Day 5: Laundromat and the Flashback Puke Story

Five years ago, when I was a new mom, I first realized why one would ever go to a laundromat.

The details are kind of fuzzy. I think daughter came downstairs with puke all over herself. I had never been responsible for cleaning up another human's puke before, and I was grossed out to say the least. I think I stuck her in the shower (fully clothed) while I went upstairs to find clean clothes. Or perhaps teenager was the one puking first, and then daughter puked in sympathy.

Either way, I remember walking upstairs, gagging at the smell, and hearing a child's retching fill my ears as I ran back downstairs to implore husband to take care of the puke-filled bedding. (Seriously, BOTH of them on the SAME day? They couldn't initiate me slowly?). Yes, I am ashamed I couldn't courageously stand my ground. An auditorium full of people hearing me speak is no problem; jumping off of a cliff into a river in Belize is cake. But battling the puke smell before coffee? Husband is the only one strong enough to take that on.

I think husband had to put the bedding in the washer because 1) every time I got a whiff I started gagging and 2) I was busy in the bathroom hosing off daughter. What I do remember is pulling teenager's comforter out of our washer and reeling in horror as I realized there were still puke-chunks and stains attached. Apparently, there wasn't enough room for the stupid thing to agitate in the washer. Now I had wet puke on a blanket. Great.

I was ready to throw them away and start over. I don't remember who told me to go to the laundromat, but I took their advice, and low and behold, the HUGE washer and dryer did the trick. Which made me think about my own bedding... it became clear to me that I wasn't actually washing my own comforter in my machine, I was simply getting it wet.

This long intro concludes with the following daughter dare moment: I sent daughter upstairs to get dressed because we were going to the laundromat. I got ready, and yelled up the stairs to see if she was ready. She said no, she was still getting dressed. Hmmm, she has been upstairs for about twenty minutes. I walk up to her room, knocked, and there she is with only a new shirt on. I asked what she had been doing, and she pointed to her ball.

Oh my word she has been playing up here for the past twenty minutes after I SPECIFICALLY told her to get ready.

Five days ago, I would have given her quite a scolding. Today, I swallowed the aggravation, told her we needed to get to the laundromat, and asked her to hurry. And amazingly, it's OK. At the end of the day, the loss of the ten minutes it took her to get herself back downstairs has not affected me at all. Yes Michelle, this quest is making me realize how great life could be if I just stopped nagging the poor girl.


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