I was minding my own business, cleaning up the kitchen for the 6th time today when my son yelled my name so loudly that I nearly broke a dish because I knew something awful just happened. Terrible thoughts raced through my head. Who was bleeding? Did I hear a thud? Is something broken? What on earth has happened? Where is my wallet? I need my insurance card, sounds like we will be going to the ER.
Flynn: “Mom? Mooooom? Mom?”
I sprinted to the bottom of the stairs and breathed a sigh of relief when I looked up and saw a smile on his face.
Me: “What? Geez. Why do you yell my name like something terrible has happened? I expected to see blood.”
Flynn: (standing at the top of the stairs soaking wet with a towel wrapped around his waist) “Huh?”
I walk upstairs.
Me: “You yelled my name like something terrible happened.”
Flynn: “Nothing bad happened. Um. Wait? Why do you think something bad happened?”
Me: “Never mind. What? What does my favorite 9-year-old son need?” (I can say favorite since he is my only son)
Flynn: (giggling) “Um, I don’t have any clean underwear. Seriously, none.”
Me: “Underwear. That’s what you needed? Underwear.” (dramatic pause to regain my composure) “It’s folded on top of the dryer.”
Flynn: “Can you get them for me…please?”
Me: (eyes wide) “Can you?”
Flynn: “I guess so?”
Me: “You guess so? Did your legs fall off or something?”
At this point he wanted to go. He probably would have done anything to shut me up but then he saw his sisters at the bottom of the stairs giggling. They overheard our conversation and let’s face it people…what is more embarrassing and more hilarious to a bunch of elementary kids? The words naked and underwear simply send them over the edge.
Flynn: “I’m naked and the girls are…” (he points to his sisters who are laughing hysterically)
Me: “Girls! Enough! Stop that. You’re being ridiculous. Alright, I’ll grab them buddy. You stay put.”
I shoo the girls towards the playroom and make my way into the laundry room/hell/mom purgatory.
It looks like it does every single hour of every single day. The washer is going full speed and jiggles the basket of clean clothes that balances on top. I watch it jiggle with wide eyes, praying that it doesn’t fall off.
Mmmm? I really should put those clothes away… but not right now. The dryer is also going. A neat pile of clean clothes are stacked on top of the dryer. Mmmm? I really should put those away too…meh, later. There is a heap of dirty laundry on the floor. My gosh I hate this room.
For a moment I lose sight of why I am in there. And then I remind myself to focus! Flynn’s underwear..? AH HA! I spot a pair sitting on top of the dryer at the very bottom of the neatly folded pile. I grabbed the edges with the tips of my fingers and pulled them out like a magician who yanks a tablecloth without breaking the fine china.
1-2-3- TA DAAAAAA
I wasn’t quite as graceful. Aw, crap! How did that happen? All of the clean, folded clothes tumbled to the floor and mixed with the pile of dirty, smelly clothes.
Flynn: “Moooom? Are you coming?”
Me: “Be Patient! I’m having a little issue here. I’m coming. Just a sec!”
I frantically grabbed as many of the clean clothes as I could and put them back on top of the dryer but the clean clothes did a good job hiding. At one point, I couldn’t really tell which ones were clean and which ones were dirty. Honestly, the clean clothes were so wrinkled they actually looked dirty. I mean who has time to fold the clothes the second the stupid dryer buzzer goes off? Anyway, in all the confusion I must’ve dropped Flynn’s clean underwear into the laundry pile from hell. Um..well? That sucks! Now what?
I knew they were blue but there were 2 blue undies laying right on the top. One was wrinkled and one was not. I took a guess that the less wrinkled ones were probably the clean ones. I ran the unwrinkled undies up to Flynn and without hesitation he sniffed them. He sniffed them like it was part of his routine. Who does that? Or better yet, what 9-year-old does that? Well, needless to say he nearly gagged so I’m guessing that the blue underwear I chose were not the clean pair. Just a guess though. Ha!
Flynn: “Ew! Mom? Gross! These are gross!”
Me: (playing dumb) “What? Why are you so grossed out by your own underwear?”
Flynn: “They smell! Can I just come down and look for some myself?”
Me: “Yes. Why don’t cha? (insert nasty sarcasm here) I think that’s a good idea. Sniff them all and just make 2 new piles for me. Clean and dirty.”
My little boy looked like a Bloodhound on a mission. He sniffed and sniffed until he found a clean pair. He put his clean undies on, wrapped the towel around his waist and proudly walked away.
Flynn: “Thanks Mom.”
Hold up? Did he just thank me? Why? Why did he thank me? The guilt was building as I watched him disappear. I stared blankly at the overwhelming mess in the laundry room. I knew I had to do something. There was no doubt things were out of control. I needed to resolve this enormous laundry issue.
So I did what every normal well-adjusted mother in this situation would do. I turned off the light. I backed out of the laundry room and closed the door tight. Then I very calmly walked over to the kitchen and poured myself a very generous glass of wine and tried to erase the image of my son sniffing a pile of dirty underwear.