The Bond of the Laundry Room

Currently we have four friends who are in their late 30s or early 40s and who are all pregnant. For a couple of these ladies they’ve adopted but before had not previously been able to conceive, while the other two have each given birth once.

All of them are fun to talk with – visiting about the surprises and extra tests that come with being a mom over 30. I was thinking today about our delivery day and how 99% of the time I would do the complete day over again. You know how you always hear that the fear and pain of the day quickly fades in a mother’s mind. And soon, she’s ready for that next baby.

Well – I was the big baby with the spinal block and I never felt any pain. Didn’t plan to. I too was over 30. It was a Monday. The delivery room television set was locked to the O.J. Simpson trial. My ankles were the size of soccer balls. The last little bit of personal self-centeredness I could possibly relish for the next 18 years would be a small tube of plastic dripping painkiller directly into my spine. And I boldly asked for it at the first twinge of discomfort.

So, I don’t have the shared pain of birthing bonding experience, but the bond I do share with all mother’s I know is the fear and the agony of the laundry room.

What is it with teenagers and their clothes?

I’ve been observing for the past couple of weeks since Sis returned to the house from the dorms and the best I can determine is she makes three, sometimes four, wardrobe changes a day.

First, there is the just got out of bed but don’t want to be seen in my pajamas and some cute guy could walk by outfit (notice she hasn’t realized she’s home); followed by the time to go to work at my very cool summer job ensemble; not to be overshadowed by the just returned home from job need to go out and see who’s home from school look; and the ever popular and oh so comfortable lounging around the house checking out what’s on pay per view number.

I want you to understand that all four, of her “looks” each day are adorable. I can’t even remember having a fraction of the clothes she has when I was her age. In honesty I think I’m having a wee bit of trouble wrapping my head around the fact that I’m in my mid-40s and will never have the energy, the looks, or the disposable dollars to pull this one off again personally.

The other day a friend of mine at work stopped by my desk with a large department store bag full of dress shirts and casual slacks her son refused to wear. She had heard me talking about how big the twins had grown this year and assumed they were probably close to the same size.

Yep. She was right. That evening we had a little GQ fashion show in the living room.

Now I have three teenagers making multiple wardrobe changes daily. I haven’t seen my laundry room floor in a week. Forget oil futures. I’m buying some Proctor & Gamble shares today and stocking up on laundry detergent.