

But laundry is only the beginning.  I didn't have three kids so I would be in charge of doing all of the housework forever.  It's time to buck up, kids, and find your inner Cinderella, your Little Princess, your Laura Ingalls Wilder.  Ma needs you to pull your weight around the Frontier!  Check back next time, when I post about the other household chores that are being neglected.  In the meantime, feel free to post comments about your own Laundry Woes.  And new readers?  Welcome!  And thanks for all of your comments lately.  I am quite the comment whore.  You, reading the blog right now?  You're my favorite.  Don't tell the other readers.

Laura Ingalls Wilder is my Homegirl

Once upon a time, sixty years ago, a little girl lived in the Big Woods of Wisconsin, in a little gray house made of logs...

I've loved Laura Ingalls Wilder since I could pick up a book, and since I am feeling themey lately, I am going to move from Neil Diamond Month in September straight into Laura Ingalls Wilder Month in October.

I so wanted my kids to love the Little House books, and when my oldest daughter was about 7 and my son around 5, I started to read Little House in the Big Woods to them. I should have remembered that they thought the Easter Bunny was creepy and Santa was a stranger who wanted them to sit on his lap and tell him all their secrets.

By page 5, the killing started.

Instead of inspiring them to think of historic, frontier America, the book made them despise pioneers. Pa was offing deer, bears, squirrels, and rabbit. To my kids, this was Bambi, Teddy, Chip and Dale and Thumper. Then Ma is taking them apart like a serial killer and stuffing the bits in the attic.

By page 13, they were dismantling a hog.

ME: "...and then when they butchered the hog, Ma saved the bladder and blew it up for the girls to play with it..."
THEM: "What do you mean, 'the bladder?'"
ME: "The bladder is an organ inside of the pig. Ma blew it up so they could play with it, like a balloon."
THEM: "What do you mean, 'organ inside the pig?'"
ME: "It's something inside your body, like your heart or your lungs. But it was a toy!"
THEM: "And what does the bladder do?"
ME: "Um...it is the thing that holds the urine, so when it gets full you have to go to the bathroom. But then they could bat it back and forth...so fun!"
THEM: "...............urine. Like pee?"
ME: "Yes, but it was like a balloon, or a kickball when Ma blew it up. Whee!"
THEM: "THEY PLAYED WITH THE PIG'S PEE BAG!?!?! That is so gross! Why would they do that!?! What was wrong with those little girls!"
ME: "But they didn't have toys, really! This was normal! It was like a pretty balloon! They could play with it!"
THEM: "We don't care how poor we ever get, we will never play with things from inside of animals, and especially not things their pee or poop goes through!"
ME: "And then Ma started making the head cheese..."
THEM: "No way. We are done with this Laura chick and her crazy mother."

And really, how could I argue with that logic?

Perhaps Little House in the Big Woods with the opening butchering scene wasn't the right choice, but I'm a purist. Laura wrote it first, therefore it should be first. You don't start with These Happy Golden Years, damn it, you start with the Big Woods, because all the books stem from Pa's restless nature. Once six neighbors were within 50 miles of him, Pa was feeling crowded, and really, you don't come on Pa's land or he'll sic Jack the Bulldog on you, grab his shotgun above the door and pop a cap in your ass.

Laura was Pa's half pint, she is the Original Frontier Girl, and she is my homegirl in October! Now go eat some corn pone and grease the bear traps!