My Beautiful Laundrette–NOT

Aaargh!  I’ve been outed as a pathetic failure at that most basic housekeeping task, providing clean schoolclothes, by my own child.  Peter was asked to give a talk on courage as part of our ward’s Primary program.  Here’s his opening:

“I often need courage in the morning when I don’t have a shirt or pants and I have to go down in the basement to get them.  I wish our washing machine and dryer were upstairs.”

Comments

  1. Even before clicking “more” your title had me improvising “In our lovely launderette, where our shirts and pants are met … ”

    Kristine, were you cringing so far down in your chair at that moment that you failed to notice the embarrassed recognition and relief of the other moms in the room that it was your son, not theirs, who was speaking? Stick out your chin and be proud that your son wants clean clothes instead of pulling on that filthy outfit he shed on his bedroom floor last night. Yeah, that’s the bluff you should stick with!

  2. Steve Evans says:

    KHH, there are different kinds of courage. Peter’s got some guts, but his mom does too — don’t be so hard on yourself!

  3. Ah, Peter. Kristine, he is one great kid.

  4. You should be proud that you are raising a confident, capable, problem-solving child (who is also courageous apparently). He needs clean clothes….he courageously goes and gets them.
    Why exactly would you feel bad?

  5. My standards are so low that I took three readings to find out what was wrong. Really…so your kid has to get his own laundry? Big deal.

    In a testimony meeting, a woman was explaining how distraught and in need of spiritual support she was because she hadn’t had time or energy to iron her sheets. My wife and I smiled at each other — we haven’t taken the iron out of the box since our twins were born almost two years ago.

    I am of the attitude that the choice between meticulous cleaness and personal interaction with my wife and children is no choice at all. There are handprints on the windows and dried oatmeal in all kinds of places — let them be. As for me and my house, we will play with cars.

  6. They who are without laundry among you, let them cast the first sock.

    Kristine, keep in mind this the same boy who used a saw on the legs of his bed in an attempt to lower it to the floor so the monsters couldn’t hide there. With an imagination like that, I can understand how a basement might be scary. May he always be so brave, and may his imagination always be so lively.

    The laundry area in our basement is a sort of bermuda triangle into which socks, skivvies, comfortable jeans, and favorite t-shirts disappear. The gremlins who live there don’t stop at the laundry, they go right for the “good” part of the food storage nearby. They bypass perfectly good wheat and powdered milk, but they make brownie mixes, cans of frosting, and granola bars vanish into thin air.

  7. Reminds me of the first time I brought my 3 year old to Primary. They all sang the “Hello” song to him. He stood there, in front of everyone, picking his nose.

  8. Julie M. Smith says:

    Bah . . . I’m so jealous of you people with basements.

  9. Peter should go to the basement in our 100 year old building (think scary Hollywood set) and he’d think yours was the chapel.

  10. Does it looks like this, Rusty?

    That’s the basement of a 100 year old building I used to work in.

    I grew up in an old farmhouse with a dark, damp, spooky cellar. Talk about scary. The laundry was down there. I know how your son feels, Kristine.

  11. Not if you saw mine, Julie.

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