Our college junior came home this weekend.
To hang out.
to do laundry.
She actually has been doing her own laundry for a few years now. And she does a good job.
I mean, I’ve noticed she usually runs all of her things on the short cycle, but if she’s good, I’m good. And sometimes she mixes clothes in a load that maybe I would not have mixed, but again, as long as she’s getting it done, I’m okay. I taught her the basics and let her run with it.
All of which has turned out pretty good for the most part. I think we might have a shirt or sweater that wound up a good deal smaller at some point because of an accidental tossing in the dryer, but once every few years is not too shabby. Those are good odds.
Today I have spent the better part of the afternoon treating one of her favorite t-shirts from Wesleyan–a light yellow one.
Which she washed. With. Colors.
I’m sure of it. Why else would it have pink streaks all over it? She got out of here, headed back to campus, with her clean clothes before I could find the guilty red item, but I. KNOW. THAT. IS. WHAT. HAPPENED.
I’ve stain treated and washed. And even though the smell of the stain stick goop gave me a headache, I persevered. It was a little lighter, the pink, but I could still see it. So I washed it again. And still, I can see it. As we “speak,” I am soaking it in some kind of all natural “oxi” type of cleaning substance. We’ll see how that goes in the next little bit. I’m hopeful, fingers crossed.
As I was applying the treatment to the streaks on the shirt, I was bearing down and gritting my teeth and muttering to myself. “She mixed those colors. I know she did. You never, EVER, EVER mix colors. Just never. Like with like. Always.”
And then it hit me.
How, while that is true with clothes–and magic marker lids–that statement about keeping different things separate and like things together–that’s the only, ONLY time that applies.
Laundry and pen tops.
Nothing else, people.
I felt like I should clarify that. You know, just in case any of you heard me muttering. And wondered. Or thought about applying it to something–or someone–else.
Wishing you all a clean, streak free load of laundry–and a heart that welcomes mixing up all different kinds of all different who’s and what’s.
Love to all.