Laundry Chronicles: Pink

Now, you might think by the title that we are going to talk about a red sock that gets thrown in with the whites...but no sir. I like to keep you on your toes.

Pink is Curly's best friend. Curly usually keeps pink very close to her, especially during times of rest or sleeping. Pink is a staple in her life, like food and water. Pink is that important.

Now we go with a different topic that seems quite unrelated at the start but then you quickly begin to see where they come together. That's the predictability of this writer.

Curly is three. Curly is potty trained...during the day. Curly needs to learn to go potty at night. That's not a fun thing for this Mommy to think about because unlike all the hooligans that stay up til all hours of night (read 8pm bedtimers) and have no need of getting up to go potty at night, Curly and Smiles go to bed at 6pm. She can stay up until 6:30 or 7 on a lucky night. She sleeps until about 7am. (Yes. I miss when it was 8am before Smiles was born.)

...count the hours....it's okay, I won't tell if you use your fingers.

Yep. That's right. Long time no pee.

We tried a few nights and then I gave up and decided she just wasn't ready. She is a very heavy sleeper afterall, so heavy that I can't even wake her enough to sleep walk her to the bathroom. AND IF I get her to the bathroom, she sits there too sleepy to release enough to pee. Not. Working.

You would think that changing the sheets every night would be the biggest reason that I don't want to do this night time potty fiasco. But that's not entirely true. While I don't like changing the sheets so often, it does work well that she is on a bunk bed with two beds that have waterproof mattress covers and the bottom is still empty. Her sister is still waiting in a far off land to warm that little bottom bunk. So a quick switch of clothes and bunks and we are good until morning. I don't have to focus on stripping the bed until then.

No. The issue isn't only the sheet changing. The big issue is Pink. Pink the blankey.

See...wet bed = wet Pink. We have an extra bed. We don't have an extra Pink. No extra Pink means Mommy doesn't get a wink.

Unless...Mommy gets so lazy with the rules that she actually allows Curly to sleep with a slightly damp blankey. BUT THAT would NEVER happen here. I'm just saying that some Mom's might do that. Not me.

There is weeping and wailing. You would think that someone had died. For real. Or that monsters came out from under the bed. But no...

SHE JUST WANTS TO SLEEP WITH A STINKING PEED BLANKET!

And here is where I correct you again. You are probably thinking- 3 year old logic states that I need my blanket to sleep and I don't care if it stinks. Uh....NO. That would mean that the protesting of washing Pink was limited to the middle of the night or near naptime. And that's just not so.

Curly believes within the deepest parts of her that if Pink gets washed something horrible will happen. She is convinced of it. She didn't tell me so with words, but it's pretty clear that she believes that because if I tell her that I am going to clean Pink, she throws herself on the floor in attempted self sacrifice on behalf of Pink, begging me to spare her beloved best sleep mate.

If you saw it, trust me, you would surely think that I was an awful Mother who threatens to unravel Pink thread by thread right in front of her face.

It's tragic.

So, what's a Mommy to do? If you have any suggestions, feel free to share them. For now, Pink is my bi-weekly (okay, more like monthly) prisoner of war. If I'm lucky I get to free her before Curly becomes any the wiser.

As you can see, Pink has been around a long time. If you can consider three and a half years a long time...

Pink turning Smiles into a "manger".

Notice that pj's are usually still on when Pink is around. And that she isn't selfish with Pink. She shares her with Smiles all the time.

Laundry Chronicles: Recycle (The Bad Kind)

Just an update before we embark on the Laundry Chronicles that I wrote late last week to lighten things up a bit...we are getting a lot done right now and I feel very productive. We got our passports started today and hope that they will take less then the ten weeks they estimate. The lady who did our paperwork today told us that it is about a six week wait right now. I will try to keep you updated on the process, but don't have a lot of time for writing just yet. Handsome is on vacation this week, so we are trying to get as much done as we can.

...Now back to your irregularly scheduled program...

I have come to find that most of the Laundry Chronicles are related to my husband. Why is this so? It's something to think about Handsome...

This amazing and wonderful guy has usually got a nice huge row of white T-shirts hanging in the closet. He wears them under his work shirts everyday and then also under some of his daily shirts as well. After quite some time they wear out. You know, due to that crusty area under the arms. (Am I going to get in trouble for that one? I just might.)

Lets rephrase that. I have a friend who's husband...

Anyway, when they get to the point of no return, it's time to retire them. There is nothing to be done, they are given no last words or final meals. They are just toast. If any of you have some secret life saving treatment that the government is trying to keep from us in order that we might purchase more T-shirts and thus pay more taxes and also support lobbiest companies like Hanes and Fruit of the Loom, well please let me know. As of this point I am being taken advantage of and believing this conspiracy.

So, this husband of mine my friend has lots of T-shirts in his closet and has a handy little way of getting rid of them. He will grab them off of the hanger and find that they are no longer good for wearing. It is requested that he take them to the garbage or something so that they are taken care of at that point and no longer part of the routine. Is that what happens though? Eh...not so much.

Said man takes shirt from hanger. Man sees that aforementioned shirt has unmentionable crust in undisclosed location. Man takes shirt and throws it in the pile in the closet. Unfortunately for his wife, this pile is full of dirty clothing. Other dirty clothing. Dirty good clothing that can be worn again and again post washing.

Can you see the problem one might encounter?

By the time wife realizes that husband is cycling this shirt through over and over...that she is washing and re-washing a shirt that he intends to throw away anyway...

Yeah. You can see where this woman finds frustration. You would think that since he is an efficiency expert he wouldn't want to waste his time either. You know, since he has to find out that the shirt is unusable over and over and over again.

Laundry Chronicles: The Untucker

That's right. It's about time I got you another episode of the Laundry Chronicles up...

It’s common in a marriage to find that you have some extreme differences. Some of these are due to upbringing, some personality types, and some I believe are designed by God for the sole purpose of pushing you to your limits for the purpose of growth.

I am a typical first born personality. I like order and organization. I enjoy having things neat and tidy. I need to be in control. This shows in many areas of my life from the way that my kitchen drawers look when you open them, all the way down to the apparently “neat” way that I spread the peanut butter on my bread (as stated recently by my best friend). Now, don’t get a messed up image in your head thinking that my house is spick and span. It’s often a pit. You see, I am one of those neat and tidy people that has to have it done fully and completely the right way, no halfway jobs at our house. If it can’t be done properly right now, then it will just have to wait.

My husband is not this way, in fact, he is the opposite in many ways. He is the epitomy of an efficient person. His goal is always to get it done quickly and in the most efficient way possible. I am often surprised at how quickly he can get cleaning done around the house- why can’t I do that! It’s just that when I go to open the knife drawer, the knives aren’t in the exact place that I would have them be and the toys are piled in the kid’s bins with no rhyme or reason.

Well, early in our marriage…very early, we figured out that this difference can be a very big deal sometimes. You see, we have to share a bed. We have to share sheets! You can imagine the disaster that can be. I, being the sound-minded individual that I am, use my sheets properly. I tuck them in when I make the bed and I pull them out just enough to get into them. I then proceed to pull the covers up one at a time until I am snugly settled into bed. When he is away and I am sleeping on my own, the bed looks like it was never entered at all with just a quick lift of the blankets. It’s just the way it is meant to be done. HE on the other hand, will climb into bed by ripping the covers up in a roaring motion and once laying down throws his feet up into the air for the exact reason of UNTUCKING. He lives to be unrestricted in his sleep.

You think that I am making this sound like a big deal for entertainment, but I will assure you that I have actually cried a time or two over these cover issues. Serious tears, I am for real. So, how do we deal with this? For the sake of our marriage we had to figure something out. We had to compromise. The deal is, on the day that I make the bed and wash the sheets, he has to wait for me to climb into bed first. (Don’t call me a tyrant, it was a gift to me that he decided to do.) The rest of the time, I just have to deal with the feeling that I sleep with a tornado each night. It’s something I am still learning to live with…

This is something I found while looking for images that I thought I should share. They have a split-sheet design for this very issue! He can be sloppy, while she is neatly tucked. I am not sure that it would work for me, but I thought I would share it if only for the purpose of letting you know that I am not the only one with this issue.

OBVIOUSLY.

See you tomorrow evening with a Meet the Family post!

Laundry Chronicles: Treasure Hunt

There is one clear way to tell when winter has arrived at our house. All of my husband's socks go missing. In the beginning it was an all out search so that his feet could find their way into his shoes. Day after day he would come to me seeking after these missing tootsie covers.

"Where are my socks? I can't find them anywhere!"

Do you like how it's my fault? I must have lost his socks. I am slacking at my job because they are missing. It's just like a child looking for their coat or shoes. Mom is somehow always at fault.

Then one day I figured out the mystery. I was getting ready to wash the sheets and started to pull the blankets off the bed. Then I moved on to the sheets. Lucky for me, I am methodical in my steps and remove each piece of bedding one at a time. If it weren't for that, the mystery would still be unsolved for all I know. I pull the top sheet off of the bed and there, lying at the foot, on his side between the top sheet and the fitted sheet, was a mound of socks.

How dare he blame me for his missing socks! Yes my love. I go in and take your socks from the laundry and hide them in the bottom of YOUR side of the bed.

I think not sir.

I think not.

He must have known what was going on a bit before I found it because it took me quite some time to resolve this case. I'm sure I just got to the sheet washing a little earlier than he thought I was going to, and therefore he didn't clean them out yet.

It turns out that he started wearing socks to bed when it got cold and then when he warmed up in the middle of the night, he would push them off under the covers and just leave them there. They piled up until they reached the point of leaving him with no clean socks because there were none to be washed. They were all in the bed. At least now I know where to look first when he asks me where his socks are.

If you would like to catch up with the previous entries of Laundry Chronicles, click here.

Laundry Chronicles: Case of the Missing Socks

There is a place that no mother has seen. A place where there are mountains of missing things that disappear from us forever. A place that makes no sense. This place has many different names, my mother always called it Binky Land.

Binky Land is now home to countless socks (only one in the pair), pacifiers, pocket change, small favorite toys, and so on. Many mothers have attempted to find this place only to be mocked by the oh so small mayor of Binky Land. I can't remember even half the things that I have lost to this land of apparent scavengers, but I know that it exists. I know that this Thumbelina sized man laughs in the face of us all while he watches us searching from room to room, under couch and bookshelf, until exhausted we fall and forget our search. What being could find joy in such frustration? It is beyond my comprehension to understand the mind of such a creature. It is a mystery best left undisturbed.

I must share. I think I have found one of the portals to Binky Land. If you read this post and I have suddenly disappeared shortly after, there is no hope. The tiny menacing guy has seen me. Do not send out a search party. You will exhaust yourself in vain. No one can actually get to Binky Land, but my hope is that you might have a portal like mine. If you find yours, you can possibly save an item or two from being snatched.

Mine is in my washing machine. I found it a while back. I have front loaders and was doing some laundry. I went to switch the clothes from the washing machine to the dryer and there was a sock partially hanging out of the rubbery barrier above the place where the water drains in the door. I reached to grab it and found that this rubbery thing could be moved. I peeled it back, curious of what it might look like. I hit the mother load! Millions of socks (okay, so really less than ten individual socks) were hidden in this little portal. They must have been stored so that they could be gathered later. I pulled them all out and switched them to the dryer. I foiled your plans you creepy Binky Land man, you will have to wait for another day to laugh in this mother's face! Sadly, there must be more than one portal because he is still able to accomplish these small deeds of theivery. Someday my little man. Someday.

The Laundry Chronicles: The Pile

I think someone could use some light hearted words today, so lets head in for the laundry chronicles!

I am not the only woman to have a problem with THE PILE. Over my short years of marriage I have heard more than one wife discuss this issue. If you are married, and have been for any length of time, you already know what I am talking about. This is no problem that is generational, it surpasses all time constrictions. This is an epic issue. It is an issue that has baffled women since there has been laundry.

When I got married I didn't know what I was getting myself into. Yes, most women don't understand all the things that they have now committed to overlook or struggle with for the rest of their existence on this earth. Young and naive, I always saw my soon to be husband's laundry done and put away. I suppose that I could have guessed that his mother was still taking care of it at her house, but his dad? I don't think so. Looking back, his mother must have gone in to his room shortly after he dressed and picked his clothes up off the floor or something. For the first little while of marriage he was still "playing house" as some would say. He still cared about trying to impress me. Let's be honest, that's very short lived! Soon I realized what all women realize. My husband was a little bit lazy when it comes to keeping house. On his side of the bed was a pile. This pile, should I choose to ignore it, would swiftly become a mountain of the clothing that my guy so casually cast aside at the end of each day. Time and time again my naive little self would patiently remind him to please put his clothing in the hamper. I soon became a little less kind and would share my utter frustration with him less sparingly. Okay dude! This is starting to tick me off! Put your stinky man cloth in the hamper so that it's not littering the floor in my bedroom. Yeah, that's right, I'm talking to you!

I tried moving the hamper next to his side of the bed. It didn't work. Somehow making it easier gave him reason to actually pick his clothes up less often. Before the move, I would perhaps get a clean floor once a week when he thought the pile was getting a bit large or he would run out of some type of clothing. After trying to make things more simple, he would never clean it up because I had to bend over to get the laundry from the bottom of the laundry basket anyway, so I think he felt that it wasn't worth the effort at all.

After five years of trying and nagging, my husband's pile has migrated. This time it baffles me farther though, no sense can be made of this pile. Let me paint the picture of frustration here. My husband, love him as I may, will take his clothes all the way to the closet where the hamper is so that I will not nag him about the pile next to the bed and he will put the clothes- not into the hamper, but right in front of it. What is that!?! Seriously if there is a man reading this post who knows, or a woman who has cracked the code that is husband, I would really like to know. His serious thought process tells him that he is helping me out by taking them over to the floor in front of the hamper. It would take absolutely NO more effort, nada-nothing-zilch, to put his clothing into the hamper instead of dropping them in front of it. What is this hamper phobia and what are the mothers of this country overlooking so blatantly that the phenomenon has stricken men across city and state borders? You would think that our hamper was 7 feet tall and he didn't want to try and reach the top of it! I cannot understand, I have tried. Perhaps we need to see a linen counselor or something.

I do solemly swear to try in vain as those that have gone before me, to attempt with all my might to raise my son to fearlessly stand against the hamper army. Though I may try and fail, I believe it is better to loose in attempting to break the cycle of fear that apparently haunts every man rather than not try at all. I vow to fight the good fight. Mothers across America, I implore you to stand with me. Together we can conquer THE PILE for our daughters and their daughters. We shall overcome!

The Laundry Chronicles: Where are my pants?

Husbands are very interesting creatures. I have much to say on the issue of laundry, in fact, so much that I have decided to make a series of posts about it that will come in no particular order on no particular day. In other words, whenever I darn well feel like it.

As a wife that gets the privilege of staying home, I often do laundry during the day. This probably comes as no surprise to you. Most mom's in my situation do the same. My husband is kind enough to help in the washing from time to time, but I always do the folding. Currently you are reading and thinking, okay...what is your point here? I'll get there, just be patient.

I stated lines ago that husbands are very curious creatures. There are many reasons that this is so, but for the sake of keeping things readable and not incredulously long, we will focus on the area of laundry. Four people in the house creates a bit of laundry. Some have more, but this is still plenty. I can hardly keep up with the task, much less try and decipher what is ready to be washed and what is not. If it's in the hamper, or in "the pile" which I will post on later, then it gets to be washed. This morning I hear out of the mouth of the one I love, a completely ridiculous complaint.

"Where are my pants?"

"Where do you think your pants are?" This being after a slight pause. I had the look on my face that told him he darn well knew where his pants were because he had asked me this same question mere days before and they had been in the same "missing" location. Have a little common sense and look for them before you ask me honey.

With a look of frustration and almost disdain, "In the wash!?" Almost a statement, but also with a questioning tone to see if he had guessed right.

"No. They aren't in the wash." I said as I stopped him from walking toward the washing machine.

He thought for a second. "Why are my pants in the drawer?!?" He was seriously frustrated by this.

"That's where pants belong."

"But they are dirty!"

"No sweetheart, they are clean."

"No, I wore them. They are dirty." As if I hadn't known that he had worn them- ha!

" Yes." in a clam voice, "I know that you wore them, but I washed them and now they are clean."

"I don't like you to wash my pants all the time!"

"Don't put them on the floor in front of the hamper then!"

"But where else do you want me to put them?"

Oh, my. What kind of argument is that. I don't want you to wash some of my things that are on the floor in a lump in front of the laundry basket. I want you to know my thoughts and realize which things that I want you to wash and which ones I do not. Not all dirty laundry should be washed, but if you refuse to wash the things that are in front of the laundry basket (also to be in a later post) I will protest as well.

I give up. And men say that women are hard to understand...