To some of you, this may not seem like much, but for us, yesterday was crazy-busy. Out for breakfast, ran some errands, went to the 9yo’s football game, picked up my MIL and drove to Pendleton for our annual Family Reunion. Gone for about 12 hours during the day. Needless to say, I enjoyed putting on my jammies when we got home last night and then visiting with my friend Stella (maybe you’ve met her? Stella Artois? Lovely gal...I highly recommend hanging out with her every once in a while).
During the whirlwind of the day, my 9yo had to change clothes more than once. The plan was this: wear “regular” clothes to breakfast, come home and change for football and put the “regular” clothes in a bag so he could change back into them AFTER football. But unfortunately at breakfast, he got butter on the shirt, so it needed to go in the washer.
As an aside, and probably needless to say (although here I am saying it), I did not get to do any laundry last night, so that dirty shirt is still in the washer.
Before the 9yo went to bed last night, he was instructed to lay out clothes to wear for church today. When I went to tuck him in, I checked to see what clothes I could expect to see in the morning. I found a pair of crumpled up shorts (clean but looking very much as though they had been wadded up and thrown to the floor) and a blue shirt. This was the very same shirt which he’d worn at the reunion – the one in which he’d eaten fried chicken and chocolate cake (both of which were evidenced ON the shirt), as well as the very same shirt which he had sweat in while playing soccer and football with cousins several times removed. So I picked up the shirt between my thumb and index finger and threw it out in the hall to go to the laundry room.
Next came a brief, but firm, discussion about why we don’t wear dirty clothes when we have a whole dresser full of clean ones. He wanted to argue that he hadn’t worn it for very long (if you don’t consider 8 hours a long time, I suppose he might have a leg to stand on) however he had little argument for the dirt and food stains on it. He acquiesced and said he would get a clean shirt in the morning.
Fast forward to this morning. He came out of his room WITHOUT me having to get him up (or sing Five Green & Speckled Frogs), shorts in his hand. Yes, still the wrinkled ones but they were clean. You’ve got to choose your battles.
But I noticed a lack of shirt. “Mom, tell me again why I couldn’t wear that red shirt yesterday?”
“Because you got food on it at breakfast.”
“Well, what about the black shirt I wore on Friday? Where is it?”
“In the laundry.”
“But you DID laundry on Friday.”
“I did laundry on Friday afternoon…not Friday evening.”
“Oh.”
He walked away. And then I heard the distinct sound of rummaging in the laundry room. “What are you doing?”
“I’m looking for that black shirt.”
“Buddy, it’s dirty. If it’s in the washer, that means I haven’t washed it yet. It is still dirty.”
“Oh.”
Apparently at least some members of the PBA need a lesson in laundry care, discerning if something is, indeed, soiled and in need of a wash.
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