A Message From My Laundry

Inside the house smells like maple syrup, but we are outside, hanging clothes on the line.

Q is standing with an action hero in hand, explaining to me how his little-plastic-man-who looks-very-much-like-a-helicopter-pilot, is an excellent skateboarder. I can’t see him from behind the towels, but I nod my head seriously and muster up belief.

Of course he can skateboard. We believe in things like that here.
Shel is by my feet, holding the leg of some wet sweat pants, smelling them and laughing. I tell him firmly not to pull them from the line, but he pulls my leg everyday, and he just looks at me and laughs.
I’ve had to throw away three hangers, they were destroyed in a plastic hanger sword fight. It’s quite dangerous to be a hanger in this house.
It’s starting to get hot, unholy weather for October, but I am grateful because it makes the clothes dry faster. Heaven help us during rainy days, we might have to wait a week for dry socks.
Soon it will be time to buy a dryer, but now I am starching shirts in the sunshine and shaking moths and beetles out of my pants. It all seems so very real, the good sort of real that you cling to when the bad things come. For now, I’ll just watch babies sniff wet laundry and meditate on the amazing talents of a toy in the hands of a three year old.
I am here to report that life is worth living, blueberry pancakes are worth making, and chores are worth doing, even if you have a head cold.
That’s my big announcement; put it in your basket.

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