Monthly Archives: July 2023

Jackie Wells-Fauth

I have become an addict of these little short videos that you can find on Facebook. However, I saw one tonight which may put me off of them forever, and yes, you may have guessed from the picture, it involves laundry.

A man was coming down the stairs of his home and his wife was getting ready to climb up the stairs with a load of laundry. As she walked up the steps, some balloon full of something white and sticky fell from the second floor and hit her and her laundry, creating a terrible mess.

And she laughed. She was standing there with the clean laundry she had prepared and she was covered in a mess that obviously was devised by her husband and she laughed! She was so wrong! She should not have laughed! He should have died, slowly and horribly and hopefully using some method involving the laundry basket!

I know, I know, I have no humor when it comes to the laundry. I feel this has become, quite unfairly, the responsibility of women and I don’t know why–unless men are not capable of handling such an important task. Even to get a picture for this article, I couldn’t come up with a single one where the basket of laundry was held by anyone other than a woman.

I have always felt that laundry duty should go to the household member who is the first to discover that they are out of clean underthings. And I have no problem with each household member doing their own, if they so choose. But for everyone to pile their laundry into an overflowing hamper and then stand back and expect the “woman of the house” to handle it, seems wrong to me.

Laundry is not all about mating the clean socks and hanging up the wrinkle free shirts. First, you have to stick your hands in the hamper and sort out the smelly, rolled-up excuses for dirty socks and determine just what that spot is on the discarded underwear. It means exploring the mysteries in the pockets of children’s play clothes and sorting out the oily rags someone threw in on top of your dress suits for work.

Laundry is an inexact science of determining if the colored clothes can withstand bleach and if the towels should be placed in the drier, where they will be soft or if they should be hung on the outside clothes line where they will acquire the texture of a brand new Brillo pad. For some reason, most men believe that these decisions are beyond their mental capacity. They don’t mind being considered too stupid to do laundry, as long as it gets them out of it.

I once heard a young man advising his friend on how to get the female in their living group to do the laundry. “Just put a red towel in with the underwear and white shirts. If she has to wear a splotchy pink shirt to work, she’ll take over the laundry in a hurry.” He would have sadly misjudged if it had been me. I would have worn the splotchy shirt with pride and made sure there was a deep purple crayon in the pocket of his best jeans.

One of the first things I taught my husband, at the tender age of 29, to do when we married, was to wash the clothes. He had come from a household where his mother did the washing and the family did the complaining if something came back wrinkled or mis-matched or with a button missing. I remember her reaction when Roy asked me in front of her, “Is it a full cup of laundry detergent for a load?”

While I was calculating just how much damage he could do by mis-measuring the detergent, his mother gave a sharp, short, snort of laughter. We all looked at her and she explained, “I just never thought I’d hear him ask that question!”

At our house right now, we have a system. Roy carries all of the dirty clothes to the basement and helps with the sort. I do the laundry and fold and hang everything. Roy, who is economical on drier electricity, hangs out the towels and carries clothes upstairs. I am appreciative of saving electricity, but not to the extent that I am willing to scrape one of those line-dried towels over my body after a shower, so I don’t encourage him in that endeavor, but I do appreciate the effort!

Since each of us is involved with the process, no one is likely to booby-trap the other with a balloon mess dropped from the stairs. And if that ever does occur, it should be known that I can strangle a full grown person in four seconds with a pair of boxer briefs. I am prepared!

Jackie Wells-Fauth

My daughter just sent me a rude and defaming meme which was titled, “My children coming home from Grandma’s house.” It was accompanied by the above picture. Now, I’m not entirely sure, but I’m thinking she is trying to intimate that I am spoiling her children. How ridiculous! Everyone knows I am a strict granny!

Now, aside from the fact that this is utter nonsense, this isn’t even a picture of anyone’s grandchildren. It’s the King and Queen coming back from coronation. And of course, I haven’t crowned my grandsons king of anything…although I frequently tell them they are the kings of my heart. My husband always snorts rudely when I say that, I don’t know why!

Now, for example, I just had the older two boys out for a week’s visit a few weeks ago and certainly, I did not spoil anyone. We may have had to go to the grocery store a few extra times to make sure we had enough freezie pops to last the week and to get the right flavor of Toaster Strudels, but that is nothing. Boys have to eat, don’t they?

Then, there was entertainment. Now, boys with active minds need all the stimulation they can get, so lots of television and video games are important. Then, there are the Legos sets and latch hook rug sets to keep them busy and happy. Beyond that, are the trips to the water park and suppers and movies and…well, you get the picture. But it certainly isn’t spoiling anyone; just keeping them active.

Boys that age need lots of bubble wands and busy machines and they must have water balloons and firecrackers, because what is summer without fireworks and water balloon fights? And if, maybe three or four times during that week, we made a trip to the ice cream shop, well, that’s just good memories, we’re not spoiling anyone!

It was on about the fourth day when the older child was deciding what toy he wanted for entertainment at the store, that the subject of spoiling came up. I said, “Go ahead and pick something, so you can have some fun this afternoon.” He said, with a rather large smile, “Grandma, do you ever think that maybe you spoil us a little?” I laughed and laughed and said, “Goodness no! If you can’t pick between those two toys, why don’t we get both!”

It was on about our fourth visit to the ice cream shop when we took their grandfather along that they stabbed their old grandmother in the back. The younger one said, “We are going to get Grandma a shirt that says, ‘World’s Greatest Grandma.” And while my chest began to puff out, the older one added, “She really spoils us a lot.”

Grandpa looked at me over their heads and said somewhat cynically, “Boys, everyone already knows that.” Now, this was a bit tough to take from the man who repairs their remote control planes and flies them with them and indulges in the greatest battles on the water balloon front. Not to mention all the things that Grandma does for HIM!

“I would say that all of you are pretty spoiled and I don’t hear anyone complaining, do I?” I said it quietly, though. I wouldn’t want to be overheard because I don’t spoil my grandchildren. I merely see to it that they are well taken care of.

The youngest, who is not old enough for a week’s stay, always jumps up and down when he sees me, but that is because I am such a stellar individual, not because I get him out of bed before his parents can get there or because I just mailed a rather expensive package to him to return two very shabby sleep toys he had left at my house. He can’t live without his “Boppy,” the name of the sad little bear he loves, now can he?

So, now that I have established that I do not spoil my grandsons, I would like to make one more observation on that carriage that is pictured: There is no way that my grandchildren would be allowed to ride in that vehicle. With all that gold on it, there are certainly not enough guards around it–my boys wouldn’t be at all safe in such a thing. Maybe a Ferrari or something would be better; I’ll go shopping.