Every Wednesday I take the laundry downstairs and sort it. Every Wednesday I discover secrets hidden among the stinky and stained. Sometimes the stain is the evidence I need or perhaps what was left in the pants pocket. What evidence you ask? Evidence of something not told–a secret. Bloody noses, grass stains wadded up in hopes they might disappear. Too many shirts, some still clean–lazy putter-awayer. Candy wrappers and receipts; money and hair accessories; accidents and incriminating smells. The offspring are surprised when I discover only three pairs of underwear were worn during the week and more frequent bathing is required. They wonder at the lecture on pre-stain treatment-cold water for blood, hot for grass.
I discover rips and tears that need repair and wonder how they got there. Evidence on some ruffian activity beyond specified boundaries perhaps. In any event a questioning of the offending party is in order. How does this washing detective work contribute to thrival? The offspring and spouse know I’m paying attention giving the illusion that I have magical sight and can see things they thought hidden. Eyes in the back of my head. Psychic powers. I always tell them, “The laundry tells me all things.” I don’t think they believe me.
This week I noticed that one offspring who says he doesn’t need any thing could use some replacements. His secret–generosity and consideration towards his parents as well as frugal use- it- upness. My teachings are sneaking in but these holy socks must go.
May you thrive in your laundry detective work as you nurture those you love today.