One of mom's jobs is to make sure everyone has clean
clothes. I suppose I am from the old school where mom does
the laundry. I rather enjoy doing laundry. It is kind of
like mowing the grass inthat you can look back at your
work and actually see the task being accomplished. I like
the feeling of knowing my family has clean clothes to
wear. I feel it is a direct reflection on me. We were in
this house six years and the washer was in the house then.
Lord only knows how long it was in the house before us. (I
have reason to believe it has been here since the late
sixties.) To my knowledge there were never any children in
this house then on a regular basis so the washer was not
used as ruggedly as I use it today. My washer and I are
good friends.
Well one day just before Thanksgiving I filled the washer
with the usual load, turned it on and sat down to wait
while it did its dance. Usually mom is called in six
different directions at once while the washer is doing its
new fangled spin. However, this time everyone had
something to do without mom. (Sniff, Sniff). So I sat on
my seat next to the washer and began to stroll through the
current women’s magazine when I hear a CLUNK! I look up
and noticed nothing wrong initially then I happened to
look down. The sight that beheld my eyes was enough to
make me cry. My washer, my friend, my companion of six
years (and Lord knows how many before we got there) was
not leaking, but gushing soapy water from out the bottom.
It was still washing as if nothing was wrong too. It was
as if it were saying, “I’m wounded but I will fight on.” I
went outside and told my husband about the fatality and he
stood there somberly, removed his ball cap and bowed his
head and offered a moment of silence. Then he said, “Well
you broke it so you can buy another one.” Now this
statement caused me to have two reactions. First, to him I
say thanks for accusing me of breaking the washer. That it
is your dirty woods clothes and the boys dirty play
clothes that broke my washer is irrelevant. I got no
sympathy for that one. Second, “so you can buy another
one” Yeah! SHOPPING!!!! So before I go to the next town to
buy another one the old one has to come out of the
basement which turned out to be a major undertaking. It
weighed about as much as a small car. The neighbor man
just happened to stop by for a visit the day we were going
to haul it out. (Hey, Bob! Friend, Buddy, and Pal ‘o’
Mine…). So between him, my husband, me and the two boys we
decided to form a human pulley system. However, before we
could begin our two sons appeared in front us holding
tools of mass destruction. Now parents, usually I would
not even dream of this scene. I mean this old washer
served its time well and did not deserve to be set upon by
two young boys with weapons…uh I mean tools. But given the
alternative (hauling it out with ALL its guts) I decided
that I was being too sentimental. Therefore, we gave the
boys a few minutes and then assumed our positions and gave
it the old college try. It was not easy and it was not a
pretty sight. No matter what we took off we still needed
all the muscle we had to get it out of our basement.
Finally it does come out and off to the dump it goes. I
shed a tear of remembrance and gas up the truck for the
ride to get another one. <continued below>
Without going into another story I can tell you that the
new washer weighed far less than the old one. The
grandfatherly gentleman at the home appliance store lifted
it BY HIMSELF and placed it in the truck. When I got home
I lifted it out. What was in the washers forty years ago
that made them so heavy and why do we not need that now?
With the new washer safely in its place of honor the
laundry process begins. First the gathering of clothes.
This is a nearly insurmountable task for some people. I
usually keep a basket in our bedrooms and one in the
bathroom for this purpose. I used to have a really nice
clothes hamper when we first moved in the house but it
became a favorite hiding spot for everything from little
boys playing "Hide and Seek" to little boys playing "Hide
the Cat". It had a "press board" bottom so eventually they
could just lift the thing over their heads and shout, "You
can't find me!" Now we have older boys and baskets. The
younger one still tries to play "Row Your Boat" in the
basket but if I can get him to put dirty clothes in it
he’ll leave it alone because he thinks a basket of dirty
clothes is nasty.
Now throwing clothes in the basket requires skill on their
part and if it isn't done right they stay where they lay.
There could be a basket in the bedroom and they will leave
clothes especially socks on the floor rather than walk two
paces to the basket or even toss it from two paces away
and both of the boys play baseball so you would assume
their pitching arm is decent. Or heaven forbid ten paces
to the bathroom to that basket. My older son will tell me
he will wear a particular outfit "tomorrow" to keep from
having to travel that great distance to the basket.
My youngest has devised a way to satisfy his mom about his
dirty laundry and still not have to worry about hitting
the basket. He will stand inside the basket and strip and
the clothes fall in the basket then he steps out. He was
rather proud of himself when he showed me this and I
thought to myself “your momma didn’t raise no fool now did
she?”
Now that the laundry is in the basket it goes downstairs
to the laundry room. And then it becomes MY LAUNDRY. No
one is allowed to touch MY LAUNDRY. I know another mom who
has delegated the responsibility of laundry to her three
sons. Is she crazy? The three sons do their own laundry
and she lets them. Sorry this is beyond me. My sons will
learn to do laundry so that when they go out into the
world they will know how but it is not fair to turn them
loose on an unsuspecting washer that didn’t do anything
wrong to them. First of all my washer is precious to me.
Notice I said MY washer. Second my boys think laundry is
for girls. If I ask them to help me with it they make sure
the doors are locked and the phone is turned off for fear
of anyone finding out they are hanging up socks and
underwear. That it is their socks and underwear is
irrelevant. And bite my tongue I should ask them to hang
up my unmentionables. They won’t even say the words let
alone hang them up. Let me train them to hit the basket
first then I may allow them to use my washer. Like
anything in life, they will have to prove themselves.
Third they can't reach the clothesline in the basement.
They will yank the clothes off and the clothespins will go
flying. I could build a full-scale craft stick cabin and
garage with all the clothespins that have been laid to
waste by the yanks. The clothesline outside they can reach
and the few times I have asked them to bring in my laundry
they make sure their friends are not with them before they
will ever consider it.
I like to sort my laundry by whites and colors just like
other people. As I'm sorting the clothes and putting them
in the washer I notice that I'm coming across clothes that
I haven't seen on anyone's body in a long time. Sometimes
we are talking about ages. Literally. Not only clothes
that I haven't seen on anyone's body but clothes out of
season! Shorts in the winter, thick heavy sweatshirts in
the summer. Not only that I also come across folded
clothes that are clean in the boys’ basket. How did they
get here? Why are clean clothes making the basket when
it’s like pulling eye teeth to get the dirty ones in
there? A mystery for the ages.
Now for a math lesson: Socks are worn in pairs. This means
two. Everyone knows that. So why is it that when two socks
are worn only one gets found when the clean laundry is
brought up. Is this the feature that was taken out of the
washer forty years ago that made it so heavy? Hmmm?
When the laundry is dirty and on the floor it is YOUR
dirty clothes. "Get your dirty clothes up off the floor
and in the basket!" However, when the laundry is in the
laundry room or done and hanging on the line (especially
in the summer) it is MY LAUNDRY. "Don't touch my laundry!"
Then when it is clean and folded on my bed it is your
stuff. "Get your stuff put away!" What's the difference? I
know what the difference is-----I'm mom.
Sue Anderson
126 Coburn Ave. West
Jackman, Maine 04945
207-668-7682
msezand@yahoo.com
Word Count: 1627
