Do you remember Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory? The good version from the 1970’s? The one where the poor little boy finds the Golden Ticket and makes his way to the factory to meet the one and only Willy Wonka?
(I know the newer version has the same plot line but I hated it so much that I’m going to pretend I need to differentiate the good one from the bad one.)
As a child of the 80’s this was by far my favorite film. I loved nearly every second of that film from the ‘rags to riches’ theme to the chocolate waterfall. What sugar lovin’ kid can’t get behind a movie that features giant mushrooms filled with whipped cream. Trees that grow giant balloon-type fruits that burst open with tiny candies. That movie was my heaven.
There was one scene that always made me squirm. One short snippit that left me uncomfortable. I know you’re all thinking it was the boat scene with the creepy chicken. But it’s not.
Cheer up, Charlie.
Gag. Even thinking about it makes me cringe. That mom was stuck in that terrible, nasty laundry shop all day stirring a giant pot of people’s grody clothes. And then she had the audacity to sing the worst song in cinematic history to her son. Just bad. So wrong.
Here I sit, 30 years after first viewing that movie, still cringing over laundry. Only now I’m staring down at my own laundry pile. Mounds of grody clothes.
And I have zero desire to sing.
Today I may officially lose it. ‘It’ being my mind. But it’s not the laundry that’s pushing me closer and closer to the edge.
I don’t mind laundry. Truthfully. There’s some sense of accomplishment in putting neatly folded stacks of clothing into each kiddo’s drawer. And there is NOTHING like the pleasure of opening the dryer and remembering the load that awaits is nothing but bath towels. Bliss. Nothing but warm, big, fat towels to quickly fold in under a minute and stack away in just one closet. Mom bliss.
And I don’t have to heat up water in some giant vat and sweat to death while stirring it with some giant boat oar like Mrs. Charlie’s Mom. I just throw it in my Whirlpool and call it a day. Or 45 minutes to be exact. So I realize I shouldn’t complain too much about laundry.
But I’m gonna anyway.
So, what has me in a tizz today given the fact that I looooove laundry so much? (Please note the sarcasm. I didn’t say I loved it..just that I didn’t mind it.)
Doc McStuffins. Doc has me in a tizz.
In dragging down the 800 baskets to our laundry area, I began sorting colors and found a Doc McStuffins lab coat. NOT the lab coat that my daughter wears when playing dress up. This was actually the lab coat that goes on the Doc McStuffins doll. A tiny, 6 inch lab coat.
My children, one child in particular…and surprisingly not the Doc McStuffins lover, have a fondness, a penchant, a sneaky love for throwing clean items into the laundry. On Monday I nearly had to be sedated when I found a stack of still-folded clothes in the middle of a dirty laundry basket.
Think of the greatest level of rage attainable by laundry injustice. The highest rank associated with washing atrocities.
I hit that level in eight seconds and exploded right through it.
Clothes…..now hear me, people. Clean clothing that I had already washed and folded and had perhaps naively set on top of a dresser for this child to put away, was placed into the dirty hamper so this child wouldn’t have to put them away.
Perhaps these kids don’t understand their mother. All these months of feeling like I was short tempered. Worrying that I didn’t always exhibit a calm, pleasant demeanor. Perhaps I was too hard on myself. Because these small people CLEARLY don’t fear my wrath if they dare to pull one of these maneuvers.
Ease up, crazy TickingTimeMom. It’s just a few shirts.
But it’s NOT.
It’s. Every. Time. I. Do. Laundry.
It’s a Doc McStuffins lab coat. A stack of collared shirts that someone was too lazy to put on hangers. Toys. Papers.
(It’s NEVER tall basketball socks because those suckers are coveted and I’m surprised they don’t have their own shrine.)
It’s the crap that no one knows what to do with immediately so they just don’t do anything…..until they spy the laundry basket.
So, what’s my answer?
I don’t have one.
And if you’re looking to me for parenting help, we are all in sooooo much trouble.
I’ve been going at this for two years with one child. And the others are quickly trying to catch up to him. I’m at a loss.
For now, each clean item of clothing found in the dirty bin earns the sneaky, clean-laundry-hiding offspring 10 minutes of extra chores.
Which ultimately leads to more work for me as I have to dream up some stupid exercise for the kids to do to play out their punishment.
Brush the dog again. Weed the front mulch. Wipe down the mailbox. Sort the toothpaste.
I keep thinking my TickingTimeMom site name might lead people to the wrong conclusion. That perhaps it’s less about the precious time ticking away so quickly and more to do with me nearing explosion.
But today they’d be right. Tick….tick…..tick…..
Heading down to throw in another load. Fingers crossed I don’t find Legos in the bottom of the basket.